When I got up on Wednesday, I felt better. Not necessarily good, but better. I met Eric at the entrance, where we did the traditional Program stripping in front of an audience. For the first time this week, I managed to have fun with it. I sat next to him in the morning class we have together-which I had avoided-and we ate lunch.
"You’re in a better mood," he pointed out.
"I had a nice talk with my Daddy. He pointed out to me that you have to fight right now."
"Yeah," he agreed. "I absolutely plan on beating this thing."
"He also asked me if you loved me. When I said yes, he pointed out that, when a guy’s in a fight for his life, one more thing to live for always helps."
The grin he gave me right then lit up my world. "Your father’s a smart guy."
He came to practice again. He was, of course, miserable that he couldn’t play, but just being around the guys seemed to help. We ended up on the field again. After a while of just chatting, I asked him, "How are you feeling? Physically, I mean."
"Good," he said. "The chemo’s in three-week cycles. I have it Friday, so this is towards the end of the cycle. The first week after, I’m a wreck. The second week’s a little better. The third week, though, I’m fine. Right now, I feel pretty much like my old self."
"Good," I said. "Because what I want right now, most of all, is for you to make love to me."
He paused. "Are you sure? Look, Mish, I plan on beating this thing. But if I don’t…"
"You’re going to," I said. "And if you plan to beat this thing, you need to live. You can’t fight for your life if you’re putting it on hold. You know we were building up to this."
"Oh, you betcha," he grinned. It made me laugh. Thank goodness. "I’m just worried about you."
"Don’t," I said. "You need me. And the truth is, I need you, too. In every way." Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. "And, no, if the worst should happen, I won’t regret this, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not for a second. I’d regret not doing it." Then I looked into his eyes. "You’re my boyfriend, and I love you. I’m your girlfriend, and you love me. Live your life, Eric. Make love to your girlfriend-because she wants you so bad it hurts."
He did. Before then, we hadn’t even so much as touched, really. We spent a very long time on that darkened, empty football field, touching, kissing, fondling-and then making love. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. It was so beautiful I might’ve been tempted to cry-except I think I was all cried out by then. Instead, I just glowed.
Then I took him to my house, and he stayed over. We did it again in the morning. We did it again Thursday. Each time, it was beautiful and glorious. He was strong, feeling good, and he made me feel damn good.
It was an illusion, of course-my strong, healthy, football-playing boyfriend who fucked me senseless. It was an illusion. The reality was Friday. That was the day I insisted on going to the hospital with Eric, and holding his hand while the drugs that would hopefully kill the leukemia were sent into his body. That was the day that I took my boyfriend to his house and held him over the toilet while he vomited. That was the day that I climbed into his bed and held him as she shook, and kept holding him as he finally fell into a restless sleep. That was the reality.
When I awoke on Saturday, Eric was still asleep. Knowing he needed the sleep, I padded downstairs to the kitchen, looking for coffee. His Mom was already there. She came over and wrapped me in a hug.
"Mish, I can’t tell you how glad we are you’re here. Eric told us about your little brother. This must be so hard for you."
"I can’t do anything else. I love him. And he has a chance, and a good one. Danny didn’t. I couldn’t do a damn thing for Danny, and I knew that from the start. Eric, I can do something for."
"You are. Just by being here. Do you know that’s the first time he’s slept at all the night of chemo? That’s because you were there with him."
You know, I haven’t felt as good about myself as I did right at that moment. That’s when I knew, I knew, I could do this. That’s when I also knew, somehow, that Eric was going to be fine. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I did.
Eric woke up, still exhausted and sick, but still managed to give me a big smile. I took him downstairs and cuddled with him on the couch. I made him tea and toast-the only things he could hold down. His Dad came in and we all watched college football-and his Dad made us roar through most of it. His dad is a funny guy. I was supposed to be at a high school football game myself, cheerleading. I didn’t go. Some things are more important. I stayed there all weekend. I stopped into my house at one point. Daddy told me, "I’m fine. You’re where you should be, where you need to be."
At one point, I was lying in his arms, and the words just came out. "For better, for worse; in sickness and in health; until death do us part."
"That sounded like a proposal," he grinned.
"No, silly, that’s your job," I giggled. "Look, I’m counting on all going well. I’m counting on the rest of high school, and college, and then you can make a proper proposal." Then I dropped my voice. "But, just in case-what I said wasn’t a proposal-it was a vow. I just wanted you to know."
"After what you’ve done this week, I already did."
What I found out the next couple of months is that I’m stronger than I thought I was. I also found out all about love, all over again. From Eric, of course-the gratitude in his face that I was there for him spoke volumes. But not just from him-his parents were thrilled I was there. His mother told me over and over how happy I made him, how much of a help I was, and how much they loved me as much as he did. And his brother and sister loved me, too. His sister was 14, and loved having a "big sister" around. And his 10-year-old brother took one look at me and launched into full-blown hero-worship.
It made me think of Danny. It made me think good things about Danny. It made me remember how cool Danny was, and how much I loved him.
I pretty much spent the whole fall practically living at Eric’s house. When he was in between chemo, we made wild passionate love as much as we could. When he wasn’t up to that, I took care of him. And it was good. After all that, it was good. I think I helped-and that was really good.
If Danny were here, I think he’d be damn proud of his big sister.
I read back on this now. I wrote those words a little under two years ago. I just found my journal from that year.
It’s late summer, now, and I’m preparing to go back to my sophomore year in college. I go to State. Quite a few of us from the old crowd did. Not all. Jared and Amanda, the brains, went to Princeton. And Mike and Lily both got scholarships to USC. I watched on TV as they led USC to the College World Series championship. Lily not only was the first girl to appear in the CWS, she was the first girl to ever pitch the winning game. A three-hit shutout, even. Mike hit a homer.
But the rest of us are at State-and all the relationships that were fostered by The Program have survived.
Yes, that includes Eric and me.
Eric ended his chemo that November, and has been completely in remission ever since. No trace of the leukemia at all. Every clean bill of health he gets makes his chances higher. Of course, he won’t be considered "cured" until five years. There’s always a doubt-he’s still a few months shy of how long Danny stayed in remission-but the doctors are very optimistic.
After his chemo ended, we managed to spend the second half of our senior year as just another high school couple in love. Well, there were a few exceptions. I was pretty much living with him-not a common situation with kids still in high school. I worried about Daddy being alone-but Daddy had managed to find a girlfriend. Good for him. They got married a few weeks ago, and my stepmother is the coolest.
But, outside of that, we were normal teenagers in love. Did the prom, the whole bit. With chemo over, Eric became stronger-and we made love more often. And it just got better and better.