First Date, Double Feature
The sheets felt oddly coarse against my sensitive skin, my body a heavy, unyielding mass. Why must Sunday mornings begin so ruthlessly early? I peeked at Bernard, a furry mound of contentment curled beside me. Some days, I envied his ability to find peace anywhere.
Muffled voices drifted up from downstairs. Dad. Pops. Uncle Jake. Chandler. With a groan, I glanced at the clock – time to get ready for my chemo treatment. If I didn’t force myself up soon, the weight of this stupid cancer would pin me to the bed forever.
Shuffling to my dresser, I pulled out a pair of worn-in leggings, soft as a second skin. Over that went a cozy oversized sweater, a cloud of cream-colored cable-knit that made me want to curl up and disappear. Thick wool socks and my favorite faded-pink Converse completed the look. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and tugged a lilac beanie over my smooth, bald head. "Not bad for a cancer patient," I muttered to myself.
Downstairs, the aroma of coffee and Pops’ legendary cinnamon rolls hung heavy in the air. The kitchen bustled with activity – my family crowded around the table. Chandler leaned in for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, his faded jeans fitting him comfortably. The forest green hoodie he wore was well-worn, the super soft fleece interior promising ultimate comfort. A simple white t-shirt peeked out from under the hood, a touch of clean casual against the rich green. Scuffed-up black Vans completed his look, their worn appearance adding to his laid-back charm.
“Morning, sleepyhead. I’m driving you to Children’s this time,” he said with a grin.
“You are? Awesome!” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but my voice was a weak croak.
My attempt at breakfast was pathetic, my stomach twisting in knots. Just as I managed a bite, the door connecting the kitchen to the garage burst open and Noelle breezed in. Her smile could light up a stadium.
“Sloane! I figured I could tag along on some of your walks today. Feels like we haven’t gotten to spend any time together just the two of us,” she chirped.
My twin brother chose that exact moment to appear, shuffling into the kitchen in rumpled pajama bottoms. His eyes flickered to Noelle, a flash of something akin to hope warming his usual scowl. “What’s with all the noise?” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush dusted his cheeks. Noelle lit up instantly, all evidence of Stetson’s disheveled state ignored.
I tried to muster enthusiasm, but my traitorous stomach gave a painful lurch. Noelle and Stetson had been doing this awkward dance for the last few months. It was clear they both had crushes, but neither had the courage to make a move.
“Hey Noelle, I can’t volunteer this morning,” I blurted, wincing a little at her crestfallen expression. “I, um, have my chemo treatment.” A flicker of understanding crossed her face, followed by a burst of her usual energy.
“Can I come with you then? If Chandler doesn’t mind, that is? I’ve never seen the hospital, and I could keep you company.”
"Not a problem at all," Chandler replied with a smile. "The more the merrier, right?"
Stetson, instantly awake, blurted out, "Whoa, if Noelle’s going, I’m coming too!" His voice cracked slightly, the blush on his cheeks deepening. "Just let me change real quick."
Within minutes, we somehow managed to cram ourselves into Chandler's Jeep. Chandler slipped into the driver's seat, me beside him, while Noelle and Stetson squeezed into the back. Noelle chatted excitedly, the early hour doing nothing to dim her energy, while Stetson seemed content to just listen, a shy smile on his face. I glanced back at them, a pang of longing in my chest. "When will they just admit they like each other?" I thought.
As we pulled out of the driveway, I snapped a quick picture of us, the cramped chaos in the car making me grin. I sent it to Lylah, my chemo buddy, with the message: "Bringing some of the gang for moral support today. Wish you were here!" Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chandler pulled up to Java Junction, bless his heart. I was running on fumes after the early morning wake-up call, but Noelle was her usual ray of sunshine. "One small black coffee for the gentleman," Chandler ordered with a wink, and Stetson covered our sugary concoctions. "Large cappuccino, extra shot, oat milk for me," I chimed in, savoring the thought of the caffeine jolt. Noelle got her hot chocolate fix with almond milk, and Stetson, surprising us all, ordered a large iced matcha. "Health kick, Stetson?" I teased, earning a playful nudge.
At Children's, I went through the motions: the weigh-in (a measly 102 pounds now), the temperature check (thankfully stable), the blood pressure reading (surprisingly normal), and the oxygen check (not too shabby, considering). It was the same old song and dance, but this time, the infusion center felt different.
There she was, my friend Lylah, bundled in blankets, her usual vibrant lilac wig absent, replaced by a smooth, bare head. Her smile was faint as I introduced Chandler, Noelle, and Stetson. "Don't mind me if I'm not the life of the party," she whispered, "Just feeling a bit wiped out today."
My port made the whole infusion process a bit less of a hassle, no extra needles to contend with, thank goodness. We chatted quietly, the rhythmic beeps and hisses of the machines blending into the background. Then, chaos erupted. A sudden flurry of voices, a sharp shout of "Code Blue!" My heart pounded like a drum.
It was Lylah. A crash cart materialized out of nowhere, a swarm of doctors and nurses surrounding her motionless body. My world shrank, the air thickening with dread. The grim reality of our battle—the constant shadow of death—hit me like a tidal wave, suffocating me.
And then, as abruptly as it began, it ended. The frantic activity ceased, leaving a deafening silence. A nurse, her face etched with sorrow, caught my eye and shook her head slightly. The room tilted. A scream ripped from my throat—raw, primal, a reflection of the gaping hole in my chest.
Lylah was gone.
The rest of my treatment was a blur. I felt nothing, the world muted, as if I were submerged in murky water. Chandler, Noelle, and Stetson clustered around me, their comforting words barely penetrating the haze. The nurses, their touch soft but empty, moved around me with practiced ease.
