The Ethereal Friendship

The Chemo Blues

Chapter 4: The Chemo Blues

Marissa

         “I wish I could say it’s good to have you back, Anjira.” Nikko said, pushing Angela in a wheelchair to her new room.
I followed her along with Francesca and Kari, through the halls of the Oncology/Haematology ward.
It was a long hall with rooms on both sides, a large central nurse’s station, and a room I couldn’t see very well down the hall that seemed to be some sort of play room. It had a big TV, and lots of toys, and I thought I saw a PlayStation and X-box.
Even kids with cancer needed to play…
It was an ignorant thought, but I was very ignorant. I’d never met anyone with cancer in my life. Now I had--my best friend.
This was a children’s hospital, I thought, as I followed the group. Everyone here was just a kid with cancer. It was frightening, and depressing.
I saw some of them.
A thin girl who looked about ten, trudged down the hall pulling her IV with her. There was a boy about my age in a wheelchair like Angela, being pushed toward the elevator by another nurse. Some children were bald. That was what the treatments for cancer did. It made you lose your hair.
I bit my lip, trying not to think of Angela without her white-blonde waves of thick, beautiful hair.
Kari looked around with wonder too. She had come that day also with a desire to help Angela almost as much as I did. She was a good friend, and she had been very happy that Angela and I had made-up.
“Your story really helped shake me up enough to want to work through my feelings, and come back to her.” I told Kari, gratefully when I met her at the hospital gate. “I can’t thank you enough, Kari. You stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life.” I continued, feeling tears in my eyes. Kari smiled at me.
“I had to help you. I think now that the reason I experienced it was so I could help you and Angela four years later. It was like it was my destiny. I’d never want anyone to make the same terrible mistake I did.” She replied, surely, but with sadness too.
It must be terrible to have the guilt and regret that Kari had. I hoped one day that she could forgive herself and be happy.
Angela had already forgiven me.
“This is it.” The young nurse, Nikko said when we arrived outside a big room with its doors invitingly open.
Nikko had apparently been Angela’s attending nurse when she was twelve, and she had really loved her. She was small, and thin, with a slight build, and dark, shoulder-length hair that I couldn’t tell if it was black or dark brown. She was clearly Japanese like Kari, who had actually known her too. She wore the usual nurse’s scrubs, but had the most adorable little kitten pattern on violet-blue her shirt that said the word ‘neko’ on the breast pocket. She looked kind, and I could see why Angela liked her.
“This is room 904, or ‘Arcadies’ layer’.” Nikko smiled, leading us all into a big hospital room with six beds, three on each side of the room.
I wondered what ‘Arcadies’ layer’ was supposed to mean as I took in the brightly coloured room with animal cutouts on the wall, and stars on the ceiling.
Three of the six beds were occupied, one looked like it was in use, but there was no patient, and then one bed was neatly made up with fresh sheets that were a pale blue colour, along with the blanket. This was Angela’s bed. It wasn’t near the window at all, and I felt sorry for her without having anything to look at. (Well, I felt sorry for her in general too.)
“Wow, a newbie!” suddenly I heard the young voice of a little girl who was in the bed by the window on Angela’s side. Well, she wasn’t in the bed, she was jumping on it.
“Arcadies get back to bed!” Nikko shouted at her, firmly, but there was a hint of playfulness in her voice.
The little girl looked about five, and had long, blonde hair that was brushed to one side, and tumbled down her shoulders. Her eyes were pale blue, and she had a cherub-like face with up-turned lips.
In other words, she looked almost exactly like Angela.
She grinned, and flopped down on the bed, landing on her back side. I thought I was looking at Angela’s sister, or ten years too young twin.
“This is Arcadies, our resident troublemaker.” The nurse said, smiling at the girl who stuck her tongue out at her. “She looks like you, doesn’t she, Anjira?” Nikko couldn’t seem to ever pronounce the L in Angela’s name, it sounded cute. I already liked her.
Angela was sitting on her new bed watching the little girl.
“She…” she started to say, but sounded too surprised and shocked to continue. Then Arcadies hopped off the bed and came up to Angela, peering into her eyes. Angela moved back in her bed a bit.
“You…” Arcadies started to say, making her voice sound mechanical. “…are my…” she paused, and made herself get even closer, seeming to freak out Angela who was usually shy. “dop…ple..gan…gar…” she grinned, and sat back.
Angela blinked.
“She’s probably your better half.” Nikko mumbled, slyly. It didn’t seem like a very nice thing to say, to me, but then, I didn’t know Arcadies.
“Why don’t you just discharge her and get it over with.” A cynical voice muttered from across the room. Just then, for the first time I noticed a round faced Hispanic girl sticking her head out of the covers, glaring at Arcadies. She was about twelve or thirteen, with thick, brown hair, with blonde streaks that hung just over her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing brown, and her lips seemed to be fixed in a permanent frown. She was a little chubby, but even her dark skin seemed a little pale, and her arm was hooked up to an IV.
“She’s not sick anyway.” She said, coming out fully from under the blankets.
“Yes I am!” Arcadies shouted, angrily. “Why else do you think I’m here for?”
“Maria, be nice now.” Nikko scolded.
“Yeah, whatever.” The girl mumbled, pulling the blanket back over her head.
I wondered what the rest of Angela’s roommates would be like. So far I didn’t see how she could stand them. Living with five people in a hospital was already bad enough, but sharing a ‘lair’ with a five year-old troublemaker, and a twelve year-old cynic was even worse.
“Mama~!” Suddenly, a little boy cried from the bed beside Maria, and the empty one. He was really little. He couldn’t even be four years old. He had short, black hair that parted at the middle of his forehead, with eyes that were large and an amber shade of brown. His lashes were noticeably long, and he was so pale that his lips were bright red. He had a chubby baby’s face, with extremely rosy cheeks. He was a beautiful little boy.
