When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 37: Toast

There were so many people, I didn't even know I had that many friends.
It was our entire town, just about.
Ladies from my mom's book club, Sam's friends from school, kids I'd attended church with, my dad's boss- everyone was there.
They let out a loud cheer upon seeing me. I was instantly self-conscious.
My skin was too pale, my body too frail, my hair too out of hand. I felt shame that they were seeing me like this.
"Leo," Myra whispered into my ear, "what's wrong, love?"
The music was loud, draining energy from me already. The crowd stood in limbo, not sure what to do now that the cat was out of the bag. I stayed still.
"I look horrible," I complained.
Myra's eyes fluttered, perhaps rolling a bit in the process.
"You look fine, everyone is here for you, Leo! Come on," she held out a hand for me to grasp.
When I grabbed her hand, she led me out in between tables in the crowd. My own mother and father sat at a large table towards the front. My mom approached me as we did her.
"Well?" She looked thrilled and beside herself, she waited for me to comment first, but then went ahead anyway,
"Are you surprised, sweetheart?" I smiled in return. I nodded.
"This is amazing, mom, thank you."
She hugged me then, and I quickly realized the hug meant infinitely more than usual. She pressed me to her, as she may have done when I was a baby. She wrapped me in her arms and I felt all the months of anguish, of fitful days and nights where we felt the sun may never rise again. She squeezed me tight, trying to send me back to being an infant. My mother, she connected me to the rest of the world. She was my creator and my hero. She made me, and she was happy of that. Most of the time, I was too.
I often wondered what my purpose was in the world. I was only now eighteen years of age, my life coming to a point which I and my mother and father waited for since birth. The point when you go from a child, being cared for, to a person your parent can befriend. It is supposedly that that makes raising children all worth it. And now they'd never get that. They'd done all the dirty work with none of the reward. I'd never give them grandchildren, I'd never call them for pleasure, I'd never borrow books from them, or ask for advice on which baby food is better for baby. They raised me to watch me die. As if returning to infancy, I knew I would lose abilities soon. My bones would ache more, as they'd done during my twelfth year growth spurt. My stomach would ache more, as it had done the year I ate all of my Halloween candy in two days. I would forget the very muscle movements that I'd learned as a toddler, walking around my mother's coffee table. My hair would fall out, I'd be bald again as I was in infancy. And then, I would die, returned to the earth as I was before I was created by her. And she would be devastated. And for what? They could have easily had the three kids, Aaron and Sam and Hattie. Three kids is a decent number. In fact, nobody would question whether they had enough or too many kids if they'd only had three. I was fearful they would turn into ghosts of me, walking around with everyone knowing what they'd lost, but nobody brave enough to breach the subject. Well, I'd rather they didn't breach the subject anyway. I'd rather everyone move on.
Anyway, enough about me.
The party was in full swing. People were dancing, singing. There was a slideshow of photos of me and various friends and family.
The different tables were filled with different groups of people, all who fit into categories together, but were disorienting to see outside of their normal environment.
There was a table full of kids from my school who I was friendly with, but only within the confines of the school building. I'd never seen many of them outside of those walls.
And then there were groups who were sitting together, whose only common link was me. Members of my mother's gardening club sitting beside my mechanic, sitting with the librarian from my school. Doctors who'd seen and prodded the insides of me, sitting next to friends I knew from before I was sick.
It was all so bizarre. What was so special about me? Nothing, I thought. Everyone loves to see a tragedy. And that's cynical, but isn't that my right? I'd earned the right to be cynical, and I was afraid that I'd talked a big game, but wouldn't get to play. I spoke like I was unafraid but I never wanted to lose the right to be, just in case.
I was constantly comforting others, always telling them things would be okay, I would be okay. Neither of these things were true, and I reserved the right to be comforted instead of comforting.
People soon began approaching me to hug, kiss my face, offer birthday wishes and sincere apologies for my current state.
There were a lot of "let us know if you need anything" and I told them I would, but I knew I wouldn't.
I dutifully hugged every soul in the room, just about. The air was filled with magic. They were all there for me. I felt supported and held in the palm of their collective hand.

