I Don't Care If You're Contagious.

I wake up that morning with heavy legs; I’ve hoping to avoid this day. I can’t, no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I tried to plead, this day was coming for me whether I liked it or not. The day is circled, crossed out, circled again, and crossed out again on my calendar. I avoid looking at it as I dress, even though the red marker that bled through the page is jumping at me through the pages of the cat calendar that she bought the summer before at a flea market in Reno.

This month it’s a small white cat sitting on a table that’s covered in snow, which is just like a slap to the face.

I pull on a blue flannel shirt with a black thermal shirt underneath, buttoning it up all the way. I wear a pair of black cords and a pair of moccasins on my feet. I manage to catch a glimpse at myself in the mirror. Nadine loves this mirror, the flowers she dried last summer are taped around the edges, wilting and crumbling. I try to fix my hair, trying to at least look moderately presentable, despite the fact that I look like I haven’t slept in days.

It isn’t that much of a stretch; I really haven’t slept in days.

The forget-me-not petals fall down and I catch them, trying to piece them back together. I can’t, obviously, and I let them fall to the ground, holding my hands to my face. My face feels hot and I feel overdressed, so I run to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. With trembling hands I splash water onto my face, trying to relax.

I haven’t moved her things. Her nail polish is still on the counter, right were she left them, organized from right to left based on color and if she liked them or not. Her brushes and combs were on the shelf, along with cans of hairspray and the like. I open the medicine cabinet, and her pills are still on the middle shelf, labels yellowing and starting to peel off.

“Oh, Nadine,” I say quietly, looking down and gripping the edge of the counter with clammy hands. “Nadine.”

Nadine.

Little Di.

My little Di.

Apple of my eye, fire of my heart…oh, Nadine! How do I describe Nadine? How does one describe the first warm breeze of the summer? How does one go on and describe the feeling of wind in their hair? How do I explain the coolness of summer rain, the first frost of winter? How do I describe how very blue her eyes are? Or, rather, how do I describe her unruly black curls that bounce lightly whenever she moves? How do I describe the way that the light hits her eyes in the morning when she wakes up? How do I describe her voice, the soft crispness that would sound wrong on anyone else? How do I describe her figure, the soft curves and limbs that she hated but I couldn’t help but to adore because they made her Nadine? How do I describe the little freckles she had scattered all over the place? But most importantly, how do I describe the way she’s stolen my heart?

I can’t.

The only think I can say is that she was Nadine.

Simply Nadine.

My Nadine, and hopefully, she’d always be my Nadine. Well, so I thought.

She would sleep next to me in her usual blue nightshirt that had little flowers along the hem, with legs that weren’t very long but legs I liked all the same thrown over mine. Her hands, which were always clammy and cool, but I didn’t mind, because it was just another thing that made her Nadine, were always holding mine, her face buried in the crook of my neck, her hair tickling my chin. She wasn’t really affectionate, so little things like that made my day.

“Goodnight,” she’d say softly, breathing quietly.

I knew she was excited for the coming week, because snow had been announced. It had yet to fall, but Nadine was waiting patiently, waiting and waiting for snowflakes to fall from the sky.

Nadine loves the snow.

Our house is small, with a small patch of dead grass that she turned into a garden in the spring and summertime, a mailbox that Nadine painted every summer without fail sitting near the sidewalk, and a small shoveled walkway that leads up to the house. There was a flowerbed that was frosted over with ice, there were icicles from all the rain we had been getting hanging on the gutters, but we had yet to see a flake of snow.

I knew it disappointed Nadine, and if I could, I’d make it snow. I’d make it snow for days on end if I could, just to see her play and laugh in the fluffy white.

When I woke up the next day, Nadine wasn’t it bed. Her scent lingered in the sheets, and I felt cold because she wasn’t there keeping me warm, which was a feeling quickly replaced with curiosity and fear of what she was up to. Nadine was…well, she was Nadine. Her pink bunny slippers were next to the bed, and her glasses weren’t on the nightstand. I sat up and looked around in confusion.

“Nadine…”My voice trailed off into the bathroom adjacent to our room. “Nadine…?” I was growing worried, because I couldn’t see her outside or hear her. She slid into the room on a fuzzy pair of dotted socks, a red ribbon in her hair and a smile on her face.

She jumped on me with a toothy grin, braces catching in the light, wrapping her arms around me. It was a good day, so we would have to make the most of it.