“Tomo-kun, where were you hiding?” Nikko smiled, warmly, and the little boy grinned, showing his baby teeth. He was so cute.
“Ah! It’s Tomoya!” Kari suddenly cried, and came over to the little boy. “How are you, buddy? Long time no see!” she said, tickling him. He giggled, and fell back in the bed.
Angela seemed confused.
“Do you know him, Kari?” she asked. The first words she had spoken since she arrived.
“Of course I do!” she replied, enthusiastically.
“I used to baby-sit this little cutie. He’s Nikko’s son.” She continued, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Well, he was Asian.
“Really? I never knew you had a son!” Angela cried, happily.
“Kari-onne-chan!” Tomoya shouted.
Kari smiled at him. “Are you here visiting your mommy at work?”
The little boy shook his head, and shouted “Noooo!”
“Really?” Kari asked, sounding confused. “What are you doing here then?”
“He’s wearing pajamas… Nikko, he’s not…” Angela started to ask, sounding worried.
Could this nurse’s own son really be…?
“Byouki-ga aru!” He shouted, with the same excitement.
Kari gasped.
I guessed she understood what he said, because I certainly didn’t.
“Well, Anjira, my son has something in common with you.” Nikko started, her smile disappearing. “He has leukemia also.”
The nurse didn’t sound so cheerful anymore. Now she was weary.
She was Francesca.
A mother of a sick child, and also a nurse.
I had no idea how she could cope with both.
What must it be like to be the nurse of children with cancer, and then find out your own child is one of them? I couldn’t imagine it.
“My God, Nurse Nikko, that’s awful. How can you handle something like this?” Francesca’s accented voice spoke up.
Angela and Kari still seemed stunned, and Tomoya sat on his bed, still grinning.
“Tomoya’s a strong boy, and I know he can beat this thing. Being a pediatric nurse on oncology gives me the advantage of knowing mostly what to expect. Leukemia has a high cure rate in children, ne, Anjira?” she smiled, turning to Angela. But she looked down, knowing she hadn’t yet beat cancer.
“Ne!” Tomoya shouted back at his mother, who grinned at him.
“Believe it or not, I actually see him more now…” she said to Francesca, trailing off a bit.
This was when an uncomfortable and depressing silence would usually arise. But any hope of that disappeared when the happy little three year-old shouted, “Okaeri, Adurin!”
Adrian?
I wondered if this little boy could speak any English, when I saw the same young boy I’d seen at the elevators be wheeled into the room.
I had noticed him because of the bandana he wore on his head, and how very thin he was. He was also the only kid my age I had seen here so far.
“Hello, Tomoya.” The boy said, smiling, weakly. He seemed tall, with tired, but kind, blue eyes that were sunken and rimmed with dark circles. The bandana covered all of his head, and his face was long and thin, his cheekbones protruding noticeably. He wore a loose hanging sweat shirt with a school sports team name across the center, and plaid pajama pants. He might have even been thinner then me, and I had always been tall and skinny. He was in a wheelchair pushed by a blonde haired teenaged girl, wearing a peach coloured smock with two Beanie Baby toys hanging out from the pockets. She had a hospital ID card like the nurses, decorated with all sorts of shiny stickers, and the outfit was completed with a white short-sleeved shirt.
“I’ll see you next time, Adrian. Keep on fighting.” She smiled at him, after she had rolled him to his bed next to Angela and Arcadies. She nodded at Nikko who thanked her. Her name was Charlise. She was not my only encounter with the volunteers at The Hospital for Sick Children.
“Adrian is the same age as you, Anjira. He’s a very nice boy.” Nikko said, looking over at Angela, who sat on her bed meeting her new roommates as if she were at a summer camp. I wished that was what it was.
“This is Angela Michelli, Adrian. She is fifteen like you.” The nurse smiled. Adrian looked up at Angela, and his eyes widened. The boy was clearly taken with her. Like most boys were before they knew how shy she was. But Angela was very pretty.
“Nice to meet you.” He said, in a young boy’s partially developed voice.
“Nice to meet you too.” Angela smiled, actually blushing a little.
Of course, she always blushed. She was too shy. I always tried to get her to be more active and meet more people, but she was hopeless.
How normal that all seemed compared to what was happening now.
How could a girl as shy as Angela stay in a place where she was around children, nurses and doctors all the time?
Oh, Angela, I thought to myself.
You have to leave this place. You have to leave now.
You have to get well.
I felt tears in my eyes as I thought of how very real the situation was now. This hospital was her home. I wouldn’t see her at school, or in the gym, or at her house. This would be the only place where two fifteen year-old girls could talk about love and gossip.
But even that seemed like it would be a thing of the past.
What was I going to do without her?
What would I ever do without her?
“It’s nice to have lots of roommates this time.” Angela said, making me remember she had gone through all this before. She had lain back in her bed, and she looked quite tired now.
She looked over at Francesca, Kari and me. “Thank you for coming here today, it means a lot to me to have your support.” She was able to look at all of us without centering one person out. Her gratitude extended from her aunt and mother, to the girl who’d saved our friendship, and to me.
“I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little tired right now. Would it be alright if I went to sleep for awhile?” She added, wearily. “Of course, Angela, you get all the rest you can.” Francesca told her. She looked over at me, and I nodded. She looked really tired.
I sighed. She had looked this way for so long. Why hadn’t I done anything? Why couldn’t I have helped her?
I couldn’t do anything, I realized. I was powerless to help my friend.
“Alright, you lay down, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner and your medication, OK, Anjira?” Nikko said, kindly, trying to come closer to her bed, but Tomoya still clung to her legs, giggling.
“I do start tonight then?” Angela asked, softly, and she sounded so sad.
