Like We're Gonna Die Young

Walking outside of the New York bar I pulled my cigarettes out of my purse and opened them up, digging one out.

“Shit.” I cursed. It was one in the morning and of course, I was on my last cigarette. Being the nicotine addict that I was, I popped it in my mouth and fished for a lighter. After successfully finding one I lit my cigarette and smugly threw the lighter back in my over large purse. Before I could take even my second drag off the cigarette a man said,
“Those will kill you, you know.”

I rolled my eyes at the unfamiliar voice. “People are all hyped up on how cigarettes kill people with cancer however cigarette companies can claim that cancer is what causes smoking because, thanks to the immorality of forcing people to smoke, a controlled test can’t be done on what exactly about smoking causes people to get lung cancer.”

“Well listen to you little Ms. Smarty-Pants, what are you, fresh out of college with a Statistics major?”

“Education, actually, Statistics was just the most interesting looking math class. I’m only in New York on vacation and since I got here I just can’t find my cigarettes anywhere.”

The man behind the voice came up to me and offered his hand.

“I’m Connor Richardson. I just graduated top of my class from Princeton with a degree in Psychology. I’m staying in New York until I have to head into the real world of work.”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise as I shook his hand. “Where are you headed?” I asked.
“To teach, actually, in some dinky ass town in Arizona called Prescott Valley.”

“At the high school?” I asked.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I’m going to be the new Theater teacher there.” He laughed as I gave a theatrical bow, spilling the contents of my purse. “Shit.” I grumbled again, picking everything up and shoving it back in. Connor bent over to help me and soon everything was back in its normal state of disarray in my too large purse.

“When do you leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow on the 10:30 flight, which means I really shouldn’t be out drinking this late, but I’m doing it anyway because God knows if there will be any good bars in the hell hole we’re moving to.”

“That’s my flight too, but I’m just planning on not sleeping and then sleeping for the six hour plane ride. Maybe if had someone interesting to talk to like you on the flight I might stay awake.”

“I doubt you’re sitting next to me. I’m sitting in some middle seat, 12B or something.”

“Well then this must be fate I’m in 12C, I believe. Can I buy you a drink, when you head back in?”

“Sure, I’m sure we’ll be out together in that dinky ass town anyway.”
“What’s you’re name?”

“Elena, Elena Smith.”

“Well, Miss Smith, it is nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Connor.”

And I went back to his hotel that night…


In that moment three years ago I didn’t know that it really was fate that brought Connor and I together. I didn’t expect to fall in love with him, want to marry him, or even end up living with him in an apartment in that dinky ass town but it happened. It all happened.

“Baby, are you ready to go? I thought the point of this was that we were only young once but you seem intent on making us old before we go out dancing tonight!” He laughed at his joke, but I knew that over the next few months there would be no laughter, no going out dancing and no drinking. Once Connor found out about my condition, and how serious it was, he would buckle down and insist on doing everything healthy as if it would help drag everything out. So when we came home from work today I suggested that we go out drinking and dancing down on Whiskey Row. It was a Friday night, I’d argued, and we were only young once.

Connor conceded, “We’ll party it up!” he said.

“I just have to put lipstick on Connor, I’ll be right out.”

“Remember, you’re the one who wanted to go out!” he shouted and backed off of the bathroom door.

A few moments later I stepped out of the bathroom, grabbed my purse and we headed out.
As we drove down the highway I pulled out a cigarette and started fishing for a lighter. Once I had gotten it lit Connor looked at me.

“Those will kill you, you know.” He remarked turning his attention back to his driving.

“I know Connor.” I said.

After finding a parking spot we head into Hooligan’s Pub. Connor orders a beer while I order Long Island Ice Tea. It is my utter intention to get rip roaring drunk and I think Connor knows it. I drink slowly, I don’t want to get too drunk too fast because I still want to dance and if I start stumbling in my first hour here Connor will just take me home.

“So what’s on your mind Ellie?” he asks. I shrug noncommittally taking another sip of my drink.

“Oh come on Ellie, it has to be something. You hardly ever drink hard alcohol unless something’s wrong. Spill it.”

“I’m quitting my job.” There, not giving away too much information yet, I want to enjoy the rest of our night out before I have to give it up.