Nadine, you see, was only twenty five going on twenty six in three days, and she had tuberculosis. She didn't like taking her medicine, because it made her tired and, knowing Nadine, she wouldn’t stand for it. She thinks that if she just leaves it alone, she’d be better; it would just go away.

On her bad days, she won't get out of bed. She won’t eat. She’d mope about all day and we’d spend the day together—unless I have to go somewhere with the band, and even then, I try to rush home—in bed, watching movies. She’d spend a few minutes coughing and hacking away in the bathroom, and she'd sleep for a good part of the day.

Oh, Nadine!

She kissed me, giggling afterwards.

“Good morning!” she exclaimed, blue eyes bright. They were an uncanny shade of bluish green, resting somewhere in the middle. “It’s snowing today, Vic.” She hopped off of me, rushing towards the window and letting light fall into the room. “Ah.” She sighed contentedly, looking at the small flakes of white fall from the sky.

Nadine loves the snow.

I walk out to my car, resting my head on the steering wheel. I pull out of my driveway, watching the snow fall down from the sky. It swirled around and rested on my window, clouding it, only to be cleaned my windshield wipers. I drove cautiously, trying to not relieve that day, but how couldn’t I?

Today is the one year anniversary.

I have to go.

I drive toward Fantastic Flowers—what an original name, I know—and park the car across the street, resting my head against the steering wheel again. I feel nauseated just thinking about where I’m going, even though Nadine didn’t really mind the prospect as much as she should have. The reason I'm going to the shop with the terribly cliché name is because Nadine loved going down there to buy flowers for the glass vase on top of the checkered table cloth over the table.

I walk across the street, almost willing a car to speed down it and run me over so I could avoid this. I haven’t gone to see her. I can’t. It’s too hard, believe me. Unfortunately, my wish isn’t granted, and I have to go into the flower shop. An elderly woman is tending the counter today, and she eyes me apprehensively. I’d eye me apprehensively too, seeing as I looked malnourished, gangly, and as if I hadn’t seen a bed or a happy sight in weeks.

I walk through the store, unsure where I could find what I was looking for.

“Can I help you, son?” she asks me, looking wary. I look at her, embarrassed and walk to the counter.

“Um, I was wondering if you sold poppies?” I ask, hoping that they just so happened to not sell them and I could thusly get out of going to see Nadine.

“What color?” she asks, turning around and facing a display of flowers.

“Yellow and white, please.”

“Half a dozen or regular?”

“A dozen, please.”

Nadine’s favorite color is yellow. I watch as the woman skillfully wraps up the flowers in tissue paper, tying it in the middle with a white string.

“$35.99,” she says, writing out a receipt. I paid her in cash, and she hands me a few coins in change.

I walk out of the shop, holding the flowers tightly, as if they’d fly away if I were to let them go. I cross the street slowly, hoping and praying that maybe a car really would come out and plow me down, leaving no evidence except for a splattering of blood on the dirty snow and a few scraps of clothing.

I should be so lucky.

So, I sit in my car for a few moments, thinking.

She takes my hands and tries hard to get me out of bed, which isn’t all that difficult. She’s not so short, but she’s not as tall as I am either.

“I’m tired, Di,” I mumbled, resting my head against the headboard. The night before, she had one of her coughing fits at almost four in the morning, and I, ever the faithful boyfriend, rushed to her side. We spent almost an hour in there.

“C’mon…” she said, tugging on my hand. “Vic…” I relented and she smiled at me.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked as I walked to the closet, looking for something warm to wear. It was one of the few, very rare days I had off, so we’d spend it together.

“We could build a snowman…or make snow angles…or an igloo,” she laughed, eyes lighting up. “We have buttons, don’t we?” I nodded and she kissed my cheek with a smile. “This is going to be so much fun. Should we call the boys?” I was sure that the rest of the band was probably asleep. “I’ll call Tony.” She bounded out of the bedroom, leaving me to go to the bathroom and shower. I try to get through my shower as quickly as I can, seeing as she tends to have fainting spells and nosebleeds and the like because of her illness.

I’m done with my shower in twenty minutes flat, which, considering the fact that I tend to spend the better part of an hour in the bathroom some days, is a record. I dressed quickly and brushed my teeth, pulling my usual hat over my head without waiting for my hair to dry.

