by Anna Kyss
“Me too.” He gently brings his lips to mine. “If only we were in a fairytale. I would find the magic amulet that could freeze time, stop the future from coming, and wipe away all memories of the past.”
“That sounds lovely.” I kiss him back.
He pulls away. “I feel like I deceived you.”
“We both had secrets. We agreed it was okay to keep certain things private.” I reach for his hand. “That’s not deceit.”
“But you still ended up hurt.” His voice cracks.
Funny how hours ago, I was so angry with Sage for not telling me he was sick, but I can’t bear to listen to his self-reprimands.
“We’re dancing around the real issue.” Sage stands up. “This is how I should have introduced myself. Hello, Abby. My name’s Sage, and I have brain cancer.”
Even after hearing his mother say the words and Susan confirming them, those two ugly words come to life when Sage utters them. Brain cancer.
I sit perfectly still and keep my face as expressionless as possible. “Tell me about it.”
“My official diagnosis is low-grade astrocytoma. Astrocytoma. Doesn’t that sound like a cool new star?”
Trust Sage to always put a positive twist on everything, even the name of his potential killer. “What does it really mean?”
He sighs. “I have a large tumor growing in my brain. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
How can he talk of good news? “Tell me the positive stuff.” I can do this. I can have a conversation with Sage about his tumor without running away or sobbing or breaking down.
“So far, it’s been a very slow-growing kind of cancer.” Sage lifts me from his lap then stands. “That’s why I was able to put off treatment for six months. My oncologist felt it wouldn’t make a difference whether she operated that week or six months in the future.”
I take Sage’s hand and wander along the path. “Tell me about the bad stuff,” I finally say.
He increases his pace. “According to my oncologist, the tumor’s in an extremely risky spot to operate on.”
“What could happen?” I don’t want to know, but I need to ask.
“The bulk of the tumor is in my temporal lobe. That’s the part of your body that controls hearing, language, and memory.”
“So if they cut it out?” I can handle this. I will handle it, for Sage’s sake.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s infiltrated actual brain tissue. When they remove the tumor, there’s a chance I won’t be the same afterward. Some people forget how to speak or lose their memories, but others might lose even more. I could end up with permanent brain damage, and that’s if I’m lucky.”
“If you’re lucky?”
“Abby, many people don’t even make it through the surgery.” Sage studies me carefully. His eyes convey his concern. He’s entirely focused on my reaction.
I try to swallow, but my throat’s completely dry. Even though brain tumors can be fatal, hearing Sage list out all the potential outcomes makes it even harder to bear.
I must be strong. But I don’t know if I can anymore.
“How can you stand here and calmly talk about your life ending?” I wipe away a stray tear. “Why aren’t you screaming or crying? It’s not fair!” I want to scream. I want to yell my frustration to whoever will hear it. Why Sage? Why kind, sweet Sage?
“I was having these reoccurring headaches—that’s how I first was diagnosed—and when the doctor gave me the news, I realized I had two options.” He sits cross-legged under a sunny window and pats the ground in front of him. “I could waste my time being angry, or I could spend it really living.”
I sink down in front of him, cross my legs so our knees touch, and take his hands.
“My doctor scheduled my surgery for six months out. She gave me six short months. There was no way I was going to waste those months being angry at the world.” Sage squeezes my hands. “I had six months to fulfill all my dreams.”
“How are you doing on your list?”
Sage’s face clouds. “Well, this seizure sort of messed things up. Mom already had the surgery moved up to next month, and I have to leave way earlier than I wanted to.”
I release his hand so I can cup his face. “I’m going to be there for you, Sage. I am going to be with you every step of the way.”
He brushes my hand away. “I’m sorry, Abby, but that’s not what I want. I just wanted to say my goodbyes and head home… alone.”
SAGE DOESN’T want me. He would rather be all alone than have someone by his side. “Why? Why can’t I help you through this?”
Sage remains in his crisscrossed pose. “Studying Buddhism has really helped me come to terms with my tumor.”
“Can you tell me how?”
“Buddhist philosophy centers on suffering. Its causes, what helps, why humans suffer.” He leans back and stretches his legs out until he lies in front of the window.
Maybe that’s a sign this conversation will be too hard to have if we’re looking at one another. I lie down, too, right by his side.
“The texts would say my tumor is not the cause of my suffering.” He sighs. “Because death is an inevitable part of life.”
“That’s ridiculous. I mean, I know everyone dies eventually, but it doesn’t seem fair for people to die before they’ve really lived.” I can’t help but think of Robbie. He never had the chance to go to college or move out of his parents’ house or to celebrate his twenty-first birthday at a club. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.
Sage rests on one elbow and looks at me with troubled eyes. I cannot believe how insensitive I’ve been. He’s more aware than anyone of how much he might lose.
After a long, awkward pause, I ask, “So what is the real cause of suffering?”
“Attachment.” Sage lies back down. “In my case, attachment to living, attachment to all those things on my list, attachment to…” He stares at me, wordlessly communicating something with his pointed look.
