Write in the Middle

A Spider in the Beach Afar Someone’s crying, and it’s raining…

I wake up from a very refreshing sleep, leaving me energized, relaxed, and ready for the day, but confused, because I still can’t figure out that darn beach dream, the one I’ve dreamed every day ever since I’ve been diagnosed with heart cancer. I try to hold onto that feeling of relaxation, but it slips away, leaving me feeling lonely and miserable. I smell it. I taste it. I hear the crabs picking their way through, clicking and clacking their claws, across the beach sand. But what makes me cry with sadness is that I will never get to be there… A tear rolls down my cheek, but I brush it away.

I take a quick look around the room, a very plain prison with a vase of roses on my left side. My covers and pillows are covered with dancing lavenders and daffodils (they might be violets and daisies, mind you, I’m not a florist), and there’s a drawer for my clothes on my right side. A trash can is on the left side of my bed. A mirror about my height is attached to the wall on my right side, also. The wooden desk is for food and gifts.

A control panel is attached above the wooden desk. I fear that control panel the most because it contains my worst nightmare: the blue button saying “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. I do my homework on the bed.

Lacey… my innocent-looking, adorable, short best friend who isn’t actually that innocent… How will she handle my death? I think dejectedly. And Rachel… my morbid, sarcastic, intelligent, and sassy best friend… How will she continue on with life without me there? I sound so selfish, but I wonder what’s going on between themBam! My best friend Lacey kicks the door open and sails in as she yells in a not-sofeminine way, “HOI-YAYAYAYA!!!” I roll my eyes, but I force a smile and ask, “Hey, Lacey. What’s up?”

Lacey sweeps a chocolate muffin from her bag of goodies and hands a bran muffin to me. I take it from her and bite it. It tastes of home. “Uh, nu-in muh. Buh ah mih you.

Eryone mih you. Ay shay hor you oo geh be-er,” Lacey said between mouthfuls of muffin.

“Lacey dearie, how about you eat everything that’s in your mouth first and then talk to me,” I say to her, brushing a crumb off of her mouth.

Lacey swallows, and then she repeats what she said earlier, “Nothing much. But I miss you, and everyone misses you. They say for you to get better.”

“Aw,” I reply. “Ironic that it’s never going to happen.”

“Camilla, the pessimist,” Lacey sighs. I roll my eyes at her.

“Are things going great with Rachel?” I ask. I try to press this sensitive topic whenever I see her, because I know that she doesn’t like to talk about it, but we are best friends after all, so I want to fix her and Rachel’s relationship.

Lacey tries to sidestep this, so she asks me, “Camilla, why are you so happy? Why aren’t you depressed? People with cancer I know are so sad.” Wow. What a stereotypical 52