'Cause the Hardest Part of This is Leaving You.

I know I look like a pile of bones covered in cling film. I see the shock of it in Frank’s eyes.
" Not quite how you remembered me, eh? "

He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. " You’re perfect. "
But I think this is what he was always scared of – having to be interested when I’m ugly and useless.

He’s brought some tulips from the garden. I stuff them in the water jug while he looks at all my get-well cards. We talk about nothing for a bit – how the plants he bought in the garden center are coming along, how his mum is enjoying the weather now that she’s outside more often. He looks out of the window, makes some joke about the view across the car park.

" Frank, I want you to be real. "
He frowns as if he doesn’t understand. " Be Frank with you? "

" Not now " I say " Don’t pretend to care. I don’t need you as an anesthetic. "

" What’s that supposed to mean? "

" I don’t want anyone being fake. "

" I’m not. "

" I don’t blame you. You didn’t know I’d get this sick. And it’s only going to get worse. "

He thinks about this for a moment, then kicks off his shoes.

" What are you doing? "

" Being real. "
He pulls back the blanket and climbs into bed next to me. He scoops me up and wraps me in his arms.
" I love you, " He whispers angrily into my neck. " It hurts more than anything ever has, but I do. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t. Don’t you ever say it again! "

I lay the flat of my palm against his face and he pushes into it. It crosses my mind that he’s lonely. " I’m sorry. "

" You should be. "
He won’t look at me. I think he’s trying not to cry.
He stays all afternoon. We watch some TV, then he reads the paper my Mom left behind and I have another sleep. I dream of him, even though he’s right next to me. We walk together through snow, but we’re hot and wearing swimming costumes. There are empty lanes and frosty trees and a road that curves and never ends.

When I wake up, I’m hungry again, so I send him off for another Strawberry ice-cream. I miss him as soon as he goes. It’s like the whole hospital empties out. How can this be? I claw my hands together under the blanket until he climbs back into bed beside me.
He unwraps the ice-cream and passes it over. I put it on the bedside table.
" Touch me. "

He looks confused. " Your ice cream will melt. "

" Please. "

" I’m right here. I am touching you. "

I move his hand to my crotch. " Like this. "

" No, Gee, I might hurt you. "

" You won’t. "

" What about the nurse? "

" We’ll throw the bed-pan at her if she comes in. "

He very gently crotch my breast through my pyjamas. " Like this? "

He touches me as if I’m delicate, as if he’s stunned, as if my body somehow amazes him, even now, when it's failing. When his skin touches mine, skin to skin, we both shiver.

" I want to make love. "

His hands stall. " When? "

" When I get back home. One more time before I die. I want you to promise. "

The look in his eyes frightens me. I've never seen it before. So deep and real , it's as if he's seen things in the world that others could only imagine.

" I promise. "

*-------*

They swap back and forth, back and forth. Mom comes every morning. Frank comes every afternoon. Mom comes back in the evenings with Mikey. Dad visits randomly, managing to sit through an entire blood transfusion on his second visit. His first words were Haemoglobin and platelets as they hooked me up. I liked him knowing those words.

The sun has hoisted it's self and the clouds spread along the sky. Another day is almost over.
I pack my bag and get dressed. I sit on the bed trying to look perky. I’m waiting for Braden.

" I’m going home, " I tell him as he examines my chart.

He nods as if he was expecting this. " Are you determined? "

" Very. I’m missing the weather. " I point at the window just in case he’s been too busy to notice the mellow light and the blue-sky clouds.

" There’s a certain rigor needed to maintain your blood count, Gerard. "

" Can’t I be rigorous at home? "

He looks at me very seriously. " There’s a fine line between the quality of the life you have left and the medical intervention necessary to maintain it. You’re the only one who can judge it. Are you telling me you’ve had enough? "

I keep thinking about the rooms in our house, the colors of the carpets and curtains, the exact positioning of furniture. There’s a journey I really like making from my bedroom, down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the garden. I want to make that journey. I want to sit in my deck chair on the lawn.
" The last transfusion only lasted for three days. "

He nods sympathetically. " I know. I’m sorry. "

" I had another one this morning. How long do you reckon that’s going to last? "

He sighs. " I don’t know. "

I stroke the bed sheet with the flat of my hand. " I just want to go home. "

" Why don’t I talk to the community care team? If I can get them to guarantee daily visits, then perhaps we can reassess. " He clips my chart back onto the end of my bed. " I’ll phone them and come back when your Mom gets here. "

After he leaves, I count to one hundred. A fly grazes the table. I reach out my finger for a touch of those flimsy wings. It senses me coming, sputters into life and zigzags up to the light fitting, where it circles out of reach.

