she went back to work. While I waited for her shift to end, she brought me water and my standard large black coffee. She’d remembered.
After she got off, we walked to her apartment.
I settled on her gray, full-grain leather couch while she prepared snacks and drinks.
“I said to make yourself at home, so take off that hat, will you?”
I exhaled slowly through my nose and scratched my neck. Looking at the floor, I shook my head slightly.
“Come on. It’s not winter,” she said.
Again I shook my head.
“Mia!” she laughed and with a fast movement yanked it off my head. She immediately stopped laughing and stared at me in shock. How I hated those looks. I snatched the gray knit hat out of her hands and put it back on. Kriszta lowered herself next to me. I played nervously with my fingers and, as usual, wanted to scratch my scars.
She nudged me with her shoulder. “You want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
I couldn’t—no, didn’t —want to look at her.
She continued, her voice soft, “Please, Mia. I’ll listen. Look at me and talk to me.”
Reluctantly, I raised my head and stared straight ahead. Then I shut my eyes and turned toward Kriszta.
“Please,” she murmured.
I opened my eyes and looked directly into hers. She waited.
“It happened a little over a year ago,” I began. “I didn’t feel well. I was sick all the time, until one day I broke down and ended up in the hospital.”
Kriszta tried to take my hand, but I snatched it away.
“It’s OK. It’s only me. Come on. Give me your hand.” She showed me the palm of her own. “Put yours on mine. I won’t squeeze it or move. Just let it rest there, all right? Try it,” she encouraged.
Trembling, I put one hand on my lap. The other shook heavily. I knew Kriszta. I knew she wouldn’t hurt me. My hand was only inches from hers. She nodded reassuringly and smiled. Carefully, I moved it closer. My pulse increased at once. I could hear the loud hammering of my heart. Kriszta nodded again, and I placed my hand on her palm. As it rested there, we sat completely still. Kriszta’s warmth seeped into my cold fingers. I looked at her, startled. It felt good! She smiled, and my emotions ran wild. I was so proud of myself. I didn’t want to remove my hand. I actually wanted to hold hers. I wanted more . So I squeezed.
Her grin broadened. “I knew you could do it,” she said softly.
I looked at her, overjoyed, then picked up where I’d left off. “I thought I might have a virus, but no.” I took a deep breath. “They found a tumor. Actually, two. Both of them malignant. The second was actually a metastasis. The doctor said any day could be my last.”
Kriszta had tears in her eyes.
“Please, don’t pity me,” I said. “I was in the hospital for a long time, and after that, I had chemo. I started losing my hair and emotionally, physically fell into a very bad place. I couldn’t understand why all this was happening to me.” I stared at our hands. “My whole life went downhill. Christoph broke up with me. He . . . Can you imagine what he did? He left me for Julia, my best friend. Well, not my friend anymore. They hooked up while I was in the hospital.”
Kriszta looked at me in shock. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, then smiled a little bit. In hindsight, the whole story was laughable and ridiculous—a cliché.
“It really did me in. You know how much I loved him. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I tried to end it all, Kriszta,” I whispered.
“You’re still here,” she replied.
I nodded. “My dad found me in time. Now I’m seeing a therapist, and I’m feeling much better. Just not great. I’m still so sluggish. I can’t seem to feel any joy. It’s always the same, every day. My therapist told me to leave, go away.”
“Away?”
“Well, away from everything familiar—my parents, my hometown. He thinks I need distance. That maybe some physical separation from the past can help me see the beauty of
After she got off, we walked to her apartment.
I settled on her gray, full-grain leather couch while she prepared snacks and drinks.
“I said to make yourself at home, so take off that hat, will you?”
I exhaled slowly through my nose and scratched my neck. Looking at the floor, I shook my head slightly.
“Come on. It’s not winter,” she said.
Again I shook my head.
“Mia!” she laughed and with a fast movement yanked it off my head. She immediately stopped laughing and stared at me in shock. How I hated those looks. I snatched the gray knit hat out of her hands and put it back on. Kriszta lowered herself next to me. I played nervously with my fingers and, as usual, wanted to scratch my scars.
She nudged me with her shoulder. “You want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
I couldn’t—no, didn’t —want to look at her.
She continued, her voice soft, “Please, Mia. I’ll listen. Look at me and talk to me.”
Reluctantly, I raised my head and stared straight ahead. Then I shut my eyes and turned toward Kriszta.
“Please,” she murmured.
I opened my eyes and looked directly into hers. She waited.
“It happened a little over a year ago,” I began. “I didn’t feel well. I was sick all the time, until one day I broke down and ended up in the hospital.”
Kriszta tried to take my hand, but I snatched it away.
“It’s OK. It’s only me. Come on. Give me your hand.” She showed me the palm of her own. “Put yours on mine. I won’t squeeze it or move. Just let it rest there, all right? Try it,” she encouraged.
Trembling, I put one hand on my lap. The other shook heavily. I knew Kriszta. I knew she wouldn’t hurt me. My hand was only inches from hers. She nodded reassuringly and smiled. Carefully, I moved it closer. My pulse increased at once. I could hear the loud hammering of my heart. Kriszta nodded again, and I placed my hand on her palm. As it rested there, we sat completely still. Kriszta’s warmth seeped into my cold fingers. I looked at her, startled. It felt good! She smiled, and my emotions ran wild. I was so proud of myself. I didn’t want to remove my hand. I actually wanted to hold hers. I wanted more . So I squeezed.
Her grin broadened. “I knew you could do it,” she said softly.
I looked at her, overjoyed, then picked up where I’d left off. “I thought I might have a virus, but no.” I took a deep breath. “They found a tumor. Actually, two. Both of them malignant. The second was actually a metastasis. The doctor said any day could be my last.”
Kriszta had tears in her eyes.
“Please, don’t pity me,” I said. “I was in the hospital for a long time, and after that, I had chemo. I started losing my hair and emotionally, physically fell into a very bad place. I couldn’t understand why all this was happening to me.” I stared at our hands. “My whole life went downhill. Christoph broke up with me. He . . . Can you imagine what he did? He left me for Julia, my best friend. Well, not my friend anymore. They hooked up while I was in the hospital.”
Kriszta looked at me in shock. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, then smiled a little bit. In hindsight, the whole story was laughable and ridiculous—a cliché.
“It really did me in. You know how much I loved him. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I tried to end it all, Kriszta,” I whispered.
“You’re still here,” she replied.
I nodded. “My dad found me in time. Now I’m seeing a therapist, and I’m feeling much better. Just not great. I’m still so sluggish. I can’t seem to feel any joy. It’s always the same, every day. My therapist told me to leave, go away.”
“Away?”
“Well, away from everything familiar—my parents, my hometown. He thinks I need distance. That maybe some physical separation from the past can help me see the beauty of
Similar Books
