Give Me A Reason

by Jennifer Miller

  “Sorry!” I call back. I bet his mom helped him buy me a pretty new pair of shoes. I bet they’re the pink glittery ones I saw at my favorite store that I want so much even though Oliver thinks glitter is stupid. When he said that I told him that he’s stupid and then I got in trouble when my mom heard me. But even though he thinks glitter is stupid, it’s still my birthday and it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Even more excited now, I squeeze my eyes closed this time.

  “No peeking!” Oliver demands.

  “I’m not!” I insist.

  He places something in my hands and I’m unable to tell what it is. “Open them!” he instructs.

  Excitedly my eyes immediately opened and fell to my hands only for me to find a giant warty toad staring back at me. I swear to this day that when I screamed my lungs out in horror that the toad opened its mouth and did the same exact thing. We were both horrified – me to find the slimy lumpy thing in my hands and him for being there in the hands of a very big, very pink, glittery human.

  The toad hopped right out of my hands and I screamed all the way through his backyard and into mine heading toward the door. My mother came running out of our house to find out what was wrong and I became quite angry when instead of understanding my horror she began to laugh.

  Needless to say, I never saw the toad again or ever found it to be very funny, but Oliver still enjoys bringing it up from time to time. It took me a while to forgive him after that, but that was a small bump in what was the best friendship a girl could have. I helped him with his homework and he defended me to any boy that suggested I was a disgusting girl. In high school, I developed a massive crush on him, but he was too busy dating girl after girl to notice. Oh, we still hung out, but except for one brief moment, he never saw me as more than his friend or maybe sister. Actually, it was like I was his best guy friend or something. Not at all what I would have liked to be. Then or now, but I guess even more so today I understand why that was never meant to be and maybe eventually I’ll be grateful we were both spared anything but friendship.

  We kept in touch through college and later when we both moved out of our homes and started our young adult lives. However, we’ve grown apart a bit over the last few years – at least I think so. A big part of it is because I moved back in with my mom, helped take care of her and shut everyone else out. I took her death horribly and Oliver was there for me through that but then we grew apart again after a while. I think he just couldn’t tolerate my unending grieving – he was ready for me to move on. That angered me for a while, but inevitably, I got it. I was hard to be around. After a while, he randomly phoned me and asked me to meet him for dinner and eventually, as the bonds reformed, our monthly dinner began. I’ve never quite been able to shake my feelings for him, but after today I definitely know that it will never happen. Well that and one other reason – her name is Justine.

  I’m sure Justine is a great person; I’ve just never gotten the chance to really find out. She and Oliver weren’t dating long before she let it be known that she didn’t appreciate my friendship with Oliver. I backed off, but he’s persistent as always. When I blew one dinner date off, he insisted on making another for the next week. He won’t let me pull away and I quit trying, although I know he won’t be thrilled tonight because we haven’t met in a couple of months now.

  Truth is, with everything going on I simply forgot what day it is. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” I stop and sigh. “It’s been a long day. I’m really sorry.” I keep repeating myself.

  I’m not sure what he hears in my voice, but to me, I sound the same as always. Maybe a little tired, but Oliver sounds alarmed, “What’s wrong, Remy?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. Can we get a rain check? Maybe next week some time? Or we can wait until our regular time next month.”

  “That’s what you told me last month when we were supposed to meet and you cancelled and asked for a rain check,” he says making me realize my mistake. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me nothing, I know you better than anyone.”

  I want to deny it, tell him maybe he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks. I want to laugh and tell him he’s crazy and that a girl’s allowed to be tired and forgetful. Instead, I hesitate, and that’s once again, a mistake. “Oliver-“ I manage, but my voice breaks on his name.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he tells me and before I can muster a response, he’s disconnected the call.

  What have I done? I’m not ready for this conversation. I told my cat. That’s all I’m emotionally prepared to do today. He’s right though, still to this day he knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to know I’m lying in an instant.

