Cancer

There, in a metal cage with a much-abused pink towel stuffed in the bottom and food and water bowls pushed into one corner, was a long, sleek creature with brown fur, watching me nervously with beady little black eyes. As Ryan beckoned me closer, it backed away, cowering into the farthest corner of its cage. I felt sorry for the poor thing and wanted to leave it alone, but Ryan seemed determined to show it off, despite its obvious terror.

"This is Krista," he announced proudly, beaming.

I gasped in pretend shock. "You like the Beatles and you own a pet ferret now? Who are you, anyway?"

"She's not a ferret!" He seemed genuinely offended, which only added to my amusement. "She's a mongoose!"

"Oh." I tried to reassemble my features into a grave expression as I studied Krista the Mongoose-Not-Ferret for a moment. "Well, pardon me for making an honest mistake."

Ryan snorted. "There's kind of a big difference between a ferret and a mongoose." When I just stared at him blankly, he said huffily, "Mongoose eat snakes," like it was so obvious that I must have failed kindergarten at least twice to be so surprised.

"So what, she's like a live-in exterminator?" I asked dryly. "I'm actually pretty sure it's not normal to have snakes in a ninth-floor apartment, even in Vegas. Maybe you should put those record sales to good use and pay your maid to come a little more often."

Ryan rolled his eyes at me. "Ha ha, real funny. Did Brendon loan you one of his fourth-grade joke books?"

All the humor in his face evaporated instantaneously, even as I felt the smile drain from my own face. Immediately, the light-hearted atmosphere clouded over and morphed into something dark and grave. I looked down at my feet again, but not before I saw Ryan biting his lip apologetically.

"I'm sorry." His deep voice was low and rough with sadness. "I didn't mean to--"

"No, it's okay," I insisted. I tried to smile, but it felt all wrong. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

We both fell silent for a moment. Ryan was watching my face carefully, gauging my reaction, which made fighting back tears all that much harder. I latched my gaze onto the mongoose quivering anxiously in her cage, focusing hard so that I wouldn't cry. I knew Ryan wouldn't mind, that he would probably be glad to comfort me, but I was determined not to cry in front of him again.

After a moment or two, Ryan seemed satisfied that I wasn't going to cry, and finally noticed that I was staring at Krista. "You want to hold her?" he offered.

I bit my lip uncertainly as Krista, seeming to understand her oncoming fate, twisted her long skinny body into a thoroughly uninviting knot in order to defend herself. I laughed a little, without humor. "I don't think she likes me very much."

"Nah," said Ryan off-handedly, the corners of his lips twisting up into a wry smile. "She just needs to get to know you a little better. Then you'll be the best of friends."

He reached up to unlatch the cage as he spoke, and at the grating sound of the black metal door sliding open, the poor little mongoose flew into a frenzy. She darted around in her cage frantically, desperate to avoid Ryan's enormous hands as he reached in to pick her up. He pulled her out easily, ignoring her writhing and squirming.

I eyed her claws and teeth hesitantly. "Uhh..."

"Why don't you go sit on the bed?" Ryan suggested, nodding at the big white bed in the middle of the room.

I did as I was told, plopping down on the edge of the bed. He sat beside me and placed Krista carefully into my outstretched arms.

"Hold onto her, now," said Ryan. "Don't let her get away. She'll get used to you."

She struggled against my grasp, her sharp claws sliding against my skin. Then after a while, she seemed to accept defeat and lay silent in my arms--her beady black eyes still snapped back and forth uneasily, though.

"You can pet her. She won't bite or anything," said Ryan encouragingly.

Softly, I stroked the slick fur down the length of her body, and she seemed to relax a bit in response.

"See," said Ryan, smiling. "Best friends."

He reached over to pet Krista too, and we sat there for a long time like that, just stroking her soft fur in the silence of his room. The sting of Ryan's reminder of Brendon faded away to be replaced by a heavier pang--a pang of sudden guilt.

It was wrong of me, I realized all at once, to impose on Ryan like this. My pain and suffering was not his fault and not his problem, and I had no right to ask him to fix me when he hadn't been the one to break me in the first place. It was bad enough that I tormented myself with all this heartbreak that never got me anywhere--much less that I should extend the sorrow to someone else.

And it wasn't like Ryan didn't have his own problems to worry about. He'd suffered as much as I had, if not more, in his lifetime.

I remembered the way I used to see him--quiet, withdrawn, reserved--and couldn't help but compare it to the way he was now: still quiet, but in a sweet, friendly way that didn't seem at all timid. I wondered if the old Ryan had just been a mask that he had only recently overcome; if this Ryan was the real Ryan.

He seemed like the type to keep his pain to himself. Maybe no one would ever know how much he had been hurting. How much he was still hurting, perhaps.

The thought made me sad, but I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of him at the same time. Why couldn't I keep my pain to myself, rather than spread it all around like this? Why couldn't I be strong like Ryan? Why couldn't I beat the cancer like he did, without bawling my eyes out to a boy who barely knew me?

At my side, Ryan was oblivious to my internal self-berations. It might have been the first time he had ever seemed unaware of anything.

But then again, he did seem to pick up on my anxiety and frustration--he just misinterpreted it.

"So," he said carefully, raising his soft child's eyes from the mongoose with an air of hesitancy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He was trying to comfort me. The pang of guilt doubled and throbbed, and I had to look away for a moment before I could collect myself enough to reply. "Which 'it'?" I laughed bitterly.

He shrugged, forcing a little half-smile for my benefit. "Whichever 'it' you want."

I bit my lip, concentrating on Krista in my lap again so I didn't have to face him. "I don't what there is to talk about."

"You said you wanted to talk to me," he pointed out.

"...Yeah, I guess I did," I conceded.

I felt so bad. What was I doing there, with him? What was I thinking? Was I really that self-absorbed? He probably just gave me his number that night because he felt sorry for me, not because he really intended to comfort me--though of course he would if I asked, being the sweetheart he is.

I hesitated for a moment as my mind reeled with all this thoughts, and then I blurted out suddenly, "You know what? I shouldn't even be bothering you with this, it has nothing to do with you."

"Kelsey, don't--"

"I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm so sorry."

"Kels--"

Dumping Krista in Ryan's lap, I got to my feet and hurried out of the room. I had barely made it to the kitchen counter when Ryan caught up with me, grabbing me by the arm to stop me.

"Kelsey," he said firmly. He twisted his face around, trying to force me to look at him, but I was staring purposefully around the room--anything to escape having to meet his reassuring gaze with my tearful one. "Kelsey, I told you I would be here for you if you needed me. You obviously need me. Here I am."

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tears out so that my vision was no longer blurred, and finally looked at him. Standing there in the middle of his living room, his childlike face gentle and worried, with the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the enormous windows behind him, he could have been an angel sent just for me--an angel with a squirmy mongoose tucked under one arm, albeit.

Well, I certainly needed saving. And who was I to turn away such a gift from God?

But, more importantly, who was I to believe I deserved as much?

I closed my eyes against the tears, shaking my head determinedly. "I can't ask that of you."

"You didn't ask," said Ryan evenly. "I offered."

"This is my problem," I insisted. "There's no reason for you to--"

"You're my friend. Your problems are my problems. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

I blinked at him, staggered by his concern for me, his sheer goodness, his willingness to clean up a mess he didn't make. And he had called me his friend. Was I really his friend?

I would have liked very much to think so.

I gave him a watery smile, and I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face. Dropping Krista onto the floor (she bounded away gratefully), he pulled me into his arms in a gesture that felt very easy and natural, and I cried into his chest for a while. He rubbed my back and told me I was going to be alright, and for the first time in a long time, I believed.