APRIL
As I start to filter back to consciousness, I hear an insistent beeping near my head. The world is still dark, I haven't opened my eyes, but all I can think about is that sound.
It takes work to lift my eyelids. They feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each and are stuck in their closed position. Once they're open, I have to squint because of the harsh, bright light shining down on me from the ceiling. I scrunch up my whole face and try to lift my arm to shield my eyes, but it doesn't cooperate the way I want it to. Instead of simply moving when I say, it feels heavy and lethargic. Like it hasn't woken up yet.
I lift the other one and wires come with, attached to an IV. I glance around, blinking hard to orient myself, and can't figure out where I am. Am I in my room at DePaul? No, it's too bright and the window is on the wrong side of the room. I don't remember the wall being glass, either. Am I in my room at home? No, there's no way that can be true. My shelf full of trophies isn't on the wall by the door.
I struggle to sit up from my laying position and shake my head, then Jackson comes into view. He's slumped in a chair to my right, doubled over to the side and sleeping. I still don't understand where I am or what this bright white room is doing for me. All I know is that I want to leave, and I want to leave now.
Getting my legs off this mattress isn't as easy as I thought it would be. My body won't cooperate, and my thoughts are still so foggy. "Come on," I grunt, rustling the bedsheets as I squirm.
I don't even notice Jackson wake up before he's at my side, gently touching my shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey, where ya goin'?" he says, his eyes warm and voice amiable. I can't match his mood.
"Out of here," I grunt.
"Probably not the best idea," he says, somehow keeping me on the bed. "You're attached to a bunch of wires. You wanna take these machines with you?"
"All I know is that I'm leaving," I say, trying to set my feet down on the floor. My right side obeys me, but my left doesn't. At least not in the same manner.
"Do you know where you are?" he asks.
"No, but I know that I'm leaving," I say.
I try to get up only to slump back down. Jackson gives me a look and I give him one right back. "April, you need to lay down," he says, smoothing the stiff fabric of the gown on my shoulders. I'm realizing for the first time that I'm not wearing normal clothes - I'm in some sort of paper dress. "You're okay. Just let me explain what happened."
"I don't care," I say belligerently. "I'm leaving. Come on." I try to get up again and am met for a second time with the realization that I can't move very well. Frustrated tears well up in my eyes and my voice rises in pitch when I ask, "Why can't I move?"
"Lie down," he says gently, ushering my shoulders back down. I comply and rest my head on the pillow, finding instant relief. "Listen to me. You're okay, but you had a seizure yesterday. An ambulance came to the house and rushed you here - we're at Riverside Methodist. You've been asleep for a long time, all through the night after they did some tests on you yesterday."
I stare at him as I try to get my thoughts straight. I had a seizure. I'm in the hospital. I had tests done.
"What happened?" I ask, frowning. "I don't… I don't remember." I stare down at the skirt of my gown. "I remember you… playing 'Happy Birthday.' That's all. Then it all goes black."
"I don't really know what happened," he admits. "You just… your eyes rolled back, and you fell off the bench."
I reach up and trace the D on the forehead of my hat, glad that someone must have thought ahead and brought it for me to wear. I'm guessing that someone is Jackson.
Just as I open my mouth to ask another question, my mom and dad walk in with snacks in hand. "She's awake," Jackson tells them, over his shoulder.
They both look at me and their faces light up. I'm still bleary and a little confused, but I try to smile. I'm not sure if it works.
"Baby," Mom says, rushing to my bedside and dropping the snacks as she goes. She kisses my hat and hugs me tight, and I let her. Dad comes around to my other side and does the same, and I relax against the bed once they let me go.
"What happened?" I ask. I want to be able to articulate my question better, but I can't seem to find the right words. "Jackson… Jackson said they did tests. What… did they say something?"
Mom sits at the edge of my bed and strokes my arm, dodging my IV insertion point every time she passes my elbow. "They looked at your brain again," she says. The tears clogging her voice tell me that whatever she's about to tell me isn't good news. I brace myself as best I know how. "Two more clots have formed."