“Yes, Anjira, you must start chemotherapy as soon as possible if you want to get well.” The nurse explained, sympathetically. Angela sighed, and brought the covers up over her body. She looked so sad. I felt so sorry for her.
“I’m sorry, everyone.” She repeated. “Thank you.”
“Take care, Angela, I’ll try to visit you when I can.” Kari said to her, and then she was dragged away by Tomoya who wanted to show her something. What, I didn’t know.
I looked down at Angela, and felt the tears in my eyes again as the reality seemed to knock me down. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angie. Feel better, OK.” She smiled, weakly at me, and then she was asleep, and Kari and I went home. As quickly as that, I had to say goodbye to my friend, and turn her over to the mercy of the hospital, and the doctors and nurses inside.
Kari and I went on the same bus, but we barely spoke. We both were lost in our own thoughts. She was probably thinking of her father, and I was thinking that I couldn’t stand to see Angela go through anymore pain.
And she would.
A lot.
“Hey, Marissa,” suddenly Kari spoke to me. I turned to her.
“Do you know the story of the 1,000 paper cranes?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s a Japanese story… but still very famous.” She said, sheepishly. Kari rarely, if ever spoke about her Japanese roots. You might not even think she was Japanese. “It’s a story of a 12 year-old girl living in Hiroshima, Japan, 10 years after it was bombed. She has leukemia as a result of the radiation exposure from the bomb, and tries to make 1,000 paper cranes during her long stay in the hospital.”
I bit my lip at the mentioning of the horrible disease Angela had. There was no radiation here, how did she ever get it? How did anyone ever get cancer?
“The legend is if a sick person folds 1,000 paper cranes then they can wish to be better. But it also works the other way around. If a friend makes 1,000 cranes then they can wish for their friend or relative to get better…” Kari trailed off, looking down at her thin, long fingers that she held together on her lap.
“I made about 500 before my father passed away.” She sighed, and I looked over at her, sympathetically, not really knowing what to say.
“I don’t know if I really believe the legend, but it’s a nice gesture, don’t you think?” Kari asked me, and again I did not speak, only nod.
“To put the time and effort into making someone all those intricate little cranes…” she stared off into space then. “….it really shows you care.” She added, smiling at me.
“I was thinking of asking the 10th grade class to help me finish the last 500 and give them to Angela. It won’t take long with all those students working on them.” She paused, and turned to me. “What do you think, Marissa?”
I found my eyes filling up with tears for some reason, but I smiled at her.
“I think it’s a great idea.”
~

Angela

Angela woke up just in time for dinner when Nikko shook her awake. A tray of warm broth, green salad, some cut up plain chicken, and a banana sat in front of her. It was a special light meal because she would get very sick from the chemotherapy, and never be able to hold any food down. There was a medium-sized cup with apple juice, and then the familiar, tiny paper cups with the clear, and red liquid chemotherapy along with the two capsules sat menacingly on the side of the tray.
She couldn’t look. Even with the toxic but life-saving medicine not yet in her system the idea of food nauseated her, and she breathed in heavily.
“Come on, Angela, you have to eat.” Nikko urged her, sitting by her bed.
“Hey, newbie,” Arcadies spoke up. Angela turned to her, eager to look away from the food. “If you don’t eat, they make you swallow worms.” She stated, grinning. Angela swallowed hard, but not from fear of what the tricky girl said, but because the little girl was eating a normal meal happily, and Maria was already starting dessert. She felt weak, and alone.
“Arcadies that’s not true!” Nikko scolded her.
Angela sighed.
“Angela,” she suddenly heard Adrian call her. She looked up at him, his own food was barely touched. “Arcadies is immune to chemo, and Maria is only here for tests.” He smiled, warmly, shakily picking up his fork. “Just try to eat small bits of food at first, then you’ll start to get better. I understand what you’re feeling.” He said, before putting the food in his mouth. His whole hand shook as he did this.
“That’s good, Adrian. You’re doing much better.” Nikko said, smiling at him.
“Or you can eat like this!” Little Tomoya shouted, his first English words. “Yatta!” then he shoved a pile of rice into his mouth. Everyone looked away, disgusted, but it made Angela laugh.
Nikko rubbed her son’s head.
“That’s one way to conquer the chemo blues.” She muttered, winking at him. Tomoya grinned, showing a mouthful of white rice.
Angela laughed more, then she picked up the paper cup and drank the bitter liquid down in one gulp.
“Thatta girl.” Nikko smiled.
Tomoya forever gave her strength. He was a three year old with more knowledge and strength then she would ever have.
But despite all this, Angela woke up many times in the night and vomited, violently.
“So, it starts…” she thought, after she was sure her stomach was empty, and she could lie down again.
Francesca wiped away the sweat and tears on her niece’s face, and stayed with her as she slept, exhausted from her ills.
So what happens now…?
~

Marissa

The 10th grade class was surprisingly eager to help make Kari’s cranes. Our class had some great students in it, and they all wanted to do something for Angela. Although, as far as I know Kari and I were the only ones who ever visited her.
We made cranes whenever we could. I folded many coloured papers in art class while studying an origami book from the school library, and it didn’t take me long to master the folds and no longer need the book.
In classes teachers would always get angry at us for not paying attention, but when we told them what we were doing they would usually join us, or at least lay off shouting at us. Whole classes stopped to make the 500 or so cranes. Even punk kids could be seen fumbling with the intricate folds.
One boy shoved a crumpled crane made of a drink wrapper into my hand. He was the kind of mean spirited, cold-hearted kid who would probably end up living a life of crime. But he still cared enough to make the little crane.
“For the sick girl.” He muttered. I took it and smiled at him, and he scoffed, before walking away.
I bought a caramel chocolate bar (even though I was allergic to chocolate… yeah… really… I am…) and used the gold wrapping to make a very special crane for my friend. Kari ate the chocolate.
