terrible things | thomalice.
He is thirteen. He is fairly happy with his life right now. Of course, itâs 8th grade, so everyone is still super uncomfortable with themselves and suffering from puberty. He is no different, he too has to deal with those things. He also has other problems, long term issues, that are never going away. But of course, those are things he has grown accustomed to. Or rather, things that have been apart of him so long he does not know anything else, they are normal, they do not bother him. Usually. Right now, those worries are at bay.
It is summer, and heâs at the lake. She is also there. Itâs nice. The breeze blows against them slightly, keeping the heat from getting to them entirely. It is late in the day, but the sun still shines. It stays out until late in the summer. Itâs his favorite season.
He stands where the water almost meets the sand. Itâs a big lake, surrounded by tall trees. He can see the opposing shore but has never been there. Itâs far. He reaches into his pocket and chooses a stone. He tosses it out across the water, it skips five times.
âThat was a good one,â She says. She sits a little farther behind him on a fallen log that has been there since they started visiting the lake. Both of their discarded shoes lie on the ground next to it. âYouâre much better than I am at this.â
He hears her, but only just. He turns the hearing aid up on his bad ear and nods, with a small smile. His hand, the right one, the only one, comes up to fix his cap that fell crookedly at one point. âJust practice, ya know?â
They stay at the lake, when it grows dark the fireflies appear. He has stopped skipping stones, he doesnât have any more in his pocket. He sits on the log beside her while she speaks about their friends and their school, and he talks about them with her. A lightning bug comes to rest on his shoulder, he doesnât notice. She leans over and allows it to crawl over her fingers.
He watches, intently, and then says, âIf I catch more of âem than you, youâll pay for my orange soda?â
She laughs, a lot. He isnât offended, even though he should be probably. she looks really pretty during her giggling hysteria. He thinks, she usually looks pretty during anything she does, though. âIf you can catch more, and I do hope you know itâs impossible for that to happen, Iâll kiss you.â
âOkay,â He says immediately. âE-eh, yeah, sure, okay.â
And he wins, despite the fact that he has a clear disadvantage with the missing arm. He is sure she let him win, but that is not something that bothers him.
He is seventeen. He has just graduated. His eyesight got increasingly worse over the years, he now wears glasses everywhere. Sometimes his vision gets so terrible he cannot make anything out. He is still deaf in one ear. He is still missing an arm. He is fairly sure his life is wonderful as of this point.
Right now -- they are at his house, in his room. They are the only ones there, the record player she had given him as a birthday gift plays Buddy Hollyâs greatest hits. Next to it sits an empty bottle of cheap wine, their empty glasses beside that.
They are dancing, sort of. She is making do with what she has to work with, it is hard to dance when between the two of them there are only three hands. Still, he tries. He spins her under his arm and she laughs and spins back into him, resting her other hand on his shoulder. They move more, together, almost dancing but not quite, definitely looking ridiculous. He laughs too much when he nearly drops her.
She laughs more than he does. She is beautiful. He already knew that. He has known that for a while. But she is. âYou do be more careful. Thereâs only one of me, after all. You break me there wonât be another waiting.â
âYouâre right about that,â He answers.
She smiles, a very real smile that he can feel burn into him, then kisses the corner of his mouth and wraps her arms around his neck. He places his on the small of her back and hums the rest of True Love Ways into her ear as they sway back and forth.
He is twenty-one. He is still wearing too thick glasses and a hearing aid in one ear. He is still missing an arm. He has acquired asthma, his lungs are between bad and terrible. He is living in the city. His medical bills are their biggest problem concerning finance. He is positive his life is filled with wonderful things, therefore it is wonderful.
She has also graduated by now. She is also living in the city, with him. She is also attending university. Heâs almost finished with school by now.
They are sitting on the couch, she is reading. He has his arm over her shoulders, feet propped on the coffee table. The TV isnât on, he is comfortable sitting her in the silence with a cup of tea after a long day of work and school. He is very happy. He doesnât want life to never not be like this.
He says: âLetâs get married.â
She looks up from her book, heâs slightly startled her with that suggestion. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, I want to,â He replies, a little sheepish now. âDonât you? W-want to get married? To me, hopefully.â
She looks -- distraught. A little confused, like she canât decide something. He regrets asking so carelessly without any planning, or notice, or fancy proposals, or even a ring. âI didnât mean to -- I can do it over. Get a real pretty ring, but it might have to be a little small. We can go out to dinner, the classy Italian place two streets over? A-and,â She is not looking at him at all. Heâs starting to feel his lungs build up like they do sometimes when he has an asthma attack. He swallows, breathes deeply. â...And Iâll say somethinâ real nice, somethinâ thatâll make you very happy.â
She is very, very quiet. Then she looks at him, her eyes are swelling.
âNo, donât --â He moves his arm and reaches out for her face. âIâm sorry, I shouldnât have said anythi --â
âI have to tell you something,â She murmurs, he can barely hear her even with his hearing aid. âItâs terrible, I d-donât even know how toâŠâ
He stares, severely concerned, and scared, and confused, and unable to say anything. He waits, he isnât capable of doing anything else.
She tells him. She starts crying for real and she tells him and, she was right, it is terrible. He cries too. She asks him to stop, begs him even. She tells him she loves him, that being together is the best thing in her life, that he shouldn't be sad. But he is sad. It is not fair. It is not fair because she is smart and funny and just weird enough. It is not fair because he loves her. It is not fair she keeps it from him until itâs almost too late. It is not fair because he is the one with the terrible eyesight. He is the one wearing the hearing aid. He is the one with the missing arm. He is the one with asthma, with the unreliable lungs.
He is severely fucked up, so many medical problems that he needs more than his one hand to count them all, and she is the one dying.
He is still twenty-one. He is still wearing his thick eyeglasses. He is still deaf in one ear. He is still missing an arm. He is still struggling with his barely working lungs. She is gone. He knows for sure life can do terrible things, and at this moment, he knows it is terrible.
