Content With Redundancy

“Bertie? How many licks does it actually take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?” I questioned, looking at the raspberry flavored lollipop I was holding. “I’m really starting to wonder because I have been licking this thing for what, an hour now?”

Bertie took her eyes off the TV that was playing in front of us and looked at me blankly. “I have no fucking clue, Mr. Owl never told us did he? Nope, that asshole just took three licks then bit it off the stick. The world truly will never know.”

I laughed and looked at the lollipop again, she was right. The world will probably never know. I think that’s what makes these little things so good, lollipops, not knowing how long it’s going to take for you to finish one, it all depends on how you like them. Do you like to work them down a little bit before munching them off with your molars, a quick, fast way of finishing them like Mr. Owl? Or do you like to suck them until they deteriorate into nothing, something that will last you a good solid hour or so? That’s why the world would never know how many licks it takes.

We were having our seemingly weekly girl’s night, full of Friends reruns, DIY manicures, and greasy pizza from Pizza Hut. Bertie and I have been doing this together since our freshman year in college and as some people say, old habits are hard to give up.

“So, are you going with me tomorrow? Luce has been asking about how you’ve been doing,” I asked, sitting upright in my favorite chair; stripped and worn, it used to be my sisters.

“Sure, I haven’t seen Lucie. How is she doing?” Bertie wondered, glancing back towards loud commercial playing on the television.

My heart swelled in my chest just thinking about her and how she’s doing. How is she doing exactly? Every time I visit her Lucie always says she’s getting better, but the thinning color of her once tan skin tells another story, but maybe that’s just how the treatment works. If she was a lollypop there’s no doubt she would be the kind that Mr. Owl would eat; three licks then bitten off, done.

Just thinking about that made me depressed. Taking a shaky breath I looked up at Bertie, “She’s doing the best she can.”

Bertie turned off the TV and faced me, hands crossed over her shoulders. “How long is she going to be there?”

“We don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders, “Mom is getting mad at the doctors because they aren’t giving her a definite answer on anything.”

“Damn Em, that must be tough.”

“Yeah, it is. But Lucie is hanging in there, she’s willing to do anything she can to stay alive.” I trailed off at the end, trying to keep strong. I’ve been crying a bit too much over the past month and I needed to gain some self-control; I definitely didn’t want to be one of those people who let their emotion’s control their lives. Looking at the clock I noticed it was already past six and we still haven’t ordered a pizza yet.

“Hey, it’s getting kind of late, want to order the pizza now? We can pick it up and stop at the liquor store on the way back,” I offered, and seeing the way Bertie’s face lit up I’m guessing I just read her mind.

“That would be perfect.”