This may seem like a stupid A/N to put on a fanfiction, but, like, don't read this until you've read the book. It's really just more enjoyable that way, and also it's an A+ book, so I promise it won't be a waste of your time. Also, this is more effective if you've read the novel critically, picking out the metaphors and whatnot, but either way. Anyway. Enjoy!
As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the ocean:
"Conjoiner rejoinder poisoner concealer revelator. Look at it,
rising up and down, taking everything with it."
"What's that?" Anna asked.
"Water," the Dutchman said. "Well, and time."
A week after Lidewij found Augustus' letter and sent it to me, the 21st day AG, I woke up to rays of golden sun rolling in the window for the first time in six days. At first it was the pain I've always had, the fiery pain of regret for the dragon pushing air in and out of my lungs steadily beside me, which my mind doused and put out before I could even register it, and of course the scratching feeling burning up my lungs, begging, pleaded for more air and less cancer. The world is not a wish granting factory, I told myself, thinking of Augustus.
And there it was. The waves of pain washed over me, and I shut my eyes as the tide rolled in. The worst thing about grenades exploding, I thought, was forgetting the pin was pulled every morning when you wake up, and then remembering, and feeling like my caller ID said "Gus' mom" at three thirty in the morning all over again.
Eventually the flood receded and I sat up, unhooked myself from the BiPAP, put my nubbins in, and turned the oxygen on. I didn't particularly feel like getting out of bed, maybe because of the never-ending tide that wouldn't stop rising in and falling back (That's the thing about pain, Augustus' voice teased in my head, it demands to be felt.), maybe because I was a teenager and we're not exactly designed for being awake in the morning, maybe because it was almost time for another draining, which meant that it was harder to breathe every morning, or maybe a little bit of all three. Either way, I spent the morning in bed planning a trip to see Augustus for the second time since his burial.
Miraculously (except I didn't believe in miracles), my mom lent me the car just as I made the decision that yes, I was going by myself, just as she began making dinner. It wasn't being along with Augustus I was afraid of, it was being alone with all of the dead people.
Wheeling my oxygen tank away from my mom's car and into the cemetery felt almost eerie, but as I got closer to the mound of dirt (still awaiting a headstone), I was filled with an off-putting sense of comfort. I sat cross-legged at the foot of his grave, next to my oxygen tank, playing with the worn copy of An Imperial Affliction in my hands.
"Hi," I said, feeling a bit like I was talking to no one. "I read the letter you sent Van Houten." Although he may or may not have already known... or maybe he couldn't even hear me. "I understand." I spoke softly, tracing shapes in the muddy dirt in front of me with my fingertip. Grass was beginning to sprout above him. "I like my scar. Not to sound like one of your parents' Encouragements, but it's better to have lost than never to have loved at all. I think I get it now." I looked around, then looked up, and wondered about Augustus' capital S Somewhere. Looking forward then, I continued, watching the waves splash on a river just past the graveyard, overflowing from a week of rain. "I didn't get my sequel, but I don't think I need it anymore. I think I get what happens to Anna's mom. It's probably a little like this." I said, gesturing to his basketball shorts on my legs and his baggy sweatshirt draped over my shoulders. I blinked, half expected him to comfort me with a sarcastic joke and some true Augustinian humor, but then he wasn't there, not really, so I continued. "Speaking of moms with dying kids, my mom is taking classes. She's getting a degree in social work, so basically she's going to be Patrick. Which is fine, because being a professional Patrick is way better than being a professional Mom of a Dead Kid in my book. So I guess I have my sequel after all... I just didn't get it from Van Houten."
"I spent so much time worrying about Isaac-ing you that I didn't even think that you'd Monica me. Accidentally, of course. I just didn't expect to see the pin on your grenade get pulled, and then even when I knew it was coming, when it wasn't a surprise, I wasn't prepared. How do you prepare for an explosion of that proportion? You can't. It hurts no matter what, and you see them no matter what in the terrible lidless eye of memory. Me, eventually I'm going to wake up one morning and my chest will bubble and drown more because I can't breathe and less because I realize I'm never going to create any new stories with you, but my parents are going to sting and burn forever. Imagine that, Augustus? Waking up every last one of your mornings and thinking, 'I'm the parent of a dead kid.' Well, not you anymore, obviously," I said, smiling at the joke even though I shouldn't have. "But maybe I'll end up leaving some non-scar marks on my parents and their second thought will be a happy one."
And then as I looked straight ahead, past the tombstones and into the river, the sun was sinking in the sky, falling down into the water, past the horizon. Despite the fact that the water was drowning in rain, overflowing as if it was about to burst and spill out onto the graves, the sun managed to race behind it, sink below it, beat it in the race to oblivion... for that day, anyway.
"You know what, Augustus? I think even the setting sun is too bright in my losing eyes." I hesitated, looking back down to the dirt six feet above him (or maybe thousands of feet below his capital S Somewhere). It was a long, one-sided silence, and I decided that I needed to get home soon, so I tried to sum up the thoughts I'd come here to share.
"I don't mind drowning in you, Augustus Waters." I told him softly. And then I waited for a few more minutes before leaving the novel where his headstone would be. "In case you need something to read capital S Somewhere." I stood up slowly and wound my hand around the handle of my oxygen cart. "I love you." I told him. "Okay." After another glance at the sun and the river and the shell of an erupted grenade deep underground, I turned and headed back to my mother's car to go home to a family dinner.