“Nadine?” I asked, walking towards the kitchen. She was sitting on the counter, talking on the phone and watching the snow fall in the small backyard.

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to, but it’s snowing!” I wrapped my arms around her waist, making her jump and look at me with a smile. “Oh! Wait, Tony wants to talk to you.”

“Hey,” I said as she slipped out of my grasp and walked to the fridge, looking for something.

“So, what’s this thing that you’re doing today?” he asked, sounding as if he had just woken up.

“We’re building a snowman, and you’re coming over to help me.”

“I don’t think so…it’s cold and I’m tired and…no.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for Nadine, and if you want, you can bring what’s-her-face along.”

“Her name’s Lizzie and I’ll ask if she wants to go. We might as well call everyone else if I have to come.” I heard her in the background and he sighed. “I guess I’m going after all…”

“We’ll make a party out of it, why not?” I asked, giving Nadine a thumbs up.

“I’ll see you soon. You owe me,” he said as he hung up. I set the phone down and Nadine sighed, sitting on a stool and letting her legs dangle. She sighed and looked at me with a soft smile, sipping some coffee from her mug.

“Today’s going to be lovely, isn’t it?” she laughed, looking outside. I held her by the waist again, resting my head on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” I asked quietly, looking at her legs. She nodded and kissed my head, or rather, my hat. “It’s cold.”

“So? It’s snowing.” She talked about snow as if it were the greatest thing ever. It didn’t matter that we were in a part of the country that it wasn’t supposed to snow, she was just happy it was. I was quiet for a few moments, and the only sounds in the kitchen were of the pipes underneath the floor, the dripping of the sink that never really stopped, and the slight hum of the old refrigerator. “What’s on your mind?”

“You. But that’s normal.” She smiled and handed me her coffee mug (which was well on its way to empty, mind you).

“Really, you’re all quiet and thinking… what’s wrong?” I shook my head and sipped some of the coffee, tasting her vanilla flavored chap stick, the taste of caffeine waking me up slightly.

“Nothing.”

Actually, I was kind of worried because we had a tour coming up in a few days, and I couldn’t push this one to the side. I couldn’t just take Nadine with me either. She would probably have to stay on the bus all the time and she’d be miserable, break up with me, and never talk to me again. Then again, that could happen if I went and left her behind anyway. But I didn’t give that all too much thought, and instead focused on the snow. She knew I was leaving but she didn’t say anything about it. When I told her, we were watching TV, and it was one of her good days. She just looked at me with a blank face and turned her attentions back to the movie.

She hadn’t brought it up again.

I kissed her jaw lightly, making her laugh quietly and try to shrug me off.

“Do you know where the buttons are?” she asked, slipping out of my grasp again and setting her mug down. After she got sick, I could hardly touch her without her either yelling at me to leave her alone, pushing me away, or acting like I wasn’t doing anything at all. She’d been sick for almost a year, and I hadn’t slept with her for almost eleven months. I felt guilty whenever I thought that way, because she couldn’t really help it.

I was going insane.

I could wait, though, because I held part of the mentality that kept Nadine going. She would get better one day, and we’d have to stick it out until then. She wandered into the linen closet upstairs, asking me to help her get something from the top shelf. It was just her sewing box, and I wondered how on earth she had managed to get it up there by herself. She pulled a few big black buttons from there, and stuffed them in her pocket.

“This is going to be the best snowman ever.”

Nadine loves the snow.

I start the car and pull out again, driving recklessly, not exactly thinking about the consequences. All I thought about was this: if I crashed, I’d go to the hospital or I’d die. Either way, I wouldn’t have to go see Nadine. It’s not that I don’t want to go, I’ve just put it off for so long that now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s hard to be without her, but I kind of have to.

I don’t want anyone else.

I want Nadine.

Oh, Nadine!

She kissed me lightly and smiled at me, a blush creeping onto her cheeks when I kiss her back. The phone rang, I sighed, and she slipped away once again, heading down the stairs.

“Hello…?” She handed me the phone. “It’s for you.”

It turned out that Lizzie had a cold, so Tony was staying behind, meaning that I’d have to build this snowman all by myself. I wouldn’t mind, hopefully she didn’t want one of those Jack Frost snowmen. She led me outside by the hand after she pulled on a pair of her favorite boots.

See, Nadine was from the cold and frosty place known as Chicago. She moved her for AP—she was a journalist—and the rest is history. I lived in San Diego. Well, we did, but the point remains that she didn’t like it, she missed the snow and the cold.

