More than a silly cartoon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dedicated to my Aunt, who grew tired of fighting with cancer a year ago today.

Submitted: August 26, 2012

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Submitted: August 26, 2012

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I can still see Monica lying next to me in that field, the moon light’s glow lighting the grass and her strangely square face, a face like a silly cartoon drawn on the margin of a notebook page: her sharp, small nose and big wide eyes like walnuts, eyes that looked, no matter the light, a deep brown. I can still see her brown freckles dotting her face and that one crooked tooth, a little turned to the left that looked like she had maybe been on the losing end of a fight. And the bald head, the result of chemo, where the student drawing her cartoonish face had stopped to get back to his notes, or maybe had run out of lead all together.

 

  We lay in silence staring at the stars, listening to each other’s breath.  It may very well be our last night, and if not the last, it will be the last in a long time. I'm too scared to say anything. To mess up this moment, the last we might have together. I want to tell her so much. How much I love her, how scared I am for her, for us. I want her to know that I've loved her since the first day I saw her. That being her best friend has been one of the best experiences of my life. How I wish so much we were more than friends. All the things I wanted her to know if this really was our last night. But I lay silent and stare at the twinkling stars in the sky. She turns and looks at me, a weak smile on her face, and fear in her dark brown walnut eyes.

"If I don't... Come through tomorrow" she said, eyes darting around like she is searching for what to say next. "I just want to thank you, for everything". She stares at me silently for a second, waiting for me to answer. When I don’t she turns back to stare at the moon.

"You’ll be fine “I choke out the words, still staring up, not wanting her to see me cry. "You’re to badass to die." I laugh through the tears pooling in my eyes. She laughs too. The last time she ever would. 

 

I can still see Monica, in that ugly hospital gown. The bright fluorescent lights, shining on her brown freckle covered face and her walnut eyes looking around to her friends and family. She smiles her crocked tooth smile at us, as she is wheeled through those surgery doors. And she’s gone, never to return from those door alive. And that silly little student, who should have never drawn her cartoonish face in the first place, bringer her into my life, has erased her. He takes her away. Leaving only the memories and regret.


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