“It smells like chocolate.” She said, grinning.
“This one smells like smoke and alcohol.” I said, handing her the multicoloured crane that the nasty kid had made. “Ben Alder made it.”
Kari’s eyes widened. “No way.” Then she pulled out a peach flavoured perfume and gently sprayed the offending crane.
“There. Now it smells best of all.” She laughed, as she breathed in the fruit flavoured deodorant.
I laughed too.
It felt good to be doing this. It took my mind off her.
Kari had a string that she was tying all the cranes to, and I asked her to put my golden one on the top.
She smiled at me.
“That’s actually how it’s supposed to be done.”
~

Angela

         “Hey, what are you doing?” Angela asked Adrian, as he sat on his bed facing the window with a large sketchbook on his knees.
“I’m drawing the city.” He replied. Angela looked out the window at the tall buildings, and the large blue lake in the distance. It was early morning, and the sunshine glinted off the buildings and water, and the blue sky reflected on windows as it stretched out overhead. It was winter, but it was still beautiful.
As much as Angela loved her old home, she loved this city too. It was clean, spacious, and the lake was especially beautiful, reminding her just a little of the sea that used to great her outside her window every morning back in Venice.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” she said to him.
“Yes, I love this city. I’m always glad to come back here… even if it means I’m sick again.” Adrian smiled.
“You don’t live here?”
“No, I’m from a little town up north, about four hours away from here.”
“Four hours?!” Angela exclaimed.
Adrian weakly laughed. “It’s alright. My parents and I are staying at a Ronald McDonald house nearby.”
Angela had heard of those. They were apartment complexes exclusively for the families of sick children to stay while they received treatment at nearby hospitals. They were supported by donations from the fast food chain, McDonalds. She had always been sure to donate a little money to the cause whenever she went to the famous restaurant.
Angela looked down at Adrian’s paper, and saw a sketchy replica of the scene in front of her, and Adrian was continuing to work on it. He held on to a pencil in his right hand that she noticed was shaking. He used his left hand to steady it, and squinted at the paper, moving as close to it as he could.
“Adrian,” Angela started, unsure if she should ask him this question. “What’s wrong with you? I-I mean what kind of cancer do you have?”
Adrian sighed, bringing his hands away from the paper. “I have a brain tumor.” He said, fumbling for an eraser because his shaking hand had made a mistake on his picture. Angela tried not to gasp, as she remembered about Kari’s father who also had a brain tumor and passed away before Kari could forgive him.
Was it the same for this kind boy in front of her?
Would he die?
“Is that why you shake, and are in a wheelchair?”
“Yeah. The tumor’s affected my nervous system and muscles, so I get shaky, and it’s hard to walk.”
Angela didn’t know what to say.
“But those don’t matter to me,” he added.
“W-what?” Angela stammered.
“I’m also going blind.” Adrian said, sadly.
Angela couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t think of anything worse then not being able to see. Not a thing.
“I’d rather die then go blind.” He added, as if responding to her thoughts. “What is there to live for if you can’t see the world around you?”
Angela had wanted nothing more then to continue living throughout her illness, but the idea of not being able to see terrified her.
“You couldn’t draw if you were blind…” she spoke up, realizing how silly she sounded.
“I know.” Adrian replied, looking down at his finely detailed drawing. “That’s why I hope I die before the blindness strikes me.”
Angela didn’t know what to say.
His statement was so final.
So certain.
Who was she to tell him otherwise?
And really, she agreed with him. She’d rather die then lose her sight too.
There was an uncomfortable silence between them then. Each of them were alone with their morbid thoughts.
“What about Arcadies?” Angela spoke up, breaking the silence. “How come she acts so…well…healthy? She doesn’t seem sick at all.” She looked over at Arcadies’ empty bed. She was having a chemotherapy session, and Maria was having some other tests. Adrian and Angela were the only ones in the room that morning.
“Arcadies’ got rimpoma!” and then there was Tomoya, who answered Angela’s question straight out.
“Rimpoma?” she asked.
“Lymphoma.” Adrian corrected them. “An aggressive cancer that attacks the lymph nodes, and causes tumors to grow in different parts of the body.” He explained.
Angela swallowed in.
It sounded so horrible. Her own blood was acting against her, but to think of a strange thing growing inside her and destroying her body was frightening. She didn’t see how Arcadies could be so care free.
“She’s actually very sick, and in a lot of pain.” He added. “She acts out to get attention, and probably to forget her pain.”
Arcadies had refused to go for her treatment that day, and had hid under the bed, kicking the nurse’s fingers whenever she tried to fetch her. Nikko was the only nurse the troublesome girl would listen to.
Angela realized that Arcadies had to be very brave to be able to pretend like nothing was wrong, and she admired the girl’s strength.
“Arcadies izu berry genki ne?” Tomoya spoke up, grinning. He didn’t seem too sick either. Angela wondered how long her beloved nurse’s son had been ill.
Nobody understood what he had said, so he tried again.
“Arcadies izu…healthy!” his translation somehow made less sense then his language barrier, but it was what everyone loved about him. Angela wanted to tickle him and hear his laugh lots more times, but she felt too tired to even do that.
“Why is Maria on this floor?” she suddenly thought to ask, remembering how the night before Adrian had said Maria was only there for tests. Then she shouldn’t be on the floor where children with cancer stayed. She should be with the others like her. Who still had hope to live a normal and healthy life.
“Maria is a strange one…” Adrian replied, thoughtfully.
“Hen da yo.” Tomoya echoed. “Sutorange.”