I soon felt out of breath and lightheaded once again. My mom guided me to a seat and batted off the huggers with a dismissive wave. I perched on the chair and leaned forward, puffing out my cheeks and trying to slow my body down.
My body was easily excitable these days, always over exaggerating about every movement I made. Supposedly simple tasks, such as standing for a long period of time and receiving hugs got my body going like mile eight of a marathon.

As I leaned forward and slowed down, there was a tap at the microphone.
All eyes turned towards the giant stage in the front of the room. It was Reid.

He was standing awkwardly and nervously tapping his foot behind the microphone.
"Uh," he leaned in closer to the stand, his uncertainty amplified for the whole room to hear.
"So, okay," he resolved.
"Leo, I know that you want me to speak at your funeral... One day, not soon, of course," he winked just at me. He'd said that for them, he knew what was coming.
"But, I don't think I'll be able to. I hope you understand. I think... Losing you will be the worst day of my life. I sincerely hope it's the worst day, because I can't imagine what travesty could top that," he laughed nervously. I smiled reassuringly. I hope he received that.
"Anyway," he gripped the back of his neck with hesitation.
"I wrote something though that I want to say here, so I guess this can be your toast, Leo," he said.
He drew in a deep breath.
"Leo, ever since we were little, you have always been shorter than me. I was afraid for a while that you'd beat me, but somehow I ended up lucky because you didn't. Now, you're about three... And a half! Inches shorter than me," there were laughs at that, "I rag on you a lot because I beat you in height. Well, Leo, it turns out that even though I am half-a-head taller than you... Its me that looks up to you," he said. It may as well have been just Reid and I in the ballroom together. My best friend.
"Leo, since you've been diagnosed, you have shown me what it looks like to be a fighter. I am infinitely grateful to call you a friend. I've watched you go from playing soccer in the backyard with me to sleeping twenty hours a day, and yet through it all you maintain some sort of personality. I know that you feel an obligation to remain yourself despite the aches and pain and worry, but I want you to know that we would understand if you decided to turn off. I want to let you know that I love you, and I mean that in the truest sense of the word. I admire you. I'm so happy to see you here, at your birthday party, celebrating you. And you, Leo, deserve to be celebrated more than just one day a year. Since we've been friends you've shown me what resilience looks like. You are always pressing forward, even when you should slow down. And I know that you do that a lot for... Well, everyone here, more than anything," he gestured out at the crowd.
"You're protective. You want people to be happy and okay, even when you're not happy or okay. You care about people a lot, particularly your family and close friends. Leo, you don't let a lot of people into your world. You hold the center of your life close and to be let into that... To be let into the circle of trust that is so small is probably one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. You're the most loyal friend I have, Leo. I'll be honest here, I am scared of what's coming. In fact, I've never been more scared of anything," his voice cracked, and he paused for a moment before starting again. I continued to lean forward. His words were piercing my chest. I never wanted to hurt him.
"But, I know that in the meantime, I am forever lucky that I get to have you in my life and my memories. All of my good memories involve you, Leo. I'm not sure if you realize that. When I have kids, I'm going to tell them about the time we rode on the roof of my cousin's jeep down a snow hill, and you fell off and ate snow," he laughed, my mom shot me a look of disbelief and laughed too. I'd never told her about that.
"I'll tell them about how you laid awake all night the night that... Well, you know," he was referring to the night Dara dumped him, but I'm sure there was a table of her friends ready to report back to her, "and we sat in the old treehouse in my back yard and listened to the Kinks until five am. And we said nothing at all, but it was exactly what I needed." He looked down at his feet. Around me, the crowd was in tears and listening intently to him.
"I'll tell them about how you were a warrior, set up in a David and Goliath-type battle, and you might not live through it... But you won," he said with finality, and that was it. Any eye that was dry before was not now. His words sent shivers down my skin.
"Leo, you're one of a kind. I'll never find another like you." He looked directly at me, our eyes meeting, and I nodded in assurance. For a moment, we both seemed to forget the rest of the room, but then he suddenly remembered.
"Oh! So..." he lifted a glass, "here's to Leo! Happy birthday brother,"
And everyone lifted their glasses and cheered, people patted me on the back and clapped for Reid. It was nice and all, the ceremony of it all, but I knew that Reid would have said all these things to me one-on-one. Reid wasn't wrapped up in the presentation, he truly meant those words.

I'd never find another one like him.