18. Bastian

BASTIAN

The dream came with a soundtrack of its own—Coldplay’s “ Christmas Lights ,” a song of loss and longing, of sorrow and regret.

It was more like a memory than a dream.

I was ten years old, sitting by the tree on Christmas morning, shaking presents as children do to try and guess what was inside. There were two with my name on them, and one for my mother from me. We didn’t have much. Our apartment was small, and the heating often didn’t work. There were mice living in the walls, and if the rain fell hard enough you could tell exactly where the leaks were in the window frames. But my mother somehow made it a home for the two of us. We were safe together. We were always warm in each other’s arms.

That Christmas morning she came out into the living room, pulling a coat on over her waitress uniform.

“Can’t I open one now?” I begged.

“No, Sebastian,” she said with a smile. “Wait until I finish my shift at the diner, and we can do it together. I’ll make us some nice hot cocoa. I might even ask my boss if I can bring home some marshmallows. Who knows, the spirit of Christmas might be just enough to sway him. Deal?”

I relented. “Deal.” A hot cocoa with marshmallows on top sounded like something worth waiting for. But there was no denying I hated the fact that she had to work on Christmas Day. “Why do you have a shift today anyway? Can’t he just close the stupid diner for one day? It’s Christmas.”

My mother knelt beside me. “Oh sweetheart, I know it doesn’t seem fair. But we should be thankful I’ve got a job to go to. There are a lot of people out there who can’t even put food on the table on Christmas Day. But they don’t complain, and we shouldn’t either. Sometimes you have to