“Why?” Connor asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“My doctor suggested it.” I shrugged again, feeling ready for another cigarette. I really wasn’t ready to have this discussion, but the alcohol was giving me a slight amount of courage.

“When did your doctor suggest it?”

“When I saw him last week,” I replied.

“Did he say why he was suggesting it?” Connor asked, not catching on to the fact that I was giving as little information away as possible until he asked just the right questions.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“That the job I had was causing me too much stress and in my current condition it may be too much for me.”

“Current condition? Are you pregnant?” he asked, looking like he was going to snatch my drink right out of my hand to prevent me from harming his imaginary baby and then destroy my cigarettes.

“No Connor, I’m not pregnant.” I replied, trying to keep my voice even.

“You’re sick.” He murmured as the realization dawned on him. “How sick?” he asked.

“Connor…”

“How sick Ellie?” he demanded.

“I have six months, eight if I’m lucky.”

“When did you find out?”

“Two months ago. I was waiting to tell you until I knew more. Until last week, the doctor thought I could pull through it but… He said that the chances were just so unlikely, even with treatment.”

“Treatment…” he said slowly. “It’s cancer?” his eyes widened. All I could do was nod.

“What kind?” he asked.

“Lung cancer,” I murmured quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t blow a gasket.

“Of course it is. I told you those damn cigarettes were going to kill you Ellie! I told you! It was the first thing I said to you!”

“I know.”

Connor ran his hands through his hair.

“Can we go home now?” he asked. He only drank half of his beer, which was much less dangerous than my whole Long Island Ice Tea that, even though I’d been nursing, I managed to finish off.

We were quiet on the drive home, there wasn’t really much left to say about anything right now. Pulling into our parking spot in the apartment complex Connor turned off the car and put his hand on top of mine.

“Are you going to do treatment, Ellie?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” I said, shaking my head. “I know that it gives me a better chance, but I’m going to be sick enough as it is. I’d rather just enjoy what little time we have left.”

He nodded, understanding. We headed inside, showered and went to bed.

I quit my job at the high school, but Connor stayed to continue to mold the mind of kids interested in taking Psychology.
Days passed, and days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Although I did nothing but lay around the apartment and eat unhealthy food like chocolate ice cream and popcorn with the occasional large bag of potato chips, I lost weight. Nothing I ate would say down. Connor argued that I needed to be eating healthier food and I argued right back, protesting that if I was going to have to taste everything twice do to constant vomiting I should at least like what it is I’m vomiting up. Finally, he conceded but the pounds just continued to fall off me.

One day, in my third month after telling Connor about my illness he came home from the mall, with of course, smaller clothes for me, a few new movies for me to add to the collection that we’d been building since all I did was watch movies, try to eat, and puke; and a small bag.

“Ellie, tell me something?”

“Hmm?” I asked, looking up at him from the couch.

“If you had more time, would you want to get married?” he asked.

“Connor…” I paused to cough. “Even if we only had tomorrow I’d want to get married.”

“Then marry me Ellie. Marry me tomorrow, today even, but just, marry me before we run out of time?”

I smiled up at him, “Sure baby.”

Out of the small back he produced a little black box. Opening it and getting on one knee next to me he smiled.

“Ellie Smith, will you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes.” I smiled back at him. He slipped the ring, which was modestly sized and far too big for my finger, onto my hand and kissed my forehead.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

“No, thank you.”

“So, how are we going to plan this?” I asked.

“A small wedding, at a local venue, dress bought at the last minute so it will fit, in a month or so maybe?” he said, laying his head on my chest. I absentmindedly started stroking his hair.

“It sounds perfect. What should I take care of?”

He looked up at me.

“The dress, and whoever you want there.” He shrugged, and continued “I can handle a location, I was actually thinking of up at Fain Park, and a pastor shouldn’t be too hard to find. You’ll have to come with me to get the marriage license though.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just have to pick a day when I’m strong enough to go.”

“Mhm. Maybe one of your girlfriends can help you go dress shopping the same day.”

“That’s a good idea.”