And now, most of the country was immersed in some sort of wintery mix, and she was happy.

She spun around, falling into the fluffy snow. I tried to catch her, but couldn’t. She just laughed and sat up, pulling me down with her. She threw some snow in the air with her pale hands, watching as it fluttered down and settled back onto the snow. She laughed, the biggest smile spreading on her face. She lied down, looking over at me.

“What are you waiting for?” She sat up and picked up some snow in her hands, packing it into a small ball with determination, pink tongue poking out of her mouth slightly. She threw it at me and it hit my chest with an icy thud, crumbling on my sweater and lap. I tried brushing it off, but ended up laughing with her instead.

She started to sneeze, but I didn’t notice, seeing as she was actually enjoying herself and she hardly ever got to do that. I was careless.

She lied down again and stared at the snow fall from the sky, a smaller smile on her face. The snow settled and melted on her cheeks, settled and stayed on her hair and eyelashes. She held my hand as we looked up at the sky, a comfortable silence emerging.

“Vic,” she began, squeezing my hand softly to get my attention.

“Yeah?”

“You know, they say that no two snowflakes are the same.” She wiped some snow off her face, tip of her nose and cheekbones pink. “You think it’s true?”

“I don’t know…maybe? Why?” She shook her head, sniffling. She wipes at her nose and shakes her hand, splattering a bit of blood onto the snow. I didn’t say anything, because this happened often enough, and Nadine had gotten this far without wanting to go back to bed.

We laid in a comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the crisp white snow fall from the sky. Who would’ve thought there’d be snow in San Diego? She started singing a Temper Trap song, voice barely audible. I hummed along, listening to the quiet but still sweet song fill the air.

“A moment, a love, a dream aloud, a kiss, a cry our rights, our wrongs… a moment, a love a dream aloud, a moment, a love a dream aloud… So stay there, because I'll be coming over. And while our blood's still young, it's so young, it runs, and we won't stop until it's over. Won't stop to surrender.”

“I don’t remember the rest,” she confessed with a laugh. “I’m such a dork.”

She sat up and dusted the snow off her sweater, sniffling again. She took some snow into her hands with a soft smile on her lips.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She threw it back into the air, sighing. “I love it. So,” she began, turning to me with a laugh, “how about that snowman?” I stood up, helping her up as well. She stumbled slightly, holding her head with her hand.

“Are you okay?” I asked with concern. She nodded, then sneezed, splashing sprinkles of blood onto the pristine snow. “Let’s go insi—”

“No. I’m fine, okay? Just a little dizzy. Let’s start—”

She started to cough, doubling over and almost falling into the snow. I helped her up again and she leaned against me, sniffling and dusting the snow off her hands. We managed to make it to the house without slipping—obviously, I don’t own a shovel or snow salt—or anything else. She untangled herself from me and fell onto the couch, coughing and wheezing loudly.

With numb, pink fingers, she fetched a pack of tissues from her pocket, opening it and dabbing at her face as if this were no big deal. I walked out of the room, making my way to the stairs, taking them two at a time. I walked into the bathroom, trying to not make too much noise, even though all I want to do is panic and freak out, and started looking for her pills. I grabbed the transparent orange bottle, ran down the stairs, filled a glass with water, and rushed to the living room.

Time seemed to crawl slowly, though, now that I think about it, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, if that. What had I been thinking, taking her to play out in the snow!? I handed her the glass of water and pill bottle apologetically, looking down at her. She took them from me, sipped from the water, then threw the pill bottle right back at me, watching as they rattled and rolled on the floor. She then started drinking her water again, sniffling.

“Nadine.”

“I’m fine. Just a little coughing fit, see? It’s cool.”

“Nadine, take—”

“No. Damn it, Vic. I’m fine. It’s just—”

Another ‘coughing fit’ cut her off and she ran to the sink, hacking and spitting out blood for a good three minutes. She leaned over the sink, body racked by sobs. I hugged her to my chest and she sighed, still sniffling.

“It hurts, Vic. It hurts so bad,” she managed to say, shaking with tears. That was the first time she cried in front of me—except for the few times we watched sad movies. I murmured comforting words, but how do you comfort someone slowly dying right in front of you? “Make it stop,” she cried, being cut off by more blood falling from her lips, and now it comes from her nose and drips into the sink. “Oh, god.” She crumpled into my arms, breathing shallow.