“I think there’s something her family or even her doctors aren’t telling her. Or she’s lying to us…” Adrian paused. “She hates sick kids, especially kids with cancer. She’s always boasting to us that she’s not sick, and she can go home any day now. But she’s been here almost a week, and she still doesn’t have a solid diagnoses.” He continued, making Angela grimace to think of the terrible things this Maria girl must had said to them. How could she be so cruel as to make fun of kids who were sick? Kids with cancer like her.
“Maybe she’s been diagnosed, but no one has told her the truth. Because this is the oncology floor, she shouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“And haematology~!” Tomoya added.
Angela and Adrian looked at each other.
So maybe Maria had a blood disease.
But what will she be told when she has to start treatment and ends up like the rest of us?
~

Marissa

They were pretty flowers. The prettiest I could find at the flower shop on the corner where I would catch the streetcar to the hospital.
Pink roses and mums, white tiny flowers with golden centers, and mint leaves.
A get well bouquet of flowers recommended to me by the shop owner, who said the mint had a calming effect for sick people. Especially those receiving chemotherapy or radiation, like Angela, and the rest of the giant room were being treated with.
I walked through the halls of the oncology ward, more painfully aware of the sick children around me who wore hats and bandanas to cover their baldness, and carried around basins in case they felt sick.
I didn’t want to see Angela like that. She was too kind. Too beautiful, too perfect. She was my kind, beautiful, perfect friend. She didn’t deserve this.
When I came to her room her curtains were closed, but I could see the shadow of Francesca through the thin linen. Some of the roommates were there, but not many. Maria ignored me like the day before, and Tomoya was busy colouring. Arcadies and Adrian weren’t there.
I felt nervous.
Why was Angela closed off from the others?
Was she sick?
I cautiously walked over to her bed that had a curtain spanning the perimeter.
“It’s your decision, Angie. I’ll support you with whatever you choose.” I could hear Francesca’s strongly accented voice, and saw her shadow as she reached over and gripped Angela’s hands.
“I’m…scared…” I heard Angela’s new, permanently weak voice say. Then I had to know what they were talking about. I gripped the curtain, and called out to them. The curtain was pulled open and Francesca greeted me. I could see Angela behind her, sitting up in bed, and she looked frightened, and her eyes glistened with tears. I swallowed in, hating to see her cry.
“Hello, Marissa.” Francesca smiled, but her voice was weary. “I’m sorry. I was just talking with Angela. Do you want to visit with her?” she asked, pleasantly. Angela smiled when she saw me. I nodded, and gripped the flowers in my hands.
I’d never get used to this.
“Hi, Angie.” I smiled too. She wore her flannel, sky blue pajamas that had little wings at the back, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders. She waved shyly at me. We were best friends, but were distanced by the fear in our hearts. How I hated to be distanced from her.
“How are you?” I asked my friend who sat in a hospital bed with pajamas on and an IV in her arm. What a stupid question.
“I’m feeling OK today, thanks.” She smiled again, and her fear seemed to be leaving her now.
“That’s good, I’m glad.” I replied, glancing down at the flowers in my hand. I had forgotten about them.
“Here, Angie.” I said, handing them to her. “I tried to get your favourites…” I trailed off.
“Oh, Marissa, they’re beautiful!” she cried, breathing in the fragrance of the roses and mint. “Thank you so much.” She looked like she was going to cry again, so I quickly said something.
“Do you smell the mint?”
“Is that what it is?”
“It’s supposed to help calm sick people. Especially people going through chemotherapy…” I said, liltingly, as I remembered how scared and sad she’d seemed when Nurse Nikko had told her she would have to start chemotherapy that very day. I would be afraid too.
“Really…” she replied, weakly. “It makes me feel good…” she smiled, smelling the leaves. Tears came to her eyes, and it made me want to cry too. But I tried my hardest to be strong for her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“I’m sorry.” She replied, shakily. “I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed now.”
I watched as she rubbed away tears from her eyes. I hated this. I hated seeing my friend in constant pain, and it had only been a few days since she got sick.
“Are you OK?” I asked. Angela sighed, and looked down.
“Yeah, I’m OK.” She replied, not convincing me at all. She wasn’t that good of a liar, no matter how secretive she was.
“Please, Angie, you can tell me.” I pleaded. “I’m your friend. I just want to help you.”
Angela hesitated, but finally told me.
“I talked to my doctor today.” She started, and I swallowed in hard, my heart pounding as I realized I was just as afraid to hear the truth as I wanted to be told.
“He told me that this time I need to have bone marrow transplant to completely be rid of the cancer, and survive…” she looked down, and then back up at me. “It would be like a cure…” she trailed off.
A cure?
That was what was making her cry?
Angela sensed my confusion, and then continued.
“No, Marissa, it’s not that simple. Bone marrow transplants are dangerous. I’ve always been afraid of them. The doctors would have to destroy my immune system, leaving me defenseless against infection so that even a cold could kill me, and…” again she trailed off, and I bit my lip.
“I don’t have a donor.”
“What?” I asked, confused and frightened now.
She said it could kill.
She could--
“To have a bone marrow transplant I have to have a person donate their own healthy marrow to me. But our blood types have to match, and many other variables depend on the success of the transplant and must also closely match. The best donor is a family member… but my aunt isn’t compatible with me.” She paused, and looked into my eyes. “I don’t have any other family.”
She was right. She had no one else who was related to her. How lonely that must be.
But also, her very future—her life--depended on something she didn’t have.
A shiver ran up my spine, as I suddenly understood what she was telling me, and why she was crying.
She needed this transplant to live. It was her only chance. But she couldn’t have it because she lacked the one thing every child should have.
A family.
“The doctors say they can put me on a donor list, and I can wait for a compatible donor to help me, but my blood type is very rare…” she stopped. “I’m scared.” She admitted to me, when she would usually pretend like everything was OK.
“I don’t want to die.”
I dropped the purse I held, and ran to her, holding her as she started to cry.