And so, with the idea of planning a wedding to keep me moderately occupied the days passed a little faster. The pastor had been contacted and we set a time, date and place. The reception had been settled and food was being chosen. I was making a playlist of songs that had all kinds of significance to us I had invited my parents, Connor’s parents, a few friends of his from college that I knew he still kept in touch with, a few of my girl friends from home who were flying in a week before the wedding to help with all the final touches and find dresses, and a few of our friends from work. I had picked out colors and flowers. On a day that I was feeling particularly well we’d gone to pick out rings, and made sure to have them sized along with getting my engagement ring resized. All that was really left to do was pick out a cake, get Connor’s tuxedo and get a dress, plus the marriage license. And there were still two weeks to go. I spent the next week watching all the movies about weddings that we had, hoping that watching every possible detail would prepare me for the wedding.

I wasn’t nervous about marrying Connor. I had wanted to marry him for a long time. I was just nervous about all the after effects, and of what people might say, and about screwing something up of course. Most women spend a lifetime planning out a dream wedding only to find out that it’ll gets screwed up and what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life turns into a mess. Sure you’re now married to your best friend but more often than not everything that can go wrong will.

Surprisingly enough as the day drew closer the nervousness that I’d been feeling started to dissipate. Especially on the day that Amy and Savannah came in.

“Oh Ellie!” they’d cried. Horribly excited for the wedding but shocked to see how thing I really was. I was only 5’5” but the fact that I’d lost almost fifty pounds made me look so much smaller. Through most of my teenage and adult life I’d maintained a weight of 145 pounds but now I’d dropped so much weight I looked like I was a starving child at a whopping 98 pounds.

“How are we ever going to find you a dress? You must wear like, a triple zero! I mean, it’s stunning of course, but I want you to have something you love not something you just have to settle for because of your weight!” Savannah had exclaimed.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“We could pad her in some areas,” Amy said, always looking out for me.

But it still left the question of what the hell dress was going to fit me. I was just thankful that my hair loss so far had been fairly minimal. I almost smiled at the thought, for years I had wished my hair would stop growing so thick, it created problems for when I wanted my hair to grow long. Now it wouldn’t grow, but at least it wasn’t so thick. I could braid it finally, and I could do pretty up-dos and such.

“How do you feel today, Ellie?” Savannah asked.

“Not well enough to get the marriage license, but well enough to look at dresses.”

“Do you know where we could find a dress?” Amy asked.

“There are a few boutiques around town. Someone will have to drive though, I just can’t.”

“It’s okay Ellie, we understand. Savannah and I brought a car. We’ll take you babe.”

And for a while, it felt like we were teenagers again, driving around town looking for the perfect dresses and accessories, drinking coffee drinks, eating fast food, living like we would all die young. The sad realization hit me that, only I would be dying. I tried not to seem morose though, I had missed my friends and they didn’t need to see how much this was bringing me down, besides, my wedding was in a week. Of course I was happy. I just wished I had more time.

At that moment, the moment I realized how much I wished for more time, I cursed fate. Only fate would be cruel enough to give me a happy ending, but limit my time with it. Almost like being Cinderella, I could go to the ball and have my Prince, but it would all be over at midnight; or in my case a few months. And never in my life had I wanted a cigarette more.

We found the dress on Thursday at a little boutique off of a frontage road in Prescott Valley. It almost fit perfectly. It was a simple dress made of tulle and taffeta that was tea length, and bone white. Savannah and Amy had knee length and strapless turquoise dresses with a black ribbon that wrapped around the waist and tied in a bow at the back. We’d decided on a braid style that would start as a French braid on one side and then hang over the opposite shoulder. The girls would leave their hair down, but curl it. The bouquets would match the dresses perfectly as they were blue carnations with white roses.

The next day Connor and I went to get the marriage license for the Saturday wedding; we also made reservations for one of the local hotels and went to pick up the cake. Connor would be staying with one of his friends tonight, following the tradition of the bride and groom not seeing each other the night before the wedding. At two o’clock tomorrow we’d be getting married.

That night I wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves or the puking that kept me up but luckily when the morning came and my stomach was fairly empty I had enough energy to make food and I felt like it would be a good day for me. The girls helped me with my hair and make up and slipped me into my dress. They made sure I ate the pancakes that I’d made them in the morning and they thanked every known higher power that my dress still sort of fit.