“I’m…we’re going to the hospital, Nadine.”

“No.”

“Nadine!”

“I don’t want—” She coughs weakly, unable to cough as hard as she was just moments before. “No.”

I start the car again, jolted back to reality by the sound of a car screeching and skidding to a stop in front of me. It’s not because of my bad driving skills—for once, because I’m still parked at the side of the road. The man who was driving gets out of the car, being yelled at by his girlfriend or wife, a woman much, much shorter than he is. I watch the heated debate wordlessly, remembering Nadine before she got sick.

Oh, Nadine.

She could yell until she was red in the face about anything really. It just had to piss her off enough. Our fights could get pretty loud, and Nadine was the type of person that, if she was worked up enough, would burst in to tears, even if she was furious.

I start to think about our first fight.

It was a hot, sweltering summer night. the air conditioner in her apartment broke, and I, trying in vain to impress her and make her think she had Handy Manny for a boyfriend, tell her I can fix it in a jiffy. It turned out, shockingly, of course, that I can’t. I’m a singer, not a fix-it-guy. We spent almost forty minutes fighting over how hot the apartment was, I kid you not.

Oh, my little Di.

She glared at me as I helped her pull on her coat and scarf.

“You’ll be okay, Nada, I promise. Just watch.” I said it more as a comfort to myself, to be frank. She put a hand to my cheek, stroking it lightly with her thumb as I tried to tie her scarf. My fingers were shaking so badly, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to drive us the fifteen minutes to the nearest hospital. She looked at me with adoration in her eyes, a small smile on her face.

“Relax, Vic. Breathe. Relax. I’ll be okay. We don’t need to go.”

She obviously doesn’t think she could die or something along those lines.

I do.

I hope not, and I feel terrible for thinking that way.

Her eyes were a little red; cheeks blotched because of her tears, which, by the way, are completely gone. She moved my hands, tying her yellow scarf by herself. She stuffed her hands into her pockets, and I’m not sure she can even move freely, seeing as I made her put on a few sweaters because of the cold.

We start walking outside, and she holds my hand loosely, looking away from me and at the falling snow. We sit in the car in a tense silence now. Di has her arms crossed and she isn’t holding my hand anymore. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring out the window. I don’t start the car right away, trapped in my thoughts for reasons unknown to myself.

It takes her sneezing again to jolt me out of my thoughts and start the car. I was holding the steering wheel tightly, not even noticing how tightly until Nadine touched my hand lightly.

“Breathe, Vic. I’ll be fine, remember?” The ghost of a smile crosses her face, as if she’s finally accepted whatever’s to come. Nadine can’t leave me alone.

She just can’t.

She’s my Nadine, for Christ’s sake!

She kissed my cheek as we drove, resting her head on my shoulder. She was acting so totally cavalier, as if we were taking a trip to the Golden Gate Bridge or something. Her opposition to going to the hospital is apparently gone, and she even starts humming again.

“Stop the car,” she said quietly as we were on the freeway, just minutes away from the hospital.

“What? Nadi—”

“I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled, starting to open her door, regardless of the fact that we haven’t stopped. I slammed on the brakes, making her lurch forward slightly and the cars behind me flip me off and honk their horns at me as they drive past me. She opens her door more and ducks her head out.

She doesn’t throw up after all, she just gags, spits, and dry heaves.

She slams the door shut now, staring out the window. “Let’s go.” She sighs and I start to drive again. I managed to—miraculously, I’m sure—to the hospital, and even though it only takes me twenty minutes, she’s coughing and wheezing away like an old man in a nursing home who has emphysema or something.

She doesn’t even make it to the receptionist’s desk; she just fell over with a small groan. Everything becomes a blur of paramedics being paged, of watching her being carted off in a stretcher. In the blink of an eye, I’m standing in the middle of the lobby, watching as the receptionist goes on with her work as if nothing happened, as if, not moments ago, she was paging doctors, nurses, and what have you to the front lobby. There are people milling about, going on as if I wasn’t even there, and for a few moments, I feel surreal, I can still feel Nadine in my arms.

“Sir? Sir?” the receptionist, a middle aged woman with a name pin that says Kathy on it in black letters pinned to her sweater, asks, trying to get my attention. “Sir?”