“You won’t die.” I kept repeating, as the tears came down my own face. “You’re not going to die, OK?” I tried to convince her as well as myself as my voice broke, and I felt shaky with sobs and fear.
“You can beat this thing, Angie. I know you can.”
She looked up at me, and oh, how I tried to be brave and not show her my fear.
“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have. Don’t leave me alone again, OK?” She said, tearfully, swallowing in hard, and catching her breath. I couldn’t help but cry more then. Remembering how cruel I had been to her when she really needed me. I wanted to say something back, but suddenly she leaped from her bed, and ran to the bathroom by the door. I wanted to cover my ears as I heard her begin to vomit. But instead, I came over and pulled back her hair, and rubbed her back as she leaned over the toilet and was sick. When she was finished, I helped her wash her face, and brought her back to her bed, my heart aching for her. She held her stomach, and looked very pale and ill.
“I’m sorry, Marissa.” She whimpered, weakly, laying on her pillow and turning to me, as I wiped her face with a warm cloth. “I didn’t mean to be sick in front of you.” Tears came down her cheeks, and I wiped them away for her, feeling like I would cry again too. Because this torture would continue for her, for as long as she was sick, and being treated with chemotherapy.
“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” I smiled, wiping back her hair from her face.
“You’re such a good friend, Mari…” she said, so weak she was shortening my name, which she rarely did, unlike my use of the nickname, Angie. Mari barely suited me.
“Thank you.” She whispered.
I gripped her hand, and she smiled at me. Then Francesca opened the curtains.
“Hey honey, were you sick again?” she asked, concernedly. Angela nodded.
“But Marissa took care of me.” She smiled at me again.
“Marissa is a very good friend to you, isn’t she?” Angela’s aunt smiled at me.
But all I could think about was how bad a friend I had been to her, and I was doing everything I could to make it up to her. Still, I felt myself blush.
I just wanted to take care of Angela. I wanted her to no longer be sick. I didn’t want her to die!
So I was embarrassed by the compliment. I didn’t deserve it.
Angela looked over at me. “She’s my best friend.”
~

“Daddy, open up! Let me in! Please!” I cried banging on my father’s apartment door, as tears streamed down my face.
I had left the hospital in tears that night, overburdened with guilt, and from seeing Angela in pain, and the terrible last option she had to survive. She really could die. She really was depending on another person to live.
I had started to believe that as horrible as these chemo treatments were, maybe she could get better. After all, the other kids didn’t seem too bad. Maybe she could be cured.
But now….now…
“Daddy!” I screamed, grabbing the door knob and pulling down. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted my dad to comfort me. I wanted to lie down and cry for as long as it took for my tremendous anxiety and pain to leave me.
Suddenly, I heard someone coming off the elevator down the hall, and they were laughing. I turned around, and it was my father. But he wasn’t alone. I quickly hid inside a small corridor, and watched in horror as my father drunkenly came toward his apartment with a beautiful, tall, auburn haired woman clinging to his arm.
My heart sank. I felt betrayed. By both parents.
My mother wouldn’t touch me, and my father was with another woman when I really needed him.
I rubbed at my tears as I watched my father and new girlfriend stumble inside his apartment like a drunken pimp and his whore.
I hated the both of them.
I dashed across the hall to the stairs as soon as they were gone, and ran all the way down, crying more then I just had been. When I reached the steps outside in the cold night air, I tripped, and fell down all five steps, scrapping my knees and landing hard on my hands, causing my wrists to burn. I cried out in pain, and continued to sob, tucking myself in the fetal position.
“Hey!” I heard a male voice shout, but I did not look up. I lay on the concrete, holding my bleeding knees, and never wanted to pick myself up.
“Are you alright?” the voice was closer, maybe beside me. “I saw you fall.” The voice said, and he was right beside me. I held my breath, not letting myself cry.
“Speak to me!” the voice cried, and I felt strong hands on my shoulder, shaking me. He thought I was unconscious. The last thing I wanted was to be taken to the hospital for this pathetic injury. I turned over and looked into a pair of the most beautiful, concerned, blue-green eyes I’d ever seen.
“Oh, thank God you’re alright.” He breathed, standing up straight, so I saw him on an angle.
He was tall, probably much older then me, with a white shirt with the emblem of a prestigious university on the front, covered by a sports jacket. He had dark brown hair that hung around his eyes and was longer then most boys who insisted on shaving their hair off now a days.
“I thought you’d been knocked unconscious.” He continued, then he reached out his hand to me. “Are you alright?”
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to accept his help, so I did the stupid thing.
I pulled myself up by leaning on my wrists. The shooting pain made me start to cry again, and I dropped to my elbows, leaning over, and letting the tears freely come. This was pointless. Why should this college boy bother with me? I wished he’d just go away.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked me.
“Go away!” I sobbed.
“You’re hurt, at least let me help you up.” He pleaded.
“I don’t need your help.” I muttered, as I saw him looking at my torn jeans and
bloody knees.
“You’re bleeding. You might have sprained something. Can you walk?” he continued. I refused to answer that.
“Look, I just want to help you. You don’t have to tell me why you’re crying alright? I won’t pry.” His promise intrigued me so I didn’t look away again.
“Give me your hand.”
I cautiously put my hand in his, and was pulled up to a standing position so that I was looking right into his amazing eyes.
“I saw you fall. You could have really hurt yourself. I’m glad you’re alright.” The boy said with a sincerity that I didn’t know existed in boys. At least, not the ones I knew. I didn’t want him to go away anymore. I didn’t want to stop looking in his eyes. Angela had the same kind of intensity that showed in his eyes. It was partly what made her so attractive. I’d always loved them. But to see the intensity on a boy was different. It made me feel something. When the rest of me had gone numb.
“Did someone hurt you?” he suddenly asked, and I blushed and shook my head. I blushed where the tears were.
