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Blair
Death isn’t always sudden.
Sometimes it has a way of lingering in the corner, long before it even arrives. I can almost see it curling around my mother’s hospital bed at night, stroking her thinning hair, whispering promises of release.
“She’ll die if she doesn’t get this procedure,” a distant voice hums.
Die.
I know she’ll die.
I think part of me has known it for a long time.
Sometimes death can be so gradual, so mundane, that by the time someone finally puts a name to it, you’ve already been mourning for months, carrying the rot of it inside your chest.
“Blair.”
The voice hardens, ripping me out of my fog and dragging me back to the sterile glow of a doctor’s office. Dr. Kessler comes back into focus, her neat brunette waves falling down her white lab coat.
“Her body is shutting down. We need to go over our options. Are you listening, Blair?”
I swallow hard, tasting ash. “Yes. Sorry.”
“We’re looking at a very limited window for your mother.”
My ears ring. “How limited?”
“A few months, at best.”
“So what now?” I croak. “We just… give up?”
“No.” Dr. Kessler swipes through several screens on her tablet before turning it toward me. “Look, there’s an experimental treatment. A combination of targeted radiation and a new immunotherapy drug showing promising results in clinical trials.”
“We’re still paying for the last round of chemo. I—I can’t afford… well, anything right now.”
She exhales, but nods. “What is your financial situation like, again? Maybe you qualify for special assistance programs.”
“Not that great. I’m working as many hours as humanly possible, but the tips don’t come in as fast as they used to.” I trace the dial of my grandfather’s watch with my thumb, focusing on the cool metal instead of the panic threatening to overtake me. “My brother is working too. We’re… trying.”
She studies me for a long moment, like she can see every crack I’m trying so hard to hide. “I know you are. And I admire that. I’m going to look into some resources for you and your brother. Programs, foundations, anything that might—”
“Thank you, Dr. Kessler.” I stand, cutting her off before she can finish the word help.
Help doesn’t ever come for people like us.
It’s hopeless.
When I step outside the hospital doors, the mid-October Boston air bites at my skin, carrying the scent of dead leaves and the promise of rain. I look up, scanning the seven-story building until my gaze stops at a particular window.
My mother’s window.
I’ve visited her so many times that I know exactly which one is hers.
I desperately want to go back inside, to sit with her for a little longer and let her know I’m here. But my second job starts in twenty minutes, and now more than ever, her survival depends on every dollar I bring home.
“I’ll come back after work,” I whisper, shutting my eyes as I breathe out.
