Distance

Grief.

The sun was coming up, and I could feel it's warmth on my cheeks. My limbs were tangled with Jordan's, his head on my chest. I supposed he'd fallen asleep counting my heartbeats, 'checking that you're still here', as he put it. It had been a while since I'd ever been this naked, felt this exposed.

There was a terrible tenderness in this moment, and as I looked at Jordan's sleeping face, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he and I, we were in this for the long haul. Till death, or at least, until this love between us died.

And then my phone rang.

Jordan stirred sleepily, but I managed to hit the silencer before the jangling bells drew him too far from whatever dreams were painting smiles on his pretty lips.

"Wassamatter?" He slurred sleepily.
"Nothing," I whispered, kissing his forehead. "I'll be right back."

I slipped from his bed, tugged on a pair of jeans. They couldn't be mine; they settled low on my hips. I padded silently through the apartment, and went to stand on his deck. I extracted a cigarette from my pack and fired my lighter. It was dawnbreak, and Danica's name was on my caller ID.

***

"Billie?"
"Yeah?"

There was a short silence, and I sighed.

"Jesus Christ, you call at fucking dawn and you've got nothing to say. Danie, sometimes I question your sanity."
"Billie, I-"

Whatever she'd been trying to say was cut off by a harsh sob. I felt my heart twist in sudden concern. I groped for a chair, assaulted by the sense that whatever she was about to say was going to rip the bottom out of my world.

"What's wrong, Danie? You're not...you're not pregnant are you?"

She gave a hysterical laugh. I could almost see her, sitting on the floor beside that huge window her father had had put in, just for her. I knew her hands were shaking, just from the tremors in her voice.

"Remember those tests they did before they discharged me?" She whispered.
"Course, Danie."
"Well...they found...they found a tumor."

I was instantly glad I'd sat down. My knees were weak, and the hand holding my cigarette started trembling. I was clutching my cell phone so hard that my knuckles had to be white.

"Where?"
"Brain." Her voice was barely audible, and her voice had grown more unsteady. She sounded as if she was trying to stifle her own sobs in preparation for mine.
"Oh my god. Oh my god." My voice was ragged. I chucked my cigarette away, grabbed a fistful of hair with my freed hand. "Oh my god, Danie. Oh god."
"And they...they can't operate."
"Why?!" I nearly screamed.
"They're afraid that...they'll damage one of the lobes, and..Oh, I don't fucking know. All I know is that I'm going to waste away and die and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

She lost control then, bursting into sobs. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and I knew my heart was breaking for her. Tears were slipping down my own cheeks as grief like I'd never felt before tore me apart.

It felt like hours before either of us could speak, but I managed to choke out, "Who else knows?"
"No one. I...I got the news last night and I just...I never...I couldn't..." In my mind, I saw her shaking her head, trying to clear it. "I couldn't believe it until..."
"Until what?"
"Billie, I never...I didn't tell anyone, but I'd been having headaches..."

I was silent. I remembered times when she'd leave shows, stand outside, and return smelling of cigarettes, with a forced smile on her lips.

"How long?" I asked.
"They don't know. They...aren't optomistic."
"Well maybe-"
"Don't."
"Danie-"
"Please don't. It's too hard to hope."
"You have to hope, Danie! If you don't hope, then who will?"
"Do you understand? I'm dying. Sooner or later, my brain is going to stop working. It's going to stop telling my heart to beat, stop telling my lungs to breathe. I'm going to die, and it's not going to be noble, or pretty, and it'll be so damn soon..."

She dissolved back into harsh, wracking sobs.

"I'm calling Tre, and Mike, and then all of us are coming to see you."
"No."
"Why?" I asked, petulantly.
"I don't want to see anyone but you, honestly."

I paused, all the things that her statement could mean running through my head, common sense battling with my pain at the thought of her death.

"That's asking for trouble, Danie."
"I'm dying. I could care less about trouble." She snapped.

There was silence, and then her voice softened. "Please, Billie. Please come."