“I’m sorry to pry, but if that were the case I’d want to get you away from here.”
“Nobody hurt me.” I mumbled.
“That’s good.” He smiled. He had a nice smile. I wondered who he was, and why he was out here. “Here, come sit over here. I have a first aid kit in my car. I can bandage your knees for you.” He offered, helping me sit down on the brick perimeter of a small garden. I looked up at him, but said nothing, as he ran over to the parking lot.
Then I looked down at my knees and realized that I had really cut them bad. My jeans were torn, and there was a lot of blood. It reminded me of when Angela kept having nosebleeds. There was so much blood. How ignorant I was back then.
I started to cry again. I couldn’t help myself. It hurt so bad to think about my dear friend’s horrible illness.
The boy came back, and seemed surprised to see me crying again.
“You’ve got to be the saddest girl I’ve ever met.” He said, taking out a package of surgical Band-Aids.
I still didn’t say anything, but I did try to stop crying.
“And I know you can talk too. You’ve already said something to me, so don’t pretend you can’t.” he grinned, starting to unwrap them. That made me angry, and I turned away.
“I’m sorry.” He said then. “I just want to help you. You seem so sad.”
“I am sad.” I finally replied, when he was starting to put the bandages on my knees. He obviously knew that, and didn’t say anything. He just continued to tend to my wounds like a doctor. He was so concerned. So kind. I’d never met any boy like him. I automatically trusted him.
“My best friend has cancer.” I suddenly decided to tell him.
He stopped what he was doing, and looked up at me concernedly, his eyes meeting mine.
“That…” he trailed off. “…Is a good reason to cry…”
Then suddenly I was telling him everything. From Angela’s lie, to the transplant she spoke of that very night. I poured it all out on his strong shoulders and he listened. He listened like I’d hoped my dad would that night. Like my mother should. And a best friend, whom I could never turn to because it was all about her.
“I really don’t know what to say…” the boy said, after I’d finished, and was struggling to stop crying. “I’ve just met you, and you’ve told me practically your whole life story…”
My heart sank.
He probably thought I was some psycho, needy girl, who clung to anyone who offered to help her. When I was just the opposite. At least in spirit. I was hostile toward him, and anyone else who tried to help me. Even though I needed love, I rejected it when it came. That was just the way I was.
“I feel like I’ve known you for years, but I don’t even know your name. I want to help you.” He continued, and I looked up at him again.
“It’s Marissa.” I said, shakily. “Marissa Collins.”
“Marissa Collins, how can I help you?” the boy asked, sounding so sincere.
“What’s your name?” I asked, and I realized I was blushing. I liked this handsome college boy who was doing everything to help me. How could I not?
“My name is Brian.” He replied.
I smiled slightly, and he smiled back. “I don’t know what to tell you…” Brian suddenly started, talking about Angela now. “…But to just have hope.”
I tilted my head to one side. “I’m not particularly religious… are you?” he asked. I shook my head.
“But I know that having a positive outlook by both the patient and the loved ones will help heal.”
Suddenly I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I hadn’t been positive.
I hadn’t been giving her hope. I cried, I acted awkward around her, I believed she was going to die. What kind of friend was I?
“You look shaken. Did I hit a nerve?” Brian asked.
“Hope…” I said, distantly. “All she needs is hope…” I looked into his eyes. “I haven’t been giving her hope.”
I didn’t know anything about cancer. Just that people died from it. Even children. But now I’d seen that there are treatments, and some children do well, (like the infamous Arcadies)
With his simple sentence Brian had made me realize that I had to be positive for Angela. Treat her like normal, and not dwell on her illness. She had hope herself. Of course I knew that. But she needed mine too.
“You made me realize something I should had known when she first got sick…”
“What?” Brian asked, truly not realizing how much he had helped me. Then I started to laugh. It was funny how he didn’t know his own effect on me. It really was.
“Ah, crying girl is laughing.” He cried, triumphantly. So I laughed more.
“What is it with you?”
I smiled at him as an answer. “You really helped me, Brian. Thank you.”
“Uh… OK… I wish you’d tell me what I did though.” He answered, making me laugh again.
“You just made me realize something I hadn’t before. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m glad then.” He smiled, then he looked over at the barren apartment, thoughtfully. “So why are you out here tonight?”
I followed his gaze, and remembered the other reason I was upset. It still ached to think my dad wanted some other woman instead of taking care of me when I really needed him.
“My father lives here.” I started, looking away from the building and at Brian again. “I came here to stay with him, because I was so upset… I didn’t want to go home, where I live across town.” I looked down at my feet as I spoke, ashamed of my broken and pathetic family. “But my dad was with some woman, so I came out here and cried instead.” I told him, thinking I’d be light-hearted, but I was still tender from that.
“Yeah, divorce is tough that way.” Brian replied, knowingly.
“Yeah…” I said. “Yours too, huh?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Brian started. “If I wanted to run to see my dad it would take about a week to get there.”
“Wow, must be far.” I commented.
“You live with your mom right?” he asked me, and I nodded.
“I don’t.” he replied. “I live on campus at U of T.” he grinned.
“You go to U of T?” I asked, as if I hadn’t noticed it from his shirt.
“Freshmen year.”
“Lucky…” I mumbled. “I wish I went to university and lived on my own…”
“It’s nice sometimes.” He replied. “But also a little lonely.” He paused.
“Hey Marissa, do you have a tissue or something I can use to wipe your knee? You’ve got a pretty deep cut.”
I had forgotten he was looking after my injury.
“Yeah, here in my purse.” I said, picking up my bag, but suddenly I dropped it spilling many of the contents on the ground.
“Sorry!” I cried, bending down to pick everything up. Brian helped too.