Everything passed in a blur, and then it was time. Before I could register anything my father was walking me down the aisle to Connor, holding my arm a little tighter than was necessary, as if he didn’t want to let go. And then he had to, he passed my hand to Connor and when the pastor asked who was giving me away he responded softly, with tears in his eyes.

The service went by faster than I had expected and suddenly it was time for the reception, while all of the guests were coming up to us with words of joy and congratulations. I could do nothing but stand there, leaning heavily on Connor, and smile. I was starting to wear out, today had been filled with a lot of excitement and so far, nothing had gone wrong.

We sat to a light, but efficient and delicious lunch of angel hair pasta with parmesan and herbs with grilled chicken. The cake was next. Everyone took pictures of us cutting into the red velvet and chocolate layered cake with cream cheese icing. All of the guests talked and laughed, half of them made toasts and speeches all the while the DJ played music. Finally it was time for the first dance.

“Ladies and Gentlemen; please clear the dance floor, because dancing for the first time Mr. and Mrs. Connor Richardson!” the DJ called.

Connor took my hand and led me out to the dance floor and “I Swear” by John Michael Montgomery started to play. Connor placed the hand that wasn’t holding mine on my waist and I placed my hand on his shoulder. Slowly we started to dance as the music surrounds us. After a moment I started to feel a little dizzy and after a few seconds passed I felt faint then all of a sudden it seemed like the floor was flying up to meet me.

Then every thing was black.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I opened my eyes slowly. There was a light on, and although it wasn’t bright it hurt my eyes. My throat was sore and dry. And that damn beeping noise was annoying me. Connor was sitting next to me, holding my hand, still in his tuxedo. The bowtie was undone and the jacked was slung over his chair.

“Connor,” I rasped, surprising myself. How long had I been out?

“Ellie! You’re awake. Oh thank God baby.”

“Water, please?” it was all I could really manage before I started hacking, my lungs were on fire and when I pulled my hand away, there was blood.

“Of course baby, let me go get the nurse.” He walked out of the room and about a minute later he returned with a nurse. She started to check my vitals, told me she’d bring me some water and that a doctor would be in shortly.

Connor started to tell me about what had happened at the wedding. He hadn’t realized how worn out all the excitement had made me when we started to dance but then when I fainted, he’d caught my head just before it hit the ground, everyone panicked. Connor had to drive me to the hospital in Prescott Valley and explain the situation; apparently they had monitored me for the past few days.

The nurse came back with water and a man that looked like he could be the doctor followed her.

“Hello Elena, how do you feel?” he asked.

“Sore, tired, weak,” the adjectives were really I could manage.

“I can imagine. I have good news and I have bad news. Which would you like first?”

“The bad news, I think?” I asked.

“Well Elena, the bad news is the cancer progressed very quickly, more quickly than your doctor had anticipated, and I’m afraid there may not be too long left for you. The good news however is that, if you want to go home and spend the rest of your time as comfortably and peacefully as possible we won’t stop you. You don’t even have to sneak out, you can just sign the papers and go.”

“That is,” I broke off to cough, again I noticed it was harder than usual, “good news.” I managed a small smile.

“Would you like to go home, Ellie?” Connor asked.

“Yes.” And magically, I got my wish.

A few days later we were lying in our bed and watching a movie. Another ten pounds had fallen away from me and I felt as if I’d coughed up a gallon of blood by now. I refused to let go, no matter how much it hurt I wanted as much time as possible. Today I didn’t feel like I could move at all. I had my head on Connor’s chest and he was stroking my hair softly.

“Baby, fate brought me to you and now it’s going to take you away.”

“I’ll just have to love you when I’m gone then.”

He sighed quietly.

“I wish we had more time.”

“I know. So do I baby,” I murmured, close to falling asleep. I was so tired.

“I love you Ellie.”

“I love you too Connor” I whispered as I drifted off to a very light sleep.

“You can let go you know. I’ll be okay. I know it has to be hard, hanging on like this Ellie; I don’t want you to hurt anymore. Please baby, just let go.” Connor whispered softly, and I’m not sure if he knew that I could hear him but in that moment I just let go and drifted away…