Hello Freedom

We had it all worked out. The exact amount of paracetamol, asprin and anti-depressants we needed to take. When we got down to it we realised this wasn’t our style all measured and precise. So in the end we just necked a handful washed down with bourbon from dad’s desk drawer.

It had been Reuben’s idea to dress up for the ocassion. His black skinnys looked different with a suit jacket instead of a hoodie. When I lay down next to him on the roof my 50’s dress bell shape stayed making it look like I had huge thighs. I closed my eyes and soon our breathing was in sinc our hands entwined.

Mum didn’t like Reuben, with his blue hair and labret piercing he was the physical representation of what my Daily Mail reading parents thought was wrong with the world. Which made me love him even more.

The nurses at the hospital had called him Mr Pessimistic but I knew the truth; he was a realist. When my hair started falling out and he found me sitting in the corner crying over my curls he simply held me till all the tears were gone. Then took me hat shopping. This featured largely in our friendship.

After the chemo failed, he didn’t try and find other alternatives or go into denial like my parents. Accepting my time was up was easy for someone who was trying to make his life clock go faster. I once tried to count all the scars on his arms. It was impossible, all criss crossing over each other. An intricate pattern of life’s sorrows.
It was after the chemo failed that we started planning our untimely demise. It started as a running joke between us but soon became deadly serious. Reuben had attempted suicide seven times so I viewed him as an expert on the subject but he claimed that the only experts were those who had succeeded.

Maybe I blame my parents too much. After all it must be hard coming to terms with the fact your child is dying and you can’t do anything about it. While my Dad threw himself into his work, my mum who hates hospitals would visit me every day. Although she hated Reuben she let him visit. And through all those nosebleeds and blood transfusions, the lumbar puctures and throwing up because of the radiation therapy, she sat there holding my hand.

Mum, Dad I love you, please don’t cry. This is my choice, and I chosse to fight in the only way I can. This thing isn’t going to win because when I leave so will it.  I love you, really I do.

But I also hate you. All I want is for you to turn and walk away so I can see if it’s possible to stand on my own. Don’t though, you can’t leave me. I’m so scared but you can’t know. That’s the rules; don’t ask about tomorrow or mum will get sad. Don’t tell Dad you love him infront of his boss or he’ll get embarassed. Don’t start a fight with dad because mum will cry. Don’t tell them about the plan or the nightmares or how afraid you are of what might happen. I’m not alowed to make you worry. I’m sorry for lying. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for letting you down.

Please don’t be angry, I did it for you. Everything I do I’m always looking over my shoulder, searching for your approval. There’s always something wrong with what I do, but I try. Why can’t that be enough? Life is better when everythings perfect, isn’t it mum? But I alway ruin it, why can’t I be what you want? Do I embarass you with all my failings? You always tell me to be myself, but how can I when me isn’t what you want? I just want to make you proud, I might never be good enough.

I can’t pretend that everythings okay anymore. It’s too late to continue with this game of happy family. Nothing can change all those thing that were said, nothing will ever be okay again, so lets just pretend. You never did understand. We kept on pushing each other farther away. Then we look and realise that the gap is larger than we thought. We can’t ever go back to the way it used to be. So I’m sorry. I tried but I just can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t be perfect.

There were so many ways, but which one was right? Not drowning, they could write it off as an accident. Not falling, it might not work. Hanging we considered but decided it was a bit too execution style. Finally we chose pills; it was such a delibrate act. It made up for all the times others had made the decisions for us.

When we first met, Reuben’s attempts to end his life seemed implausible to me, someone who was desperately trying to hold on to hers. As I delved deeper his reasons began to make more sense. He wasn’t crazy like everyone thought; he had just experienced the evil in our world. He wasn’t depressed because he was weak; he had just been strong for far too long.Anything beautiful, to him, was tarnished by the cruelness of humanity. He had seen the shadows and now he spent his life running from them.

I guess I was running too. But how can you run from something that’s inside you? My perfect world was shattered by the fast approach of death. My plans for the future gone. I secretly hated everyone else. Why were their bodies healthy when mine was betraying me? Why did they have so many tomorrows while mine were disappearing?
Reuben never took his meds so we had plenty of anti-depressants. The asprin and paracetamol I collected from headaches I didn’t have.

When our plans were almost perfect, reality forced my parents to admit that I really was dying. There were no more options. No miracle cure was going to present itself. I wasn’t going to become magically better.

The end is nigh. Reuben tips the pills onto the table top. The bourbon has been poured.
“You don’t have to do this you know.” The words supprised me, I’ve thought this but never voiced it. He seems shocked too.                                                                   
    “Yes I do.” I shake my head so violently that my trilby nearly falls off. “If you let the cancer kill you you’ll be in so much pain Griddie.” I smile at the nickname he gave me. Reuben refused to call me Ingrid. “Then just help me, you don’t need to kill yourself.”                                                                                                 
“Do you really think I could live without you?”                                                                       
“You’ve done it before.”                                                                                                                  “Yes but now I’ve met you I’m not going to let you go.” He purses his lips, heat rising in his cheeks. “I love you.” His voice is a whisper and my stomach does summersaults that have nothing to do with my illness. “I love you too.” And with that we commit our last act upon this earth.

And now I’m going. My whole body is numb.
There is nothing left for me to say except....
Goodbye.
Goodbye pain.
Goodbye doctors.
Goodbye nausea and dizziness and headaches.
Hello freedom.