Disclaimer: I don't own Hazel, Gus or any other characters written by the wonderful John Green.
Today I found out that I, Hazel Grace Lancaster, won't make it to my eighteenth birthday. This is no surprise of course - cancer is one of those things that ensure that your lifespan is shorter than that of a normal person. I've often said that I take pride in not being normal. For example, my...how does one refer to a late seventeen-year-old boy with whom you've been in love, who gave you forever within the numbered days? Dead ex? I could hear his pretentious voice in my head: "Hazel Grace, kindly stop referring to me as your dead ex. I'm still here, in your head."
For the sake of simplicity , lets just call him by his name. Augustus. Or Gus. Or grasshopper. As I was saying, I am not exactly normal. My relationship with Augustus was no exception. I knew we would never grow old together. I knew we couldn't be one of those couples who like to jog in the park on Saturday mornings - again, cancer kinda prevents you from doing most forms of exercise.
Sigh. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I wiped a stray tear from my cheek and followed my mom to the car, grabbing a pack of Gus' metaphorical cigarettes on the way.
Yesterday was the anniversary of Augustus' death. I decided to skip on the small dinner his parents had thrown. My mom suggested that she'd drive me to the cemetery today. I invited my friend Isaac to come along but he wasn't feeling well. He's lost something precious to cancer too. His eyes. To this day, I can only imagine how horrible it would be to never be able to read another book again. Although meeting my favourite author, Peter van Houten, kinda put me off reading for quite a while.
Mom drove me in silence. I sat in the back seat, with my eyes closed, and holding a piece of paper in my hand. Augustus told me once that I must be the only teenager in America who reads poetry instead of writing it. Last night, I proved him wrong. Not in a sense that I found another teen that reads poetry. I tried writing it instead.
Was it good?Probably not.
Would it help me get through today? Hopefully.
Would Augustus have liked it. Hell no.
Mom stopped the car at the gates.
- Are you sure you don't want me to go with you, sweetie?
- I'm fine, mom. - I've been avoiding the word "Okay" because it was mine and Augustus' "always". Kinda like a private joke between two lovers. That's normal right?
Mom nodded.
- I'll wait here. I love you.
- Love you too.
I approached Gus's grave slowly.
- Hey. - I said softly. - I brought you something. - I took out a pack of cigarettes and placed it next to the gravestone. - I don't know how much you need them up there, really; although I don't know Heaven's policy on metaphorical nicotine poisoning. Apparently I'll see for myself soon. - I sighed, hearing Gus voicing his indignation in my head.
- Yeah. I've got six months, maybe less. - I stifled a sob, but it was useless. Tears were pouring down my face.
- I'm s-sorry, Gus. I told myself I wouldn't cry, and here I am.
When I calm down after a minute I hear his voice in my head, saying one word.
"Okay?"
I wipe away the remaining tears and say for the first time in a while:
- Okay.
We talk for a while. I tell him about other news in my life - about how I was finally up to reading again, about my friend Katherine getting accepted into Vanderbilt, and about my writing efforts last night.
- You wanna hear it, Gus? And no interruptions.
I took out the sheet of paper and read it out:
The beautiful couple is beautiful;
She is asleep on his lap.
Perhaps, he is lazily drawing a map
On her lower back and shoulder blades.
It's kind of funny
How they both know
That fate will never throw
Them the chance they both deserve.
How serene and sweet they look!
Terrible as it may be,
The irony is not lost on me.
Serenity has never been them.
He was an old soul,
But he has never been quiet.
The smallest thing would get her excited.
Serenity has never been them.
They only have one more night left
And then - what then? Tell me.
Tell me, Gus, wherever you may be.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and closed my eyes. In my head, Gus was laughing, exasperated. We both knew, at that moment, that I could have never been a poet. And even if I could, I will never have a chance. But somehow, reading it out loud to Gus made me feel better. And I knew that no matter what, we will be together soon. And things will be Okay.
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