The Doorstep Diaries, Day 29

The kid barely moved today. Looks pale. I give him 24 hours, then it’s to the nearest pizza joint.
Mushrooms and sausage. Amen.

The girlfriend stopped by but Nurse didn’t let her in. I could hear the argument in the hall. She wanted to see him, she said. He’s not taking visitors, Nurse said. Not today. And you could tell the girlfriend was all done up, ready for a go. I could practically smell the perfume from here. But
Nurse insisted. No boy wants to be seen like that. No boy wants to feel impotent. That’s why. She told her to come back later in the week. I’m not even sure Nurse enjoyed it. She’s been different since those cookies.

Sally showed up though. There was nothing Nurse could do about that. She wore sweats. Not her best, sweats and a t-shirt, but somehow she wore it like a business suit. Even in loose cotton she could do that. No bra though. Nice.

Tom slept. She put her hand on his cheek like a crescent moon, curved and soft. Nurse came in. She put her hand on Sally’s shoulder.

The father stood in the doorway. His hands were in his pockets. He was still in that suit. That damned suit. He stared.

They all stared.

It’s an odd thing, that moment. Tom had said he wanted to live. They all do. Well, most say that at least. They fight and fight—workouts in the morning, low-calorie yogurt, wheatgrass shots, antibiotics, Pilates, chemo--it's like trying to stop puberty. Then one day Grandpa walks in with a hot pastrami on rye and he can’t eat it. Then the cookies. Then the moment. It's terrifying until it happens. Then it’s peaceful.

The dad said it. “Take him off it.”

Nurse nodded.

Sally looked at him, a tear in her eye. She wouldn’t let it go down her cheek, not Sally. The tear just lingered there on her eyelid. She dabbed it with the back of her finger.

“It’s killing him.” He said. “Let him go out in his own way.”

“He’ll feel better. The cancer will accelerate once we stop, but he’ll feel better. A week or so, I’d guess.” Nurse said gently, but factually.

Sally’s hand sat there, cradling. The thumb brushed his peach fuzz. “Okay,” she said. Dad came and put her hands on Sally’s shoulders and she fell into him. She put both her arms around his waist. He rubbed her back gently. “Okay,” he said.

Damn.