  Looking around my home as if it contains all the answers I need, Meatball catches my eye. He’s lying on top of my bookcase staring at me accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I tell him. His reply is to twitch his tail around spastically and look away as if he can’t bear to deal with me.

  By the time Oliver’s knocking on the door, I’m no closer to deciding how I want to handle this.

  “Remy it’s me,” he says impatiently through the wooden door. Unlocking it, I let him inside. He takes one look at me and envelops me in his arms. “What’s going on? And don’t even think about blowing me off.”

  “Oliver, this is silly,” I say immediately ignoring what he just said and watching as Meatball who jumped down from his perch immediately upon seeing Oliver, rubs himself all over his legs in hello. “I forgot what day it is. You didn’t need to come over. You should have just gone home or used the opportunity to take Justine out. We can reschedule.”

  He drops his arms and backs away from me making Meatball scurry away offended and folds his arms across his chest. He stares at me. His eyes squint and I can see him trying to evaluate what he sees on my face.

  “What?” I ask self-consciously wiping at my mouth where his eyes had lingered for more than a few beats.

  “You’re going to tell me what’s going on. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes and they look sad and strained. You’re biting your lower lip and squinting your eyes, which tells me you have a stress headache. You’re wearing your favorite sweatshirt – the one you’ve had for years and you only wear when you need comforting. Your hair is in a ponytail so that means you didn’t work today because you never wear it up at work. Speaking of work, you never take a day off or use any of your vacation days for that matter, so, I repeat, you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Something’s up and I’m not leaving until you tell me what it is.”

  Why do I always doubt his care for me? The importance I have in his life? Just because we haven’t ever gotten together romantically doesn’t mean that I’m not just as important to him as he is to me. I need to stop doing that. If it were the other way around, I’d want to know what’s going on with him too.

  He walks away from me to sit on my couch, but his posture is anything but relaxed. His mouth is tense, his arms crossed, and he takes up the space like he owns it. He’s looking at me expectantly like I have no choice to do what he says and for a moment I feel indignation at the suggestion, but it’s fleeting. Suddenly, the small bit of fight I have inside me dies. He watches the various emotions pass over my face and it makes his jaw tighten even more with worry.

  Sitting next to him on the couch, I turn my body to face him while struggling to figure out how to begin. Looking anywhere but at him, I open my mouth a couple times only to close it again. His hand is suddenly in mine squeezing it gently. My eyes meet his and in them I find worry, but there’s something else. Something that relaxes me a bit and makes me feel comfort; makes me feel safe. Finally, I say what I’m thinking, “I don’t even know how to begin,” my words a whisper.

  “It’s just me. We’re Remy and Oliver, Oliver and Remy. There’s nothing we can’t share. Just tell me.”

  But I can’t. I can’t just… spit it out. Part of me wants to get right to the point, but for some rea
son saying the c-word is impossible. I told Meatball, isn’t that enough? I laugh out loud at the thought and Oliver’s eyes widen a little. I know how I must sound to his ears. “This all just feels… surreal, I’m sorry.”

  He waits patiently and I decide to start at the beginning. “I guess it was a month ago that I went to the doctor for the first time.” I can’t look into his eyes, so I turn to look out the window instead. It’s dark outside, but I have a perfect view of the street. There aren’t any cars driving by or people walking around. No children’s laughter floating on the air and even the bugs are quiet tonight. The inaction is such a contrast to the emotions roiling within me.

  “I hadn’t been feeling well. Tired mostly. I had no energy and achy muscles and joints for no apparent reason. I can’t explain it really other than to say it felt like I had the flu – for days.” His hand finds mine and tightens making my gaze move from the window back to him. “They started with a flu test, that turned into a blood test - then another blood test. They wanted to check my levels, but when they got the results they weren’t telling, so then they sent me to a hematologist who also took my blood and did his own test. He told me I may be anemic or had a vitamin deficiency and gave me some worst-case scenarios that I guess I didn’t really digest. I didn’t want to.”