“Um, sorry.” I snapped out of my daze and walk to the desk, leaning against the counter as I mechanically fed her Nadine’s information.

Name?

Nadine Parks.

Date of birth?

February 6, 1984.

Relation?

She’s my girlfriend.

I finally manage to change gears and put the car into drive, and my foot hesitantly presses the gas pedal, the car slowly but surely creaking forward and finally moving towards my destination. I shouldn’t say destination, though, because, like I’ve said before, I’ve been avoiding this day for an entire year.

I didn’t go on her birthday because I couldn’t even make it past our bedroom door without throwing something in frustration or breaking down.

I didn’t go on our anniversary; we were touring.

I didn’t go on my birthday; I had a serious cold.

And eventually, I just didn’t go. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t. It would cement it for me, it would make this all too real. I make it to a stop sign and I haven’t crashed—yet.

I want to crash.

I want to crash.

Oh, god, just let me crash.

I want to head headfirst into a car—preferably empty—and spontaneously combust, burst into flames, be killed on contact, explode, be impaled by shattered glass, die en route to the hospital, anything really.

I want to crash hard and fast and the idea frightens me.

It wouldn’t be so bad though, would it?

I toss the idea around for a few moments, but thoughts of the band, fans, my parents, and so on hold me back. I stare straight ahead and try to keep driving, not really thinking about anything besides the motions of driving.

Drive.

Brake.

Gas pedal.

Brake.

Gas pedal.

Et cetera.

I slam down on the brakes suddenly, lurching forward. I didn’t see the cars in front of me, nor the red light hanging on a wire that’s weighed down by small icicles. I breathe heavily for a few moments and I lean my head against the steering wheel, breathing heavily. I can almost hear her in my head, her quiet but panicked voice.

What on earth is wrong with you, Vic? Watch it!

I start driving once a car beeps behind me with an irritated look, and I can see the driver, an irritated Beverly Hills type of housewife, get out of her car in my rearview mirror. She walks towards me with determination, as if I made her late to a tanning appointment. Good for her, you shouldn’t have a tan in the dead of winter anyway. I lurch forward, breathing shakily.

I’m sitting in a navy blue plastic chair, staring at the dull white tiles on the floor. There’s bright lighting everywhere, and I’m sure my nails are making dents on the edge of the chair from how tightly I’m holding on. Maybe I’m afraid of flying away. I don’t know. Flying away makes me think of Nadine.

She hates airplanes.

If we ever go anywhere, we would go in the trust in my old jalopy. She’d stock the trunk with our suitcases, a cooler of food, and we’d head up for Seattle with Mike and his girlfriend, or maybe we’d go to the shore and rent out some rooms with nice views of the sea.

Oh, Nadine.

Before she got really, really sick, she’d come on tour with us as a merch girl. She was a sight to see, her curly hair—it was longer then, she cut it a month or two ago, I can’t remember right then and it irks me—up in a ponytail, face flushed because of the heat, arms pink with sunburn, but she still had the biggest smile on her face, eyes covered by a pair of sunglasses.

She was happy because she was traveling, and she could do two jobs at once, ever the multitasker.

I sighed and looked at the door across the hall, torn apart.

One part of me is screaming at me to get up and park it right next to Nadine and wait this out. Another part of me is shrinking back, not wanting to see her hooked up to a bunch of machines with tubes attached in ever orifice. I can’t see her that way, because I’ve painted her as this strong but sort of weak person who deals with her disease with a brave face.

I think that if I went in, my image of her would’ve been forever shattered, unable to be pieced back together.

Oh, little Di.

I’m in the middle of another internal conflict concerning Nadine when a series of nurses rush down the hallway towards Nadine’s room, bursting into her room. I hear the monitors beeping quickly and I get up and out of my chair, going to her.

I’m shooed out of the room by the nurses, who look exasperated and annoyed by the fact that I want to see what’s happening.

“She’s my—”

“Sir, you’ll have to wait in the hallway.”

“But—”

They shut the door in my face regardless, and then they pull a curtain shut on the window, giving the blinds a white backdrop. I slumped into my seat in defeat, a dejected look over my face. I never really minded the hospital, even though Nadine had a severe distaste to them.

She never came out and told me why, but every time I so much as mentioned the hospital to her, she freaked out and would refuse to go. She would try to make herself look like she was better, even if that meant holding back coughs or sneezing when I wasn’t around.

