We came to State and got an apartment together. No separation in dorms for us. Though the prognosis was good, we still knew that nothing was guaranteed, and every minute apart was a minute lost. Eric lost his chance for a football scholarship by not being able to play senior year-but got an academic one. State invited him to walk on to the football team, but he decided not to. "I can think of better things to do on Saturday afternoons," he told me.
There’s no guarantees. There’s no certainties. But I think we’re going to make it-I think he’s going to make it. I like to think I helped. Love’s a powerful thing. I’m glad I realized that.
A note from the author.
This story is dedicated to the memory of M.E.P., 1964-1979. We never had the relationship that Eric and Mish have-we were just friends, but I had known her since birth. She never got Eric’s prognosis-she got Danny’s, and beat the odds by a considerable amount by living 2 ? years. But she couldn’t, finally, beat the leukemia that took her life at the horrific age of 15. She’s been gone 24 years and I still miss her.
I ended the story proper somewhat ambiguously. However, in my mind’s eye, Mish and Eric are married. They’re in their mid-thirties. They live in pretty house in Westport. They have a little girl, and Mish is pregnant with their second. Eric’s an oncologist, and Mish taught school for a while before deciding to stay home with the kids. They’re in love. They’re happy. That’s what my mind’s eye sees.
I could have invented that scenario for Mary, but it would have been a lie. I know the reality all too well. So I gave it to Mish and Eric. Because someone deserves it.
If there’s a better reason why I write fiction, I can’t come up with it.
And, so, that is why this is the story I had to write.
Thanks for reading,
Frank