  “You said they thought you may have anemia or a vitamin deficiency. So, does that mean that’s not what it is?”

  I shook my head, “I had a CT scan and based on the results had a…mammogram.” My mouth tightens and Oliver’s eyes widen, he knows exactly where I’m going with this now and I can already see the fear affecting his body. It’s shining in his eyes and tightening his muscles. His hand is gripping mine even harder. Doing my best to push past the feelings all of that evokes, I swallow hard. “They found a mass. So I had a biopsy so they could see if it was malignant or benign. You know the drill.”

  “Remy?” Oliver has said my name a thousand times before, but the way he says it now tells me all I need to know. He’s scared. He’s pleading. He’s asking me a silent question that I wish more than anything in this world I had a different answer for him than the one I possess.

  “It’s cancer,” I say looking him straight in the eyes so there’s no room for doubt. No denial here. “I have breast cancer.”

  I wish it were possible to remove bad memories from a person’s mind. A built in eraser or a page like on those silly writing things we had as a child where you lifted the page and everything that had been recorded magically disappears. If so, I could simply and efficiently remove all the things I no longer want to remember from my mind – never having to think about them again. There are many I would wipe clean in a heartbeat. Things I hate to relive over and over - things I would give anything to never think of again. I know without a doubt that this moment will always be one of them.

  The stricken look on Oliver’s face gives me a sharp pain in my chest. The way his face completely loses any trace of hope or denial when he sees the truth on mine. His eyes cloud with terror and his jaw clenches. The need to make sure this is reality shows in the way he grips my hand. A reaction so potent I’m not only seeing it, I’m feeling it right along with him.

  He swallows repeatedly. His head nods several times and I know thoughts are racing through his mind. “Okay. Okay. So, you have cancer, but there’s treatment. I’m sure you caught it early, so first we need to get a second opinion, right? Right,” he answers his own question. “Then we need to get started on a treatment plan immediately. I remember how this works. What did your doctor say to you, exactly?”

  “In all honestly, a lot of it’s a blur. But, it’s not great news. It’s aggressive, which I’m all too familiar with and they want to talk about chemotherapy, radiation and…”

  “And what?”

  I try to tell him but just thinking the words makes my throat tighten and my stomach feel queasy.

  “And what, Remy?” I still can’t say it. Instead I look at him, really look at him. And he sees. His eyes drop down to my chest and pop back up again. He knows. He remembers what I went through alongside my mom. He became my rock and at times my safe place and escape when my mom was sick. If I hadn’t already been in love with him before then, that would have done it. “Are they sure?”

  “It doesn’t look good, Ollie,” I say calling him by his childhood nickname. “Believe me, I would give anything to have better news, but the truth is, it’s only a matter of time. A total mastectomy is likely and chemotherapy will hopefully help, but let’s be honest – it will only extend the inevitable.”

  “We’re getting a second opinion. We need to make sure we understand all of your options.” I’m silent, not acknowledging his words, but he knows me too well. “What aren’t you saying?”

  I shrug, “Nothing.”

  “It’s written all over your face. Tell me.”

  “Fine. The truth is, I don’t see a point in getting a second opinion. I mean come on, we already know how this works.”

  “We know how it worked with your mom, but this is different.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “Yes it is,” he insists.

  “No it’s not. She had breast cancer and now it’s found its way to me too.”

  “I don’t care, it’s not the same at all.”

  “How is it not?”

  He takes my shoulders in his hands and grips them, “Because this time, it’s you!”

  I laugh, but it sounds hollow, “It doesn’t matter, don’t you get that?”

  “It matters to me. It should matter to you.”

