Peter Van Houten replied to Augustus's email four hours after he sent it, but two days later, Van Houten still hadn't replied to me. Augustus assured me it was because my email was better and required a more thoughtful response, that Van Houten was busy writing answers to my questions, and that brilliant prose took time. But still I worried.
On Wednesday during American Poetry for Dummies 101, I got a text from Augustus:
Bad news. Isaac's infection spread.
I texted back,
What? How?
I received another message a moment later.
I don't know. He's blind, because they performed the surgery on his eye first, then discovered that there was more.
No, no. This can't be happening.
After my class, I hurried outside as fast as I could to Mom's car.
"Mom, can you take me to Memorial, please? Isaac's not doing so great."
"I know, sweetie. Gus's mom just called." We got there in ten minutes and found Gus and his parents in the waiting room.
"How's he doing?" I asked.
"Not so well, I'm afraid. The doctors say he might not make it."
"WHAT."
"Shh, Hazel." Mom tried to quiet me down. I saw her give Gus a look, and he immediately understood.
Once outside the dreadful place they call a hospital, I turned to Gus.
"What happened?" He refused to look at me for a few seconds, and I realized he was trying not to cry.
"The cancer spread to his brain, Hazel Grace." I thought of Caroline Mathers and tried not to break down. I thought of Isaac and felt a lump rise in my throat. Isaac, who I communicated with through sighs. Isaac, who was Gus's best friend and who loved to play Counterinsurgence. Isaac, who was a visual representation of AIA's phrase Pain demands to be felt. I took a deep breath and forced words to come out of my mouth.
"Where is he now?"
It was another moment before Gus responded.
"He's in the ICU with his parents. No visitors allowed."
I couldn't hold it in any longer. I let myself fall to the ground and I sobbed freely, my chest heaving.
I saw Mom come out of the hospital, look around, and start toward us. I tried to stifle my crying, because I didn't want to be coddled.
"They're letting visitors in," she said. She helped me stand up and led Gus and I back into the hospital.
Gus and I went in first, before our parents. The nurse wove her way through sterilized hallway after sterilized hallway, when finally, we got to room 232B. She opened the door to let us in. Isaac's parents stood up when we came in.
"How're you feeling, buddy?" Gus tried to sound like he hadn't been crying, but I think we could all hear it in his voice.
"Oh, I'm grand," Isaac said. "I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up." Gus's mouth quirked upwards at the response. I think we were all relieved to hear him crack a joke as if nothing was wrong. Isaac's parents turned to leave.
"Well, we'll leave you guys to catch up." Now it was my turn.
"Hey, Isaac."
And he said, "Mon?"
"Oh, no. Sorry. No, it's, um, Hazel. Um, Support Group Hazel? Night-of-the-broken-trophies Hazel?"
"Oh," he said. "Yeah, people keep saying my other senses will improve to compensate, but CLEARLY NOT YET. Hi, Support Group Hazel. Come over here so I can examine your face with my hands and see deeper into your soul than a sighted person ever could."
"He's kidding." the nurse said.
"Yes," I said. "I realize." The nurse left and soon it was just the three of us.
"So, Isaac." Gus started talking again. "How are you really feeling?"
"Fine." He paused. "I mean, I'm blind, and I still have cancer, so that's unfortunate. I just keep thinking about Monica, you know? I haven't gotten anything from her. No emails, no calls, nothing. Complete radio silence."
"That sucks, man," Gus said. I really wanted to say something to make Isaac feel better, but all I could manage was a weak "get well soon," even though we all knew it wouldn't happen. The "get well" part, I mean.
Gus and I left the ICU and went back to the waiting room. Our parents went in, and all I could think about was the first time I'd met Isaac. It was the first time that I'd gone to Support Group, and I didn't know anyone. I sat down next to Isaac, there being no other empty seat except for the one next to Patrick, and I hadn't wanted to make myself conspicuous, being the new one. Of course, Patrick had called on me first.
"I'm Hazel. 16. Stage IV Thyroid with mets in my lungs. I'm doing okay." Isaac looked at me and nodded.
I found Support Group bleak, and Isaac did too. We communicated by sighing every time Patrick recounted his ball-lessness. From then on, we understood each other.
"Hazel?"
"Oh, sorry, yeah?"
"Do you want to go home, sweetie?" I looked at Gus and he was nodding.
"I'm going home soon, too." So I consented. I didn't help Isaac's condition whether I was here or not.
Mom and I didn't talk the whole way home. As we pulled into our driveway, she looked sideways at me and I pretended not to notice. I turned to get out of the car.
"Hazel, sweetie?" I wasn't in the mood for false encouragement, but I looked at her anyway.
"Mom, he's not going to be okay, so don't tell me he is." She opened her mouth and closed it again. Ha, I thought.
"I just wanted to tell you that your father and I will be supporting you through all this. We know that you're going through a rough time here and we're always here to talk if you need to."
"Okay, thanks. " I opened the car door. I guess that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
It's hard, of course, to know when your Last Good Day is. It could be the last day before your Last Good Day. You could have many good days after that.
Isaac's Last Good Day was, unfortunately, a rainy one.
"Hey, Isaac. How you feeling?" I convinced Mom to bring me to the hospital right after classes at MCC.
"Pretty good, actually. The pain's not so bad today."
"That's great!" I didn't want to cause him more pain, but I had to check. "Hey, um, have you heard anything from-"
"Monica? Not really. I mean, apparently she visited once, but I was asleep, so I didn't see her."
"Oh, that's too bad."
"Yeah." We lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence. I stared out the window, wishing there was something I could do to help.
"Do you need anything? Water, food, a nurse..." I trailed off as he shook his head.
"Nope, I'm good, thanks."
"Gus is coming later today, I think." A voice interjected.
"If by later you mean in a second, then yes. Isaac, buddy, how are you doing?"
"Hey, Gus. I'm feeling better today."
"Cool." He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and fished one out. He had just put it in his mouth when a nurse walked by and saw him. She looked disturbed and entered the room.
"Excuse me, young man, smoking is prohibited in the hospital." Gus took the cigarette out of his mouth.
"It's a metaphor." She looked confused. "What?"
"You put the killing thing between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing." She didn't believe him.
"Please put your cigarette away or we'll have to remove you from the premises." Wow, what a nice lady. But she did look tired and frustrated, so Gus complied.
"Anyway," I said. "I can't stay long...it was a miracle I got to come here in the first place." Both of them looked disappointed, and I immediately felt bad. "Okay, I guess I'll stay here a while longer." Isaac's face lit up in a grin, and Gus mirrored his expression.
I ended up staying there for an hour or two, until Isaac got tired and fell asleep. Gus was going to stay there longer, but I was tired as well. We said our goodbyes, and I promised to come again the next day.
It's almost funny how a person can be here one moment, and the next be completely gone.
Gus was there when Isaac left. I wasn't.
When I heard Gus's broken voice come through the speaker on my phone, I felt everything inside of me collapse.
It was so hard to believe that he could be gone, just like that. To think that I would never hear his voice again, to never see him again in Support Group, to never play violent video games with him again was devastating. I'm sure Gus felt more pain than I did, having been his best friend and all.
Monica did come to the funeral. She wasn't that heartless, even though we knew what she'd done to Isaac. She even gave a little eulogy in his honor.
"Today we are gathered here to celebrate the life of a wonderful person. Isaac was the most loving, heartwarming person there was, despite his condition. He fought hard until the very last moment, where the part of him that was not cancer was taken over by the part that was. I will always remember the happy memories I had with him, and he'll live forever in our hearts. I am very thankful to have known him, and I am wishing him all the best on his journey. Godspeed, Isaac. We'll miss you."
The "live forever in our hearts" part particularly galled me, because it implied the immortality of those left behind: You will live forever in my memory, because I will live forever! I AM YOUR GOD NOW, DEAD BOY! I OWN YOU!
I didn't say anything out loud, though.
I watched as Monica walked up to the coffin and knelt down. She placed her bouquet of flowers on top of it, and whispered, almost inaudibly,
"Always."