Mars

by Rose, Jasmine

  I grab the sweatpants beside the bed and reach to put them on.

  He takes my hand, throws me a hoodie I recognize as his. He had forgotten it at my house and I decided to keep it because it was too big and it smelled like him. I throw it on.

  We creep out of the bedroom slowly and close the door carefully. He starts running to the elevator and he presses the lowest floor button. I stare at him questioningly, but I trust him.

  He gets out and leads me to a big room I recognize as the pool area.

  “Are you serious?” I say.

  He shrugs. “There’s a hot tub.”

  “But—fine.”

  I look down at my sweatshirt and ponder on the fact that if I take it and the shirt I have under off, I’d only be in my bra.

  He is already taking his shirt off and dipping his toe in the water. He takes his jeans off and sits in the hot tub area, sighing with contentment.

  ASDFGHJKL.

  He looks incredibly hot.

  Like out of this world hot.

  Like the-sun-is-jealous hot.

  His eyes meet mine and he raises an eyebrow.

  “Why aren’t you sitting in this marvel of the world with me?”

  I shift my feet awkwardly. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  “Pish, posh. You have the shorts, which I am still debating if they are underwear or not, and you can take the hoodie and shirt off.”

  Insecurity is gnawing at me like a monster about to swallow me. I didn’t even like to wear bikinis, and Ethan, well, he had seen me before. Let’s just say that our make-out sessions could get a little overboard.

  Taking my hoodie off, I stare at my shirt. Thinking off the polka-dot black bra I have under it makes me thank God I didn’t decide to sleep without a bra. I am soon clad in too-short shorts and a bra.

  Logan smiles and ushers for me to come in the tub with him.

  I sit on the edge of the pool and play with my legs underwater. The level of water is shallow enough for me to sit. I do, and I feel relaxation wash over me when I feel the pumping of water behind my back. I feel warm.

  “Can I?” says Logan, pointing to the space between us.

  “Sure,” I say, while trying to ignore the fact that we are both half-naked. Or ¾ naked at this point.

  He closes the space between us when he puts his arm around my shoulder.

  “Now, do you regret coming down here?”

  Shirtless Logan? Hot steaming water?

  “Nope,” I say, grinning at him.

  “You know, I think you underestimate your hotness.”

  “Ah? Really, now?”

  He nods. “Mhm. I have this theory that hot people are blind to their hotness.”

  “But, you say you know you’re hot. Does that make you not hot?”

  Of course not.

  “Of course not. It just means that I am half-blind. Like I have one eye that sees, and another that doesn’t. With the one eye I see me, the other I see YOUR hotness.”

  I laugh. “You know that made no sense, right?”

  “No, it made sense to me.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  “You’re mean!”

  “You love it.”

  He puts a hand on his chin as if to think. “Yeah, I do. I love you being mean and I love you.”

  “I really like it when you say that.”

  “What? I love you?”

  Dear stomach, if you don’t shut up the butterflies in there, I will die.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Okay then. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love—” He takes a dramatic deep breath. “—You. I looooooooooove you.”

  I put my hand on his mouth. “Shut up.”

  He takes my hand away. “Amaryllis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think happens?”

  “What happens when?”

  “When you die.”

  I close my eyes and pray not to cry. “I don’t know. But, you know, I bet good stuff happens. I dream about my mom all the time and she talks to me in my dreams. She says that she’s happy.”

  “Really?”

  I think of her smiling face that glowed with a white light. I remember her telling me to take care of dad and of myself. “Yeah. I think she would have liked you.”

  “When I meet her, I’ll be sure to say hello.”

  I can’t hold back the tears anymore, so I bob my head underwater. Now, if I cry, it won’t seem like it. I resurface.

  “Tell her I miss her,” I say, pulling my hair away from my face. “Tell her I love her for me, okay?”

  “She knows.”

  “Will you know? Will you know how much I’ll miss you?” I say, hiccuping. I’m crying now, my eyes are burning from the water and from my tears.

  He takes me in his arms and put his head on mine. “Of course, baby. I’ll know. Just don’t cry, okay?”

  I pull myself away from him and look at him. “I can’t stop myself. I feel like —hiccup— my world will end when you go. I feel like all that’s good in the world will go away. You’ll take my love for you, with you. I don’t want you to go. I feel like you’ll tear my heart out of my chest and take it with you.”

  “Amaryllis, I—”

  “Don’t talk, please. I want to talk,” I say. “With Ethan I thought I was in love. But I wasn’t. I was naïve and I was in love with the idea of love.