Crafty little thing.

I leaned back against the chair, staring at the ceiling. If I looked at the curtain, I’d start to worry and freak out and, quite obviously we couldn’t have that. What were they doing in there? I tried not to think about that and instead, dug my phone out of my pocket.

The background is—can you guess?—a picture of Nadine at the beach, all smiles. It was a few days before we found out she was even sick, and I couldn’t ever bring myself to change it. Even now, I still haven’t changed it.

I can’t.

I looked at the picture of her without really seeing it for I don’t know how long. I didn’t know who to call, or what to say. I couldn’t just call up someone and tell them, ‘Hey, Nadine’s in the hospital, I think she’s going to die and I’m going to have a panic attack, so would you mind driving up here?’ What kind of boyfriend would that make me? But if I didn’t call anyone, that’d make me even worse.

I started to dial my brother’s number with shaky fingers, unsure what I was going to say.

It rang for a few moments, and I’m almost excited that I won’t have to tell Mike that I was stupid and foolish enough to take her out with this kind of weather. I sighed when it occurred to me that he probably wasn’t going to answer his phone after all.

A woman in a white lab coat, black stockings, and uncomfortable looking high heeled shoes walked out of her room with a clipboard and a sober expression on her face.

“Hello…?” he asked sleepily yawning.

“It doesn’t…I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look too great. She’s…she’s barely holding on.”

“But I…she…. I don’t...” Her words sound like gibberish at first to me, but soon they sink in like anchors, refusing to move.

“I’m sorry.”

“Vic?” Mike asked, sounding a bit more awake and worried. I hung up without a word and looked at the doctor with concern.

“We did everything we could. She’s… stable, but I don’t think it’ll last, to be frank.”

“But she’s my… I can’t… I-I don’t…” I feel like I’m going to start hyperventilating, like I’m drowning and I’m just going to keel over and die. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No. No, she’s Nadine, she can’t…no,” I insisted, trying to block out what she just said.

“Would you like to see her?”

I choked out a reply, getting up and walking towards her room with stiff legs. She’s lying in a hospital bed, once bright face now pale and tired. There are bags under her eyes I hadn’t exactly taken notice to, and she’s looking out the window with a plaintive expression. There’s a monitor that beeps slowly next to her bed, and see that this is exactly what I’m trying to avoid.

I suppose that it is indeed kind of bad of me to try and avoid this, to try to avoid seeing her for so long, but can you blame me? Let’s say that I’ve had a hard time coping, to put it lightly. Mike and Tony called me only god knows how many times yesterday, telling me that I couldn’t put this off much longer.

“I swear to god, Vic, if you don’t go—” Mike warned, sounding irritated.

“I know, I know.”

“You need to go, stop procrastinating!” Tony exclaimed, sounding as if he was chiding a child who hadn’t done their homework yet.

“I will.”

I almost wasn’t going to go today, but if I didn’t go, then I wouldn’t ever go.

I had to go.

I try to focus more on the road, and curse myself for putting this off for so long. But, I soon realize that I would’ve come up here regardless today, but that still doesn’t excuse me fully.

Unfortunately.

I sigh and rest my head against the steering wheel, seeing as I’m caught in weekend traffic.

Lovely.

Nadine looked past me, face longing for something. To feel better, maybe? Or to go out in the snow again and build that snowman that she was so excited for? It was funny how life worked, how one minute, we could be outside enjoying the weather phenomena, and the next minute, we’re sitting in a hospital, marveling at how irresponsible we are.

She sighed, looked away from the window, and then looked at me. She managed to give me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey there, stranger.”

“Hey yourself,” I mumbled back, trying to muster up a smile, but I can’t.

“Why so glum, huh?”

“Haven’t you looked around?” I asked with a cheap laugh, slumping up my shoulders.

“It’s not that terrible, really. I just want to go home.” She sighs and I take her hand. Her hand slipped out of mine and plays with the blanket covering her legs.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled softly, frowning slightly.

“Don’t be. Why are you apologizing?” she asked, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault that it’s snowing.”

“You know what I mean.” She slumped up her shoulders, coughed, and spit into a bin on the other side of the bed, holding onto the edge of the bed loosely.

“It happens. People die every single day.”

“Nadine—”

“I mean, it’d be better if I died now instead of later.” She sounds like she’s talking about the weather instead of her life, as if this is up for discussion. “What do you think?”