When it was finally over, we found Lylah's family huddled in the waiting room. Her parents, their faces ravaged by an unimaginable grief, and her siblings—two younger brothers and an older sister—their eyes red and swollen.
My feet moved on their own, carrying me across the room and into Lylah's mother's arms. We clung to each other, sobs shaking our bodies. There were no words, no need for them. Our shared sorrow, the mutual understanding of the chasm Lylah's absence had left—it transcended language.
After a while, we pulled apart, tears streaking our faces. Lylah's mom, her voice barely audible, squeezed my hand. "We'll let you know about the arrangements," she choked out, "Lylah would want you there."
The promise felt like a fragile thread, something to grasp onto in the midst of the overwhelming grief. We exchanged stilted goodbyes, filled with mumbled condolences and awkward embraces. I left the hospital feeling hollow, Lylah's death a chilling reminder of the fragility of life.
The drive home was silent, even Noelle's usual chatter couldn't break through the heavy atmosphere. As Chandler pulled into my driveway, I looked up at my house, the familiar sight a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. The world continued on, oblivious to the fact that mine had shattered.
A quote from Lylah echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of her wisdom: "Every sunrise is a victory; every sunset, a triumph." Even in death, she had found a way to offer solace, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.
The entryway felt stifling as I stepped inside. Chandler and Noelle lingered, their faces etched with concern. "Are you sure?" Chandler asked, his voice thick with worry.
"I am. Just need some space," I choked out, each word a weight on my tongue.
Noelle enveloped me in a fierce hug, whispering, "Call if you need anything. Anything at all." Chandler's hug was different, a warm reassurance, a silent promise of support. I watched them go, a knot tightening in my chest as the door clicked shut.
Dad and Pops emerged from the living room, Stetson must have texted them the moment we pulled up. Dad's eyes were red-rimmed, and Pops wore a look of quiet sorrow.
"Sweetheart," Dad started, his voice cracking. Pops took over, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. "It's okay to feel whatever you're feeling right now. No need to put on a brave face for us."
I retreated to my room, collapsing onto the bed. Bernard curled up beside me, his warmth a small comfort against the chill that had seeped into my bones. Tears came, a silent flood of grief. Sleep, when it finally arrived, was a fitful, dream-haunted respite.
Waking to the muted sounds of activity downstairs, a strange sensation washed over me. Despite Lylah's passing that morning, a flicker of excitement stirred within me. The thought of the drive-in, a shared night with friends, a sliver of normalcy in the face of immense loss, held an unexpected appeal.
A quick shower later, I was pulling on my favorite relaxed-fit dark-wash jeans, tucking them into worn-in brown ankle boots. A soft, cream-colored sweater followed, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool evening breeze. A touch of blush and mascara felt like a bold move for my usually bare face, and a grey beanie hid my bald head. It felt good to make an effort, a tiny rebellion against the weight of grief.
"Everyone still on for tonight?" I texted the group chat, relief flooding me as confirmations trickled in. As we turned into the drive-in, excitement pulsed through me. Its neon signs blazed against the darkening sky, promising a distraction I desperately needed. Stetson's Trans Am rumbled alongside Chandler's Jeep, Maekynzie and Emory's laughter spilling out as they crammed into the back. Noelle, bubbly as ever, occupied the front seat, her bright chatter a counterpoint to Stetson's amused grunts.
My eyes widened as a classic silver Toyota Camry pulled up next to us, Tinsley bouncing out with a wide grin. "Hope you guys don't mind," she chirped, a hint of defiance sparkling in her eyes. "This is Ashton. Remember him from homecoming? Figured a horror movie marathon was our kinda date!"
Chandler found a spot towards the front, and we popped the Jeep's trunk, throwing down an assortment of blankets. "Date night provisions," he said with a grin, pulling out a cooler filled with sodas and snacks.
The concession stand beckoned with its greasy goodness. Chandler, ever the carnivore, went for a double bacon cheeseburger and fries, while I settled on chicken strips – familiar and comforting. He nudged me playfully, "Guess this makes it our first official date, huh?"
A blush warmed my cheeks despite the chill. Time warped a little as we waited for the movie to start. The arcade's flashing lights and a symphony of sounds lured us in. Between rounds of pinball and surprisingly competitive air hockey, the minutes flew by.
Finally, the first movie flickered onto the giant screen. We bundled up in blankets, the heater in Chandler's Jeep blasting warm air. The movie – some cheesy '80s slasher flick – was more of an excuse to be close. I tucked my hand into Chandler's, a jolt going through me at the warmth of his skin against mine.
"Feeling okay?" Chandler murmured, his voice a low rumble.
"Yeah," I whispered back, squeezing his hand. "Just happy to be here with you."
Glancing over, I smiled at the assorted scenes unfolding around us. Noelle and Stetson were huddled close, the usual playful bickering replaced by a comfortable quiet. A flicker of warmth spread through me at the sight - they were the definition of inseparable.
Maekynzie, true to her dramatic nature, was gasping theatrically at every jump scare, while Emory cracked jokes, trying his best to make her laugh. Ashton and Tinsley looked adorably cozy, sharing a blanket and hushed conversation, a hint of a blush on Ashton's cheeks as Tinsley's laughter rang out.
As the night deepened and the gruesome special effects of the horror flick got even more ridiculous, a contented drowsiness settled over me. The chaos of my life, the constant hum of worry, faded into the background. For now, there was just the warmth of friends, the promise of new beginnings with Chandler, and the silly, scary spectacle unfolding on the screen.
It was well past midnight by the time the last reel finished unspooling. Yawns echoed as we piled back into the cars, promising a group breakfast to rehash the night's ridiculousness. Maybe facing the uncertainties wouldn't be so daunting, not if I had nights like this woven in between them.