He couldn’t mean he’s growing attached to me, could he? I’m growing attached to him. Otherwise his rejection a few minutes ago wouldn’t have been nearly so painful. Then the truth behind his words sinks in. Robbie’s death would have never hurt so much if he were just another kid from my high school. My love—our connection—created the terrible pain and my unwillingness to let him go.
If Sage had introduced himself as the boy with brain cancer on day one, I never would have allowed myself to become so close to him. I would have been too scared to lose someone all over again. That’s the flaw.
“Attachment may lead to more suffering.” I lie on my side, facing Sage. “But how empty would life be without love? Without friendship?”
“That’s exactly the argument I’ve been struggling with. I don’t think the texts were saying never to get attached to anyone. I think they were saying be aware of how those attachments could be related to suffering.”
“You love all this philosophy stuff.”
“Well, I was a philosophy major.” His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Radical honesty time. You’re pretty cute when you’re talking all philosophical.”
“That’s a turn-on?” He has to be kidding.
“Probably only for a philosophy major.” Sage rests his hand on my hair. His fingers stroke my locks.
“Radical honesty time. I feel pretty attached to you.”
“Oh, Abby.” He runs his thumb along my hairline and over my cheek until it rests at the corner of my mouth. “I can’t fight my attachment, either.”
I try to find words to respond but am distracted by the path his thumb took. Sage’s lips—full and soft—are only an inch from mine. So tempting. Our lips meet. I show him my attachment through the slowest, softest, most tender kisses. When his tongue dances with mine, I know he’s showing his.
He breaks away and gasps for air. “Spend tomorrow with me? It’ll be my last day in Sydney.”
How could I say no? Each moment with Sage has become precious.
>
IN THE morning, I take the first ferry to Circular Quay. While waiting for Sage to show up, I head over to the street performers. The glass orb man performs, rolling his translucent ball along his body. As his actions increase in speed, the glass ball levitates in the air.
“Fantastic trick, even when watching it the second time.” Sage embraces me in a giant bear hug. “I’m so glad we get to spend today together.”
“Where’s your mother?” She can’t be happy I’m dragging her sick child around Sydney.
“I encouraged her to spend the day sight-seeing. I even left a list of the places she’d most enjoy.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” I take Sage’s hand. I don’t want to miss one minute of contact with him.
“She’ll probably stay in the hotel room on her computer, doing pointless research for the thousandth time.” He sighs. “She keeps hoping she’ll find a magic cure-all.”
“You’re her only son. Of course she’d want to do everything she can to help you.” I understand standing on the sidelines, watching the one you love suffer. The fear of knowing it’s only a matter of time until you lose your loved one forever.
“Besides, I don’t want to spend my last day in Sydney talking about my mom.” He leads me away from the docks. “Today’s all about us.”
“It’s really your last day.” He flies home tomorrow, but it still makes me sad to think of finishing my volunteer time without him. The next two weeks are going to be so lonely.
“We’ll head to Susan’s for dinner. She’s fixing a special goodbye meal.” He guides me over to one of the bus stops.
“What else do you have planned?” I glance at the bus destination. “The beaches? We’re going back to the beaches?”
“I want to revisit some of our favorite spots on the hike.” A city bus pulls up. Its brakes squeal as it rolls to a stop, and the doors open automatically. “Is that okay?”
I step aboard the bus instead of answering. While we did make some special memories at the beginning, I completely broke down mid-hike. Why would Sage ever want to bring me back there?
The morning passes without incident. Neither of us brought our suits, so we had to skip the inviting blue water, but we did make our way down to nearly every beach along our hike. At the last beach, Sage visits the refreshment shop and comes back with two double-decker ice cream cones. As I hike, I lick at the quickly melting cone, trying to catch each drip before it falls.
“Having fun?” He takes a big bite of his ice cream.
I’m not sure how to answer that question. I love spending time with him, but with each step we take, my dread builds. While I said my goodbyes to Robbie, I’m not sure I’m ready to face the cemetery again.
He picks up on my struggle and gives me the most awkward dripping-cone-in-hand hug ever. “There’s a reason I wanted to come here.”
“Yeah?” I nibble my cone and study the trail. Anything not to make eye contact right now.
“You’ve got a heart of gold, Abby.” Sage places his free hand over my heart. Its beat intensifies under his gentle pressure.
“But putting everyone else first isn’t always a good thing. You give and give and give until you have nothing left for yourself.” He begins walking again.
The trail’s rising higher and higher. We’re nearly there. I wish we could just retreat down the trail, but he keeps moving. “Sage—”
He doesn’t look back. “I know. You don’t even want to see the cemetery.”
So why is he making me do this? For a moment, his cold determination is so different from the kind-hearted, sweet Sage I know.
“We can’t just pretend everything is fine.” He takes my hand and walks around the next corner. Waverly Cemetery appears on the right side. “Abby, there’s a fifty percent chance that I’ll be lying in one of these next month.”
The rows of gravestones, Sage’s words, my memories of Robbie. It’s all too much. I freeze. Sage glances at me, groans, and leads me to a small bench. We’re not actually in the cemetery, but Sage makes sure we have a prime viewing spot from this bench.