  “Well it doesn’t!” I knock his hands off my shoulders. “I don’t care who has it, the disease is the same. Your life becomes separated into two parts – before cancer and after cancer. It’s vicious and ugly. It strips you down until you forget the person you were before getting cancer or it’s worse, you remember exactly who you were and the fact you’re no longer that person makes depression compound an already wicked situation. It can strip away the person you were before cancer, can make you beg, plead and pray to just feel better – for a week, for a day, then it morphs into an hour, just an hour. The sick part is for a while it may even ease. It may go away and you’ll think you’re stronger and better and the treatment plan was actually effective. Hope will start building in your heart once again. You’ll start looking toward a future you weren’t sure you’d get to have. You’ll start to believe it’s possible.”

  “Remy…”

  “But then you realize it was all a hoax, a cruel joke. It comes back. It comes back and it will be stronger, fiercer, less forgiving and lethal. It will have you begging crawling and scratching your way through. It will strip you of your soul, maybe even make you beg to die. To just die and take away the pain. Did I ever tell you that in her worst moments she begged to die, Oliver? One time she was sick and in the bathroom on her knees at the toilet and she was asking God to just take her home. To let her fight be over.” Looking into Oliver’s eyes I open myself up and let him see the devastation I still carry. How even after five years it all haunts me still. “She had hope again, for a while. But then it was just… gone. She fought the fight of her life and it didn’t matter at all. It took her anyway. It’s the worst kind of torture.”

  “Remy,” Oliver cups my face in his hands, runs his thumbs over my cheeks, “I know you’re scared, but please listen to me. What you saw…what your mom went through… it doesn’t mean that it will be the same for you.”

  “You’re naive if you believe that.” Stepping back from him, his hands fall to his sides. I shrug, “You know, I keep thinking, this shouldn’t even be surprising anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a part of you had to know this was coming, right? I mean - I certainly did. After what happened with my mom and my family history and genetics, this was bound to be my future. Everyone always said I took after her. Guess it’s true in more ways than one,” I laugh.

  “That’s not even funny,” his j
aw tightens and he walks to the window, but then turns to face me.

  “Well hey, they say laugher’s the best medicine. Although I’ve never heard of it curing cancer.”

  “How can you…?” I stare at him silently telling him to ask. “How can you laugh? This isn’t funny.”

  “Isn’t it though? I mean, I nursed my mom through this. I watched her slowly die day after day and tried to do anything and everything I could to help her. For a while, I ridiculously thought time, prayers and love combined with her therapy would be enough to save her. Prayers work, they said. Don’t lose hope, they reminded me. Let it all out it’s bad to bottle up your emotions, they advised. Well you know what? None of that helped - none of it. She died anyway. And it was awful, painful, horrible.”

  “I know,” Oliver moves to me. “I know, sunshine,” he says calling me by a name I can’t remember him ever not using at times. “But-

  “But what?” I raise my voice. “You want me to rant? You want me to cry and scream and yell at God and ask him why me? Why the hell would I? It didn’t work when I did all of that for my own mother. Why would it be any different for me? Why should it? She was a much better person than I am. If she didn’t deserve a miracle, how the hell do I?”

  “Remy…”

  “No, Oliver. Just stop. Stop trying to tell me it will be different. I won’t hear it. Because the truth is, I won’t do it. I will not die the way she did,” I tell him emphatically.

  “What aren’t you saying, Remy? Just say the words and stop hinting at them.” Damn him for being so smart and perceptive. He takes my upper arms in his hands and grips them hard – not enough to hurt – but enough to let me feel the emotion behind the action. His voice is shaking, his eyes fill with unshed tears. He looks devastated and suddenly I hate myself. I hate myself for taking this out on him. He doesn’t deserve it. Like a balloon losing air, all the fight within me dissipates and I sag in defeat, Oliver holding me tight.

  “I don’t know, Oliver,” I say softly chickening out of telling him the truth. “I’m still processing all of this and my thoughts and feelings are all over the place. I’d like to be able to lay it all out for you and answer your questions but the truth is, I’ve barely had time to really let this sink in and figure it out for myself.”