  "But you, Logan, I love you. I love every piece of you; I love every cell of you, even though some of them hurt you. You make me feel alive. You make me feel scared, though. I am terrified of how much I love you. I’m terrified at the thought that one day—I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. I just love you so much it almost hurts. It’s the kind of love that breaks you to pieces and glues you back together. You hold me like you’re holding the most precious thing, I love it and I hate it. Fuck, my heart beats for you, Logan. What happens when yours stops beating?”

  He does not answer, for silence speaks louder than words. He takes my hand and everything that he needed to say is screamed by the way our fingers touch together.

  He is home. I don’t want to be homeless.

  28

  La vie en rose

  “Let’s sit here,” I say, setting the picnic basket on the meadow beside the waterfall. This is Jenna’s idea; she remembered an undiscovered waterfall a few miles away from her house.

  The sound the water makes while hitting the rocks brings shivers on my arm. Gratefully, the weather chose to be beautiful today. The sun hits the back of my neck, warming it without forming sweat. A slight blow of wind graces upon us, but it is far from cold.

  Logan smiles, “You’re the best.”

  The way his hair is tucked into his hat, but the lower tips of his ears are bright red. His cheeks are the color of roses blooming in the spring. His cheekbones show, making his face look softer. His eyes are anticipating and ready to take on the last months of his world.

  “Amaryllis,” he says, “I need to be fed.”

  I mockingly glare at him, “Are you a hungry monster, wanting to be fed?”

  “Duh.”

  His hand is shaking. I take off my glove and put it in his hand. Idiot, he is an idiot for forgetting to wear gloves. He says they’re not manly.

  My heart is doing somersaults in my chest. I take out the grilled cheese sandwiches from the picnic basket. I pour two cups of fruit juice and hand the lunch to him.

  “Thank you,” he says, kissing my cheek.

  Lately, he has been taking every possible opportunity to kiss me. Either on the cheek, lips, forehead, arm; everything. He smiles more often, even though I have noticed him getting weaker. He got a seizure last night, which is already twice in a month. It isn’t a good sign.

  Logan reaches into his backpack and takes out an empty wine bottle. He unfolds a piece of paper and hands me a pencil.

  “We write down something. It will live forever, maybe even end up in an ocean. Who knows? Maybe someone will find it.”


  I chuckle, “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “I am,” he says with a poker face. “I already wrote what I wanted to.”

  I take the paper form him and scribble down: Giving up is a choice, moving on is another. To whoever who finds this, I hope you’re okay. You’ll be okay. Love, Amaryllis.

  Skimming my eyes over what Logan wrote, I smile. He talks about being lost and getting found, and how serendipity is the best way to fall in love. He signs it in the bottom with L+A

  “On three?” he says, holding up the bottle with me. I shove the letter inside it.

  “One, two, three!” we simultaneously throw it into the river that flows from the water fall and watch it float away.

  No matter what happens, this letter and bottle will be here, sailing on water. L and an A love each other. The day Logan goes, there will be a part of him and one of me, perhaps to be found by someone.

  “Thank you,” he says, taking a sip of his juice, “For trying to make the bucket list come true.”

  My lack of answer is enough. He ushers for me to come closer and he puts an arm around me. I want to stay like this forever, wondering the possibilities if he isn’t dying. Would we be together?

  I stop myself from thinking. I don’t want to think, because that hurts.

  “Amaryllis,” he says, in a strained voice.

  I pull away. “What’s wrong?”

  His face is scrunched up. “I don’t feel—” He is cut off by his own scream. He gets on his knees and clutches his head, breathing heavily. He coughs repeatedly; huge drops of blood escape his body. He loses consciousness right before my eyes.

  All I can think is: please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die, please, please, please.

  29

  There’s just time

  “I can’t tell you if he’s going to be okay,” says the tall doctor, putting her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “You can see him in an hour.”

  Logan’s mom nods, her features fuzzy from all the crying. She pulls her hair back on her face with her hands, looking at the hospital wall. Dad pats my hand and gets up to talk to her.

  I can’t cry.

  I want to, but I don’t find the energy to.

  Logan isn’t okay.

  How can I be okay if he’s not?

  “The rest of the family is on their way,” says Dad, closing his phone.

  There comes the question I am dreading. “How long?”

  “Two days at best,” she says, tears pouring out of her eyes again.

  Dad does his best at comforting her and he hugs her. I put my arms around myself and try to take deep breaths to steady myself. Losing myself isn’t an option right now. I have to be okay, for Logan.