“I know you want to come home with me,” he says gently.
“I do. I want—”
“To take care of me,” he finishes. “You’re probably an expert at it, too. That’s the thing. You’re only nineteen years old. You shouldn’t be an expert. You should be out living your life.”
“I don’t mind. I want to take care of you.” I squeeze his hand. “Wouldn’t it be easier to fight if I was right by your side?”
“It sounds tempting, but it would be selfish to ask you to sacrifice your life for a second time.”
“Is it really a sacrifice if I’m doing it willingly?”
“What would make me happy is to see you actually enjoy life, create new experiences, make new friends, and see different places.” He kisses me softly on my cheek. “Please, Abby. Since I’m not able to, would you be my eyes and ears?”
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t go on enjoying life while Sage is in pain. It wouldn’t be right. “What if I don’t agree?”
He covers his face with his hands. I can barely hear his muffled response, “Then we say our goodbyes today and go our separate ways.”
He would leave me? This living-life thing must be important to him, if he would end our budding relationship over it. I turn away from him and study the ocean.
“I just want to protect you from sacrificing yourself. If I don’t make it, I need to know you won’t lose yourself again.”
“Who cares about all your attachment nonsense?” Tears roll down my face as I face him again. “There’s this thing called grief. It’s normal for people to grieve their loved ones when something happens.”
Sage tugs at one of his curls. Even when he’s frustrated, he’s absolutely adorable. “Sure, grief is normal. We’ve all experienced grief. Locking yourself away from everyone, getting kicked out of school, running all the way around the world to get away, none of that is normal.”
Touché. I don’t even know to respond. I can’t exactly deny any of his charges. I am guilty, guilty, guilty… of loving too much and too long and too deeply.
“If something happens to me, I need to know you’ll be okay.” His eyes plead with me.
“I can’t promise,” I whisper.
“But if you’re in the habit of living, it will make it that much easier for you.” Sage caresses my face. “It’s going to be so hard to be bedridden for months. I want to see the world through your eyes.”
I savor his gentle touch. Sage has seen me at my worst, guilt-ridden, lonely, and broken. He helped put the pieces together, after all. I can’t blame him for wanting to protect me. Besides, he may be right. When my world revolved around Robbie, I had absolutely nothing left after he died.
Maybe practicing living will help, and if it makes Sage happy…
“Okay.” I kiss his sun-reddened lips. “I’ll be your eyes.”
We spend the hour-long hike back to the bus arguing about the terms of our agreement. Our negotiations sound business-like, almost like they belong in a penthouse office suite rather than this beautiful cliff-side hike. Oceans, beaches with golden sands, the azure-blue sky, none of these have anything to do with negotiations or mediations.
“No daily letter writing,” Sage orders.
“What’s wrong with letter writing? I could be anywhere and still write letters to you.”
“That’s my entire point. You’d be more focused on making sure you wrote each day than on whatever else was going on.”
He’s so busy protecting me, he’s forgetting to think about himself. About the joy each new letter brings, about the sense of connection and caring a hand-written letter provides. If Sage is going to think only of me, I need to focus entirely on him.
We pass a souvenir shop on the way to the bus stop, and the solution comes to me. “Postcards.”
“What?” Sage looks into the store. “You want to buy postcards?”
“No, what
if I sent postcards? I could only write to you on the back of a postcard.” The idea makes me cringe a little. My thoughts and feelings naked on the back of the postcards for anyone to see.
Sage smiles. “I like it. You would have to keep visiting new places to get postcards.”
“You’d truly be able to see the world through my eyes.” I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. He’s right. I would need to make an effort to see new places. That’s so far outside of my comfort zone I can’t even imagine it.
“Okay, postcards.” Sage beams now. “Our first compromise.”
THE REMAINDER of the long trip back to the farm continues in the same manner. We work out visitations on the forty-five minute bus ride. I refuse his “once a month” offer right from the beginning, and he rejects my “every single weekend” rebuttal immediately.
“If you spend every weekend with me, how will you be able to see new places? You’re weekdays are already going to be super busy with school,” Sage argues. School is one of his non-negotiable items. He wants me to enroll in my local community college so I can raise my GPA again. He insists an education is vital to being in the land of the living.
The bus rolls through the city streets. We’re going to be back at Circular Quay soon, and I’m so tired of arguing about terms, I’m desperate to come to a compromise.
I sigh and throw up my hands. “Sundays. I can live life on Saturdays and tell you all about it on Sundays.”
He smiles at me. “As long as you take the last weekend each month for bigger trips.”
“Agreed.” I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. I can’t figure out why this is so hard. I got over my fear of watching another person I care about die, but he’s still not ready to welcome me into his healing.
Sometimes, thinking of others first has its downfalls.
After the doors open to our stop, we cross the street to the docks then watch as our ferry pulls up.
As we make our way up the ramp, he talks about therapy. Whether I should pick my own therapist, or he should try to find someone who specializes in bereavement counseling.