I came across a photo-sticker that Angela and I had had done in Chinatown one day and found myself staring at it, remembered when we were so happy and carefree. It wasn’t even that long ago.
“Hey, is that your friend?” suddenly Brian asked me, moving over to the photo. By instinct I grabbed it, and clutched it in my hands away from him.
“Hey, come on, let me see.” He protested. “I want to see who you’ve been telling me about tonight.”
I looked down, and handed it to him, cautiously.
“Wow, she’s pretty.” He said, and just because I got the feeling he liked me, I felt… well, hurt. But everyone said Angela was pretty. Even me.
“Don’t worry, you’re pretty too.” He grinned, catching on to me. I blushed, despite myself.
“Actually, she looks really young. Are you two the same age?” he asked.
I smiled. Angela looked about 13 or 14, and that was only if you saw her whole figure. She had the face of a little girl.
“Actually, she’s a little older than me.” I replied, eager to see his reaction.
Brian blinked.
“She’ll be 16 in February. My birthday isn’t until the end of March. We’re both 15.” I concluded, loving the confused look on his face. Angela and I both tricked people about our age. It was great.
“I thought you were older then 15. Seventeen, or even my age.” He said, dumbfounded.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Eighteen, and able to do almost anything I want.” He winked.
“No alcohol for you.” I pointed out. The legal age was nineteen where we lived.
“Who said anything about alcohol? I wanna go to Vegas, baby.” He grinned again. I tried not to laugh. But it was such a silly thing to want to do.
Oh well, I guess everyone had their own dreams.
Even me.
Brian looked down at the picture again.
“You two look really happy here. Completely carefree. She doesn’t look ill, and you’re not crying girl.” He joked, but his expression remained serious.
“She doesn’t look like that anymore…” I sighed.
“Oh…has she lost her hair? I know the treatments apparently do that.”
I shook my head. “No, she just started treatment. It’s just that—“ I paused, not knowing how to explain the drastic change in my friend. “I’ve seen a part of her I’ve never seen before, and now everything about her is different to me. Things make more sense, and yet I’m still confused. It’s like she’s a whole other person…”
“Whoa, you lost me there.” Said Brian.
“She looks sick.” I clarified, looking at the picture again, and noticing the date was sometime in December. She was already sick then, yet you’d never notice from this picture.
“She’s extremely pale, thin, tired looking all the time, and she’s not happy anymore.” I tried to explain.
“Well, I would think she wouldn’t be too happy…” Brian started.
“No, she still smiles. She’s really good natured about her illness. If I got sick like her I’d probably lock myself in my room and wait to die.” I swallowed in as I spoke.
Brian just looked at me. He didn’t know what to say.
“She used to be vibrant and inspiring. Optimistic and kind to everyone…” I said.
“She’s not anymore?” Brian asked.
“She’s kind still, and I guess because she’s sick she can’t be vibrant…but…” I searched for the right words. “She’s sad.”
Blank stare.
I tried again. “I’ve always known she’d had a tragic life…but now… God, I can’t believe what she’s been through. I almost want to cry every time I look at her. It’s just so sad. She’s so sad.” I said, shakily, afraid I was going to cry again.
Angela also acted different around me. We weren’t as close. But that was probably my fault.
Because I’d hurt her so bad… I thought to myself, guiltily.
“Sounds like your friend’s had it rough.” Brian said.
I nodded.
“Does it feel OK?” he suddenly asked.
“What?”
“The bandages.”
I looked down at my knees, and Brian had bandaged up the cuts, and cleaned the blood so there was no trace of my injury. I barely even felt it anymore.
“Yeah, it feels fine.” I replied. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiled, and I thought we had dropped the subject of my friend. Not that I could blame him. I was probably boring him with my sob stories. I didn’t know why he listened.
“I’m glad I met you tonight and could help you.” He added.
He was speaking about my injury, right?
“Listen, Marissa. You’re not alone. That’s all I can say. You and your friend, you don’t have to be alone while you go through this. Many people get sick, and then get better, and it’s as if it never happened.” He paused, and then looked back at the building. “And many parents get divorced and start new families, but they haven’t truly forgotten you.”
“Just look on the bright side of things. Try to be positive for your friend so she knows you care and that she has your support. And confront your dad about what happened tonight. Tell him how you feel, and if he’s a good father he’ll make it up to you. You can make it through this hard time. ” he concluded, and I almost felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It felt good to finally have someone to talk to.
And I wondered…
“Thank you. You really have helped me tonight. I’m glad I was able to meet you too.” I smiled, and then continued. “So tell me, what is it you’re majoring in at University?”
Brain turned to me and grinned. “Psychology. I want to be an adolescent counselor.” He replied.
Figures.

End Chapter 4


~~~Extra: Tomoya's Glossary~~~

Little Tomoya is going to be a big character in this story, and because he only seems to know one English word, ("Noooooo") I have included this glossary for anyone who doesn't understand Japanese, and the weird ways he pronounces words. There should be one at the end of every chapter now, so hopefully it will help. In any case I always provide a translation within the story, unless Marissa or Angela or the person who's point of view doesn't understand. Then it is supposed to be an unknown word



Japanese

Onne-chan~ Older sister, affectionate term for elder girl.

"Byouki ga aru." ~ I am sick.

Ne~ right?

Okaeri~ Welcome back

Yatta~ Yay!

"Hen da yo."~ Strange isn't she?

Genki~ healthy


Mispronunciation

Anjira~ Angela

Adurin~ Adrian

izu~ is

berry~ very

rimpoma~ Lymphoma

Note: Kari is the short form of Hikari, which is pronounced Hee-ka-ree. So Kari is pronounced Ka-ree (not Cary!)

Thank you all for the reviews, and for reading up to chapter 4. I hope you enjoy the rest of this story.
God Bless.