The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 20 - Like a Prayer

I don't hate mornings anymore. Mornings are a blessing after the sleepless nights. The sun started to show its face and the streets are coming to life. Millie already left for work, but I'm still here, lying face-up on my bed, staring at the ceiling, hovering somewhere on the spectrum of consciousness.

I look at my phone for the hundredth time, wondering when it will stop being too early and I decide that I don't care anymore. I sit on the edge of the bed and dial Jeremy's number, praying he'll pick up.

He answers after one ring.

"Hello?"

He sounds breathless, as if he's running. My voice gets caught somewhere in my throat. I can't speak.

"Ally?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice. I manage a small incoherent sound. "Ally, what's wrong?"

And then, it happens. The inevitable breakdown I've been pushing back since Sunday evening. The sky caves in and hits me with a force unlike anything I've known before. It crashes down like a relentless avalanche, crushing me, ripping my insides into a million pieces. The tears that have been pressing behind my eyes for the past two days come like an unruly river. A cloud of panic consumes me as my breath is sucked out of my lungs and my blood is drained from my feet.

"Everything," I choke. "Everything is wrong."

I can't get another word out. I can't breathe. I can't hold the phone to my ear any longer. My last ounce of strength is gone.

#

I hear voices in the distance. Soft. Sweet. Familiar. A melodious laugh. Millie's laugh.

Millie's laugh! What time is it?

I sit up startled and look at my retro alarm clock. It's eight o'clock in the evening. I've been asleep for ten hours! I look out of the window and sure enough, it's almost dark. I struggle to remember what happened.

I remember the sound of Jeremy's obstinate knocking on the door. I remember thinking he was going to break it in. It took me forever to get up from the foetal position I had assumed on the floor. I remember crumbling as soon as I saw him, his arms catching me just before I hit the ground. He knelt with me and held me until I stopped crying and when I did, I told him everything and cried again.

I told him Millie is sick. I told him that she has been feeling pressure in her lower back and abdomen for the past couple of weeks, and she's been seeing spots of blood when she goes to the bathroom. I told him that she asked a doctor at work to take some blood tests and that he booked something called a transvaginal ultrasound. She did everything on her own, not wanting anyone to know until she was sure. Not even me. Not until she was sure. She has uterine cancer. She has her first appointment with the oncologist next Friday and I have to be there with her. I told him I need the day off but I can't even ask for it because Sosa is still not answering my calls.

It's been three days, and she's still not speaking to me. My best friend is not speaking to me and I really need her.

He listened attentively, holding me close, caressing my hair and when I was done, he asked me softly, "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Three days," I answered.

"Christ, Ally. Come on."

And then he carried me up to my room and sat me down on the bed. He walked around to the other side and lay down beside me, gently pulling me into his chest.

I remember the beating of his heart, slightly faster than it should be but steady and rhythmic. Reliable. Definite. Just like the ticking of the old clock in our kitchen.