Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Holy crap.
“I’m so sorry, Daria.”
“These episodes didn’t appear right away, but over the years, she started developing flashbacks, and it’s made her act out sometimes. She never forgave herself for the way things were left between them. These swearing episodes seem to be some sort of strange coping mechanism. She is truly a good woman and doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a very strange reaction to a devastating event. So, on behalf of my mother, I apologize.”
I placed my hand on her back. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for explaining it to me.”
Lesson learned. People are not always what they seem on the surface.
***
I stayed with Daria until she was able to see her mother. We made plans to go to lunch soon, since she insisted on it as a thank you.
As I was walking down the hospital corridor to leave, I got stuck in a maze of hallways. Each time I would turn a corner, I’d find myself lost again.
After about five minutes of hitting dead ends, I happened to stop to catch my bearings in front of one of the patient rooms. A young teenage girl who had lost all of her hair was sitting alone staring blankly up at a television.
Just as I was about to move on, the girl noticed me staring and said, “Are you a candy striper?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know…a candy striper. They’re those lame hospital volunteers. They’ve been coming around a lot lately.”
“No, no, I’m not.”
“Good…because they suck. They come in here with their fake smiles, like I’m supposed to believe this is Disney World or some shit.” She paused. “I have cancer, by the way.”
“I know…I…I figured—”
“Because I look like Caillou?”
“Caillou?”
“Awkward cartoon character on PBS, bald for no good reason.”
“Ah.”
“Seriously, what are you here for? Are you here for me?”
I looked into her hopeful eyes. “Maybe I am.”
“Good. Because today, I want to talk about sex.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your name?”
“Nina.”
“Don’t be a pussy, Nina.”
“What?”
“Pardon my language, but I don’t really hold back anymore. Life is too short not to get the point. Anyway…I said I wanted to talk about sex, and from the way you’re dressed, you seem like you’d be open to that. I have been waiting for someone just like you to show up, actually.” She waved her hand. “Get in here, and close the door.”
I looked behind my shoulders, then down at myself self-consciously and entered the room. Was I on Candid Camera? I swear, between Mrs. Ballsworthy and now this, today definitely felt like the Twilight Zone.
Landing on a chair next to her bed, I asked, “How old are you anyway?”
“I’m fifteen.”
“What’s your name?”
“Skylar,” she said, shutting off the television.
“What do you want to know, Skylar?
“I can’t talk about these things with my mother. She’d die.”
I sighed, gearing up for her questions. “Okay…”
“My first question is…how early is too early to have sex?”
Oh goodness. Why me?
I laughed to myself at the absurdity of the situation I had just gotten myself into then thought about how to respond. “There is not really one answer to that question…but fifteen is definitely too early.”
“What if someone might not live to be old enough?
You could have heard a pin drop. I was at a complete loss for words.
Thankfully, she continued before I had to come up with an answer. “See…there’s this boy. His name is Mitch. He’s my best friend and has been since we were young, but he doesn’t know I am actually in love with him. We live in New Jersey, but I’ve been here in Brooklyn for my treatments for the past few months because my father lives here, and my doctors are based here. So, I moved temporarily and haven’t seen him in a while. I’m really afraid he is going to forget about me.”
“Why would you ever lose him if he’s truly your best friend?”
“I don’t think he’d intentionally stop being my friend, but a lot of girls are into him because he’s hot. They don’t even know him like I do. They just want to get a piece and well, he’s a guy, so…”
“Have you told him how you feel?”
“Things started to get a little weird between us right before my diagnosis. He was looking at me differently, and I was starting to think something might happen. I have always held onto this fantasy that I would be his—you know—first. And he would be mine. If I’m not around, though, whether it’s because of my treatments or…otherwise and he meets someone, I may never get the chance. Every second that I’m away, I feel like I’m losing him.”
A stiff drink would have really come in handy right about now.
“Does he come visit?” I asked.
“That’s the thing. He’s been begging me to let him. He doesn’t know which hospital I am at because I won’t tell him. I don’t want him to see me like this, but I miss him so much…it’s killing me.” She reached over to her phone and pulled up a photo. “That’s him. That’s Mitch.”