  Will I ever truly be okay without him?

  I don’t think so.

  "Amy?" says Jane.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yesterday was his birthday," she says.

  "Oh. Oh my God."

  Oh my God. His birthday was yesterday.

  The wait is over and Logan’s mom runs to his room, almost frantic. She stays an hour there, I count the minutes. Dad hasn’t let go of my hand; he knows how hard this is.

  We sat like this once, when Mom was in the emergency room after the car accident. I held his hand like this, but I was crying and so was he.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want him to die,” I say.

  He squeezes my hand and says, “I know. Neither do I. You have to be strong, Amy, okay? For Logan.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “For Logan.”

  “Amaryllis?” cries out Jane from his room.

  I stand up with a jump and walk into the room, with clenched fists. Opening the door, I put my head into it, trying not to look at him. I can’t look at him.

  “Come, he wants to talk to you.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “Half-asleep, half-awake.”

  I walk in, feeling a part of me fall apart at the sight of him. Bluish, blotchy patches are on his arms. He looks pale and freezing. I have to resist running toward him. Is it even possible for someone to lose 10lbs overnight?

  “Amaryllis,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and opening them slowly. His lids look heavy.

  They focus on me and I recognize Logan, my wonderwall. I can see all the memories in his eyes; from the moment he told me I was insecure to throwing the bottle together. He is alive, but barely breathing.

  “Logan,” I say, taking his hand and kissing it. "Happy birthday."

  He manages a smile, "It was happy."

  "You fainted.”

  "I was with you, before that." His breathing is uneven, "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I know."

  There is a silence and I can't care less that his mom is watching all of this.

  “I don’t wanna die.”

  His voice is raspy and low. He coughs and closes his eyes, leaning his head on the pillows behind his back. He looks at me again.

  “But I’m going to die,” he whispers and I don't know if he's still talking to me or to himself.

  I don’t know what it was, maybe the tubes in his nose or the blue patch on his left cheek or the way he said that. I start crying. He falls asleep and for a moment, I think he died. The steady rate of his heartbeat proves me wrong. He’s alive, for now.

  I cry and cry and I don’t know when the tears will ever stop.

  30

  Little do you know

  “Little do you know, I need a little more time.

  Underneath it all I'm held captive by the hole inside.

  I'll wait, just wait, I love you like I've never felt the pain.

  Just wait, I love you like I've never been afraid.

  Just wait, our love is here and here to stay

  so lay your head on me,”

  ~Alex & Sierra~

  I haven’t left Logan’s side until his dad, sister and grandparents arrived. I was kindly asked to leave, but I kissed Logan’s forehead before going out. Dad is sleeping in one of the chairs in front of the room, his head dropping on his shoulder. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t gotten any sleep so far.

  I take off my coat and put it on Dad. Sitting beside him, I put my head on his other shoulder, closing my eyes. I can’t think straight, my thoughts are as tangled as earphones.

  “Boy, you found love!” I hear Logan’s grandma exclaiming loudly. Logan once told me that she is partly deaf, so she shouts instead of speaking normally sometimes. “You found love before dying and that is the biggest accomplishment anyone can do.”

  I smile and feel myself drifting off to sleep.

  “Amy! Damn it, Amy, wake up! Amy!”

  I open my eyes immediately, overtaken by a sense of panic. Ella is staring down at me, her face red from the crying. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, making her look much older than she is.

  “Logan, it’s his last moments,” she chokes at the end. She grabs my hand and runs into the room again.

  Dad is already inside, sitting a bit further away. Logan’s family is around him. Jane’s body is racked with sobs. His father is looking at his son in a way that makes me think he is proud of him for coming this far and for being his son. Ella is on her knees, clutching at Logan’s arm. His grandparents, Marnie and Jack, are letting silent tears roll down their cheeks.

  “Amaryllis,” he says.

  My eyes fall upon an empty chair in front of Logan’s bed, so I’d be facing him instead beside him. His mom notices and moves the chair from in front of him to beside him, in front of his face.

  “Hi there,” I say.

  I close my eyes and open them again. He still looks like himself with those big gray eyes that I have learned to love. The beauty mark on his chin, the forming wrinkles beside his eyes from the smiling. The soft cheeks I used to kiss. The strong jaw line I used to make fun of because he never had facial hair, but that’s okay because I like him the way he is and I love his jaw. His lips are a purpli
sh-blue, but I almost think that he has never ever looked more beautiful.