“I’ll die right along with you,” I mumbled, and she slipped her hand back into mine.

The thing about our relationship that always kind of bothered me was that everything was on Nadine’s terms. There were something’s we couldn’t change, but most everything in our relationship was how she wanted it, not the other way around. I never said anything, because…well, she never really asked for much.

“You won’t.”

“Nadine—”

“Elephants do, though. Did you know that? Like, if one mate passes away, the other mate refuses help, they won’t eat, they won’t do anything, they’ll just lay there and wait to die. But I don’t think you will. You’ll go on with your life. You have to.”

“Nadine, I don’t—”

“I want you to.”

“Don’t say that, Nadine.”

“You don’t want to move on?” she asked. She’s acting as if she’s already died, and here I am, hopeless dreamer extraordinaire, praying and hoping that maybe she’ll be sicker, but she’ll be alive. “You should. It’s unhealthy to grieve for so long.”

She had a minor in Psychology, a major in Journalism, go figure.

Oh, Nadine.

“I don’t want you to die,” I mumbled, resting my head on our hands. “Please.”

“I can’t really control that, Vic.”

“Yeah you can…just think of…igloos and cold things,” I laughed again and she gave me a soft chuckle. “Or snowmen and snowflakes and… I don’t know. You’ll get better though, Di.”

We sit in silence, hearing the monitors beep and hum quietly.

“You never really answered my question,” she murmured, looking over at me.

“What question?”

“Do you think snowflakes are all the same?” I looked up at her, but she’s still staring out the window. She’s about to die, and all she can talk about are snowflakes.

Oh, Nadine!

I raised my eyebrows in confusion, wondering why she was asking me that now of all moments to ask me.

“Really. What if they’re all the same and we just don’t notice it?”

“Is it important?”

“Yes, very. Monotony get boring, Vic. That’s why they’re different. That’s why things change.” The monitors start slowing down, her heartbeat gets slower, and she gives me a peaceful smile. “I love you,” she said quietly.

Those eight letters mean a lot.

Her saying “I love you” is like Mike admitting that I’m way, way, way cooler than he is.

It just doesn’t happen.

She says it once in a blue moon, which is why I look at her that way.

“I really do.”

“I love you too,” I said quietly, kissing her. She actually lets me kiss her this time, which, although it’s a good thing, kind of scares me. Nadine pulls away shyly, a blush on her face. She holds a hand up to my face and smiles at me, eyes still vibrant and bright.

“Isn’t it lovely?”

The monitors beep erratically, and I can already hear the doctors and nurses rushing towards the room. Her eyes close, and that same smile stays on her face.

“Nadine.”

I tapped her face with my ever shaky hand, trying to get her to wake up. I kissed her lightly, half hoping that she’d swat me away in annoyance and tell me to leave her alone.

“Nadine.” I kissed her again, holding her face in my cold hands.

The monitor beeps even more erratically now and I hold her face in my hands.

“Nadine, please.” I kissed her frantically, hoping to wake her up.

They burst into the room like a swat team, rushing towards the bed and rushing me out of the room.

“Nadine!”

I lean against the door, sinking down, and for the first time in only god knows how long, I burst out in tears.

I start moving forward again, and turn down a quiet street. It’s eerily quiet here, as if no one’s lived here for ages. The streets are coated perfectly in white fluff, and my car cruises easily down the street. I can hear the gravel and snow crunching under my tires. I stop in the middle of the cemetery, turn off the car, and for a while, I just sit there and watch the snow fall.

Oh, Nadine would’ve loved this.

I get out of the car with the flowers in my hand, and slam the door shut. The place is so empty that the sound actually echoes.

You don’t get many echoes in California.

I walk towards the grave with apprehension, unsure what to say or do. I set the flowers upright against the tombstone in the shape of a grey heart, and briefly read over the engraving after I wipe it with the sleeve of my sweater.

Here lies little Nadine Parks,
Lover and a dreamer,
A true inspiration to us all.
Feb. 6, 1984-Feb.3, 2010

I laid down next to it, staring at the sky.

“You were right, Nadine. None of them are the same. Nothing’s the same. I haven’t died. Yet,” I say quietly, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “But, the snow… it’s lovely, very lovely indeed. You’d love it…”

I laid there for I don’t know how long, staring at the sky, and for a few moments, I don’t feel so alone.

Nadine loves the snow.