My mouth goes dry and my dad can't look at me. I dart my eyes between my mom and Jackson, who's also staring at the floor. "Is that why I had the…?"
"The seizure, yes," she says, reaching up and adjusting the shoulder of my paper gown. "One grew. The size increase caused it to press up against something that…" Her voice breaks and she shakes her head so her hair tumbles out from behind her ears. "I'm sorry, honey. I don't mean to cry."
"She's only had one week of radiation, though," Jackson pipes up. I look up and the hope on his face is nearly indignant. "We haven't even given it time to work yet."
"That's true," Dad says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but decides against it. He just repeats himself. "That's true."
My lips are dry and chapped beyond belief, so when I run my tongue over them, it stings. I do it anyway because it distracts me from the pounding inside my head, then let out a long sigh. A lump grows in my throat and I try to force it away, but it won't go. I start to cry. It starts out quiet and turns into loud, hysterical sobs, and when Jackson stands up to come join my parents in comforting me, I jut my arms out to keep him at a distance.
"You shouldn't have to be here with me like this," I sob, my whole body racking with how hard I'm crying. "You-you shouldn't-"
"Shh," he says, squeezing in next to my mom on the bed. It's pretty small and four people don't fit easily, but none of us complain. Jackson kisses my cheek and murmurs, "I'm not going anywhere."
That night, my mom and dad go home to sleep and promise to be back in the morning, but Jackson won't go with them. No matter how much they insist that he should eat and get decent rest, he won't leave my side.
I tell him he's like a dog. A Golden Retriever. He tells me that at least he's cute, and I can't disagree with that.
The hospital gets dark and oddly quiet at night, so we whisper. He climbs on my bed with me, careful of the wires sticking out of my arms, and nuzzles his nose against mine.
"You're warm," I say. I have no reason to be happy, but lying here with him, I am. Even though the look in his eyes is somber and knowing, I look past it. He's beautiful, and he makes me feel beautiful things.
"April," he says, tracing the shell of my ear. That has always been a common place for his hand, even back when I had hair. He loved to curl it behind my ear when he talked to me, or when he kissed me. Now, I think he's just used to it.
"Hmm?"
He sighs. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry this happened to you."
I'm not sure how to respond. I just watch him with wide eyes, then hold his face between my hands. "It's not all bad," I say.
He looks down at my mouth instead of my eyes. "How?" he mutters.
"Through all of it, I had you," I say. I realize I'm talking in past tense, but I don't correct myself.
The blood clots in my brain are growing and multiplying. I think everyone knows what's happening - and it's not going slow. We all know it, and no one is saying it. I guess no one has to. No one should.
A strange feeling of acceptance settles in my gut. I'm luckier than most. I had him. For a little while, I held the love of my life in my arms and loved him. And he loved me back.
Not everyone can say that.
"It's still not enough," he says, voice cracking.
"It would've never been enough," I whisper, holding his wrist. We spend a long time in silence with our eyes closed, but we don't fall asleep. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight.
I'm too scared of what might happen if I let my eyes close. I don't know if they'll open again.
"I think I saw a book on the lower shelf down there," I say after we've been quiet for a long time. "Will you read it to me?"
He doesn't hesitate. He leans over, picks up the book, and switches on the bedside lamp to cast soft yellow light over us. "Butterflies," he says, chuckling. "You interested?"
I shrug, leaning against his upper arm. "Anything's good."
He cracks open the book and starts to read, telling me about all the different types and species of butterflies that live in North America. He tells me about what they eat, what their colors mean, and how they migrate.
"An adult butterfly lives a very short life," he says, then pauses for a beat before continuing. "Just three to four weeks. However, the entire lifecycle of a butterfly can range between 2 to 8 months, depending on the species." He closes the book and keeps his hand tucked in the page he left off on. He concentrates on our tangled-up legs on the bed and leans his cheek against the top of my head. "They live such a short life," he says, and his voice sounds wounded. Truly wounded for these butterflies. "They're here, then they're just gone."
I take the book and slip it to the floor so I can hold his fingers in my good hand. "But their lives are so beautiful," I say, stroking the veins by this knuckles. "Maybe they aren't meant to be here for a long time. Just here, living their beautiful existences and coming across beautiful things, for a short time."
