|
CHAPTER 30
WILL
The speaker in the airport
terminal crackles to life, a muffled voice
breaking through the morning chatter and the suitcase wheels clunking over the
tiled floor. I pull out one of my earbuds to hear the voice, worried about a gate
change and having to go cross-airport with a pair of shitty lungs. “Your
attention please, passengers for Icelandair flight 616 to Stockholm . . .”
I put my earbud back in. Not my flight. I’m not going to Sweden until
December.
Settling back into the armchair, I pull up YouTube for the millionth time,
making my way as usual to Stella’s last video. If YouTube kept track of
individual views, the police definitely would have been sent to my house by now,
I’d seem like such a stalker. But I don’t care, because this video is about us. And
when I press play, she tells our story.
“Human touch. Our first form of communication,” she says, her voice loud
and clear. She takes a deep breath, her new lungs working wonderfully.
That breath is my favorite part of the whole video. There’s no struggle. No
wheezing. It’s perfect and smooth. Effortless.
“Safety, security, comfort, all in the gentle caress of a finger, or the brush of
lips on a soft cheek,” she says, and I look up from my iPad to the crowded
airport around me, people coming and going, heavy bags in tow, but even so,
she’s right. From the long hugs at arrival, to the reassuring hands on shoulders in
the security line, even a young couple, arms around each other, waiting at the
gate, touch is everywhere.
“We need that touch from the one we love, almost as much as we need air to
breathe. I never understood the importance of touch, his touch . . . until I
couldn’t have it.”
I can see her. Five feet away from me, that night at the pool, walking to see
the lights, on the other side of the glass that last night, always that longing
between us to close the gap.
I pause the video just to take her in.
She looks . . . so much better than I ever saw her in person. No portable
oxygen. No dark circles under her eyes.
She was always beautiful to me, but now she is
free.
She is
alive.
Every single day I still find myself wishing I hadn’t left, reliving the moment
of walking away, my legs like cement blocks, being pulled like a magnet back to
her window. I think that pull, that hurt, will always be there. But all I have to do
is see her like this to know it was worth it a million times over.
A notification appears on my screen from her app, telling me to take my
midmorning meds. I smile at the dancing pill bottle emoji. It’s like a portable
Stella that I always have with me, looking over my shoulder, reminding me to do
my treatments. Reminding me of the importance of more time.
“You ready to go, man?” Jason says, nudging me as they open the door to start
loading the plane to Brazil. I give him a big smile, down my meds dry, and slide
my pillbox back into my backpack, zipping it up.
“Born ready.”
I’m finally going to
see
the places I’ve dreamed of.
I have a checkup in every city, which was one of three conditions my mom
put in place before letting me go. The other two were simple. I have to send her
as many pictures as possible, and Skype her every Monday evening, no matter
what. Aside from that, I can finally live my life how I want. And, for once, that
includes fighting right alongside her.
We’ve finally found common ground.
I stand, taking a deep breath as I pull the strap of my portable oxygen farther
up on my thin shoulder. But the breath gets caught in my throat almost as soon
as I inhale. Because through all the airport chatter and chaos, just above the
rattling of the mucus in my lungs, I hear my favorite sound in the world.
Her laugh. It tinkles like bells, and I pull out my phone immediately, certain
I’ve left the video playing in my pocket. But the screen is dark, and the sound
isn’t tinny or distant.
It’s just a few feet away.
My legs know I should just go, board my flight, keep moving. But my eyes are
already searching. I have to know.
It takes me about six seconds to spot her, and I’m not even surprised that
when I do, her eyes are right on mine.
Stella was always the one to find me first.
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |
