Slipped Away
July 4, 2002
"Put that out, it's not good for you." I swatted at the cigarette you dangled between your fingers. I came outside to see you sitting on the bench by the lake, alone with a half pack of Marlboro reds laying right next to you and I swiped them before you could protest.
You gave me that smug, condescending eye roll I loved to hate and shook your head. "Natey, cancer is gonna kill me way before this cigarette will even have a chance to," and then you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke into my face.
I fanned the smoke away from me and looked out to the lake. You really knew how to piss me off. I hated how casual you could be about your leukemia. I kept waiting for the day you would break down, burst into tears, and admit how scared you were; but that day never came. But mostly it was because I was scared. I wasn't ready to picture a world you weren't in, never mind exist in one, and I hated that you forced me to face reality.
"Shut up," I told you, and plopped myself into the spot on the bench next to you.
You got the hint, and spared my feelings, "happy fourth of July." You were so much braver than I was.
"You too, Ry."
"My mom is going nuts. She's all upset that this could be our last fourth of July cookout. She's been planning for weeks."
"Who says this is our last cookout?"
"Come on, Natey, you're not gonna have time for us once you're a big NHL superstar. And who knows where I'll be."
"Yeah, well, I've been doing some thinking and..."
You cut me off, "Oh God," you groaned and rolled your eyes.
"Let me finish. I've been doing some thinking and I've decided that I shouldn't be leaving Dunnville."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm not going to enter in the draft next year."
"Why?" your voice suddenly became rough and demanding.
"I want to stay here, I want to be here for you. I want to take care of you. You're my best friend and..."
"NO!" you barked, cutting me off again and standing up suddenly as if the mere thought of sitting on the same bench as me disgusted you, "I don't need you...I don't WANT you to do that. Don't act like I'm some hopeless depressing sad-sack you have to put your dreams on the line for. It's not even worth it! You're going to that entry draft, Nathan. That's final."
You turned on the heels of your converse sneakers and stomped from the bench and into the back of your house, slamming the screen door behind you.
You gave me that smug, condescending eye roll I loved to hate and shook your head. "Natey, cancer is gonna kill me way before this cigarette will even have a chance to," and then you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke into my face.
I fanned the smoke away from me and looked out to the lake. You really knew how to piss me off. I hated how casual you could be about your leukemia. I kept waiting for the day you would break down, burst into tears, and admit how scared you were; but that day never came. But mostly it was because I was scared. I wasn't ready to picture a world you weren't in, never mind exist in one, and I hated that you forced me to face reality.
"Shut up," I told you, and plopped myself into the spot on the bench next to you.
You got the hint, and spared my feelings, "happy fourth of July." You were so much braver than I was.
"You too, Ry."
"My mom is going nuts. She's all upset that this could be our last fourth of July cookout. She's been planning for weeks."
"Who says this is our last cookout?"
"Come on, Natey, you're not gonna have time for us once you're a big NHL superstar. And who knows where I'll be."
"Yeah, well, I've been doing some thinking and..."
You cut me off, "Oh God," you groaned and rolled your eyes.
"Let me finish. I've been doing some thinking and I've decided that I shouldn't be leaving Dunnville."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm not going to enter in the draft next year."
"Why?" your voice suddenly became rough and demanding.
"I want to stay here, I want to be here for you. I want to take care of you. You're my best friend and..."
"NO!" you barked, cutting me off again and standing up suddenly as if the mere thought of sitting on the same bench as me disgusted you, "I don't need you...I don't WANT you to do that. Don't act like I'm some hopeless depressing sad-sack you have to put your dreams on the line for. It's not even worth it! You're going to that entry draft, Nathan. That's final."
You turned on the heels of your converse sneakers and stomped from the bench and into the back of your house, slamming the screen door behind you.