He lets a long, shaky breath out of his nose and doesn't respond.
I lift my face up to look at him and he meets my eyes. "What?" he says.
"Just give me a second," I respond, and reach up to trace his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, the slope of his jaw, with one finger. "I want to remember this."
He kisses the pads of my fingers and when he closes his eyes, a tear leaks out of each one.
A while later I try to sleep, but I'm not successful. I'm restless and I can't get comfortable. Jackson notices and whispers against my hat, "Do you want to see something?"
I look up at him, interest piqued, and nod. He bundles me up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and puts on a coat himself, which I'm confused by. He gets me into a wheelchair and tells me we have to be sneaky and quiet, and the only way he knows how to do is this because he knows his way around a hospital having basically grown up in one alongside his mother.
The hallways are dim and silent. As he pushes me down the longest one, the only sound is that of my wheelchair wheels and the soft sigh of our breath. My IV makes little clinks against the metal pole of my chair, but that's it. Nothing else. It feels like we're the only two people on the earth, and if I can just keep it this way for a little bit longer, I'll be happy.
We get in an elevator and ride up as far as it will go. When it reaches the top, he wheels me out and takes me through a door, and I feel the gust of wind from outside once it opens.
"Jackson," I hiss. "What are we doing?"
He pushes me out and I realize we're on the roof, overlooking the entire city. Of course, it's fenced off and there's no way we could fall, but I've never been at a taller vantage point in my life. I feel like I'm on top of the world.
"I've been meaning to show you this," he says, slowing down once we reach the middle. "Remember in Ohio, when you showed me the stars?"
I nod. "Of course I do."
He holds my face gently by my chin from behind, tipping it. "Look up," he says, and I do.
Above us are hundreds, thousands, millions of stars - all twinkling. My mouth drops open seeing them and without realizing it, the intake of breath I'd taken holds in my chest from pure amazement.
"Look," I say, pointing with my strong arm. "It's the Big Dipper."
I glance up at him and see him searching the sky, following my finger.
"Do you know any constellations?" I ask him.
He taps his chin like he's deep in thought. "Well, if you look over here to the right, you'll see the Lovey Goat," he says.
I giggle, a small smile breaking onto my face.
"And over here," he says. "That one's the I-Wish-Amelia-Knew-What-Privacy-Was. That one's rare. You can only see it on really clear nights."
"Oh, really," I say. I'm not looking for his made-up constellations. I only have my eyes on him.
"Uh-huh. And over here, this big one is…" He looks down at me and sees that I've been looking at him. He takes in a deep breath, runs his hand over my cheek, and says, "I never meant to love you, but I do." His eyes are glassy, the light from the lamps out here are reflecting off of their magnetic green. "And I can't stop. And I'm really scared of how it's going to be when you leave."
I rest my hand over his where it rests on my cheek and run it up his arm.
"I want you to know that I love you," I say, and our eyes never break from one another. "I love you so much."
Right now, watching him watch me, I'm sad for all the moments we won't have. Sad for the children we won't get to raise who would be a perfect mix of the two of us, sad for the road trips we won't take, sad for the jokes we won't get to share. But for as sad as I am, I'm twice as grateful. Grateful that in these months that we've been together, Jackson Avery has taught me how to live.
JACKSON
April dies three days later on a Monday close to 12:30pm, right around the time that our old music theory class would've ended.
I stayed with her until the end, but I left soon after. Her family needed her, and I'd already said goodbye.
She kept having seizures. They got bigger and bigger each time, becoming drawn out for much longer than what was healthy for her brain. She started to sleep more than she was awake. And when she woke up, it became more and more difficult to clear her thoughts. She was so foggy, and it was visible in her eyes. She was drifting away, and we all knew it.
So we all spent as much time with her as we could. Even when she was asleep, we just existed around her. Libby brought Liam, who colored her scribbled pictures and gave plenty of hugs and kisses. Sometimes, she wasn't sure who he was, but she enjoyed the affection nonetheless.