I put on my coat, drape my scarf round my shoulders and pick up my hospital bag. The nurse doesn’t even notice as I walk past her desk and get into the lift.

When I reach the ground floor, I text Frank: REMEMBER UR PROMISE?

I want to die in my own way. It’s my illness, my death, my choice.
This is what saying yes means

It’s the pleasure of walking, one foot in front of the other, following the yellow lines painted on the floor of the corridor all the way to reception. It’s the pleasure of revolving doors – going round twice to celebrate the genius of the person who invented them. And the pleasure of the air. The sweet, cool, shocking outside world.

There’s a Cafe at the front of the Hospital. I buy a cup of Coffee and a packet of bubblegum. The woman behind the counter looks at me strangely as I pay her. I think I might glow a bit from all my treatments, and some people are able to see it, like a neon wound that flares as I move.

I walk slowly to the cab rank, savoring details – the CCTV camera on the lamppost swinging on its axis, the mobile phones chirruping all about me. The hospital seems to retreat as I whisper goodbye, the shade from the plane trees turning all the windows to darkness.
A girl swings past, high heels clicking; there’s a fried-chicken smell about her as she licks her fingers clean. A man holding a wailing child shouts into his phone: ''No! I can’t bloody carry potatoes as well!''

We make patterns, we share moments. Sometimes I think I’m the only one to see it.

I share my gum with the taxi driver as we join the lunchtime traffic. Today he’s on a double shift, he tells me, and there are too many cars on the road for his liking. He waves at them in despair as we crawl through the town center.

" Where’s it all going to end? " he asks.

I offer him more gum to cheer him up. Then I text Frank again: U HVE PROMISES 2 KEEP.
The weather’s changed, the sun hidden by cloud. I open the window. Cold April air shocks my lungs.
The driver drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.
" It’s complete disaster! "
I like it – the sound of traffic, the deep thrum of a bus engine, an urgent siren in the distance. I like creeping so slowly down

I see children carrying the strangest things – a polar bear, an octopus. And under the wheels of a buggy outside Mother-care I see my name, faded now, but still weaving the pavement all the way to the bank.

I phone Frank’s mobile. He doesn’t pick up, so I leave another message: I WANT YOU.

Simple.
At the junction, an ambulance stands skewed, its doors open, the blue of its light flashing across the road. The light even flashes onto the clouds, low above us. A woman is lying in the road with a blanket over her.

" Would you look at that, " the cab driver says.
Everyone’s looking – people in other cars, office workers out for their lunchtime sandwich. The woman’s head is covered, but her legs stick out. She’s wearing tights; her shoes are at strange angles. Her blood, dark as rain, pools beside her.

The cab driver flicks me a glance in his mirror. " Makes you realize, doesn’t it? "
Yes. It’s so tangible. Being and not being.

Running on my tip-toes I knock on Frank’s door.
Linda opens it a crack and peeps at me. I feel a surge of love for her.

" Is Frank in? "

" Aren’t you supposed to be in hospital? "

" Not any more. "

She looks confused. " He didn’t say they were letting you out. "

" It’s a surprise. "

" Another one?’ She sighs, opens the door a bit further and looks at her watch. " He won’t be back until five. "

" Five? "

She frowns at me. " Are you all right? "

No. Five’s too late. I might be completely anemic again by then.

" Where is he? "

" He’s jumped on the train. They’ve agreed to interview him. "

" For what? "

" University. He wants to start in September. "

The garden spins.

" You look as surprised as I was. "

I fell asleep in his arms in that hospital bed. ''Touch me,'' I said, and he did. ''I love you,'' he said. ''Don’t you dare tell me I don’t.''

He made me a promise.

It starts to rain as I walk back down the path to the gate. A fine silver rain, like cobwebs falling.