Kimmie and Alice sat on the couch, side-by-side, quiet and unsure how to take in everything that was happening. They're so young. It broke my heart to see them have to watch this happen to their big sister.
Karen and Joe prayed. They prayed over her while she was sleeping and while she was awake, and she joined when she was strong enough. They cried over their dying daughter and hoped for a miracle that they knew would not come.
She was disappearing. Over those four days as the blood clots ravaged her brain, she became nearly unrecognizable. I kept thinking back to the bright-eyed, feisty girl who I met on the first day of school and couldn't help but compare her to this frail, dull-eyed, lethargic one lying on the hospital bed. It was no way for her to live. Seeing her in a state where she wouldn't even recognize herself pained me.
It's how I figured out that she was going. That light in her eyes went away. Her breathing became labored and she barely spoke. She stopped eating and had to be cajoled to drink water out of a little Styrofoam cup. She was listless, wasting away, preparing for something that she could feel was imminent. We could try to pull her from it all we wanted, but there was no changing it now.
She was going to die, and we knew it. We were forced to accept it, because she already had.
On the night before she passed, I was the only one awake. The rest of her family was in the room, too, but they were all soundly asleep. I was on the bed with April, propped up on one elbow and watching her. I looked at her sunken cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale lips. The luster in her skin was gone and her veins were easily visible beneath it.
I gently pulled her hat off and kissed the top of her warm, bare head, then replaced it. I held her close for a long time, just feeling her breathe shallowly and knowing that it would happen soon. I didn't know when, but I knew it wouldn't be much longer.
The room was full of unfamiliar sounds. Nothing about this place felt like home, and I didn't want her to go here. I wanted her to go in a place she felt safe and loved. A place that felt like something she knew, a place that felt like home.
I tried to think of some way to bring comfort to her as I watched her eyelids flutter. She wasn't deeply asleep, I could see that much, and I was kind of glad. It felt nice to have her nearer to the surface, closer to me, if only for a bit longer.
I was holding onto every shred of her that I could.
As I watched her, I knew what I had to do. Whenever I was sick or hurting, she always offered to sing to make me feel better. And I was going to do it for her.
I stroked her cheek with my thumb as I softly began. "When I look into your eyes… it's like watching the night sky… or a beautiful sunrise… there's so much they hold. And just like them old stars, I see that you've come so far… to be right where you are… how old is your soul…"
She took in a weak inhale, and I pressed my face into her neck when I couldn't sing anymore. My voice grew too weak, I was going to cry if I kept going. I had to stop.
"I love you," I croaked, cradling her head. "April, I love you. I want you to know that for as long I'm around, I'm gonna love you. I'm never going to stop. You hear me? I'm never going to stop loving you." I pressed my lips against her skin and felt them slip against my own tears. "You are so special," I said. "You changed my life."
She was fading in and out, I could tell by the way she was breathing. It wasn't easy anymore, and she was in pain. I came to a full acceptance that she was going and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My girlfriend, the love of my life, the one who had shown me just how many shades of beautiful that life could come in, wasn't going to last much longer.
I won't be able to open my eyes in the morning and look into hers as she waits for me to wake up. I won't be able to knock on a practice room window and wave, then go in to sit on the bench next to her as she loses herself in the music. I won't ever hear that familiar shriek from the bleachers of my soccer games, or sit in the audience as she plays the piano during a recital. I won't get to hold her at night when she's cold and snuggling against my chest, arms wrapped tight around my waist.
I won't get a life with her. I have to settle with what little time we got together, but I don't think that will ever be enough.
I've never loved anyone like I love her. Present tense, love. And I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to love anyone else.
"Jackson," she had said, opening her eyes just enough. Her voice weak, barely there, but I had heard it. There are certain voices that you just never lose. And hers would always be the one for me.
"I'm right here," I said. She reached up to hold my wrist with her good hand. The other one had gone completely immobile.
"I want you to do one thing," she said, trying to wet her lips. It didn't do much good. "One thing for me."
Tears were streaming down my face at that point as I strained to listen to her. "Anything," I had said.
She opened her eyes fully for a quick moment before closing them again in exhaustion. She squeezed my wrist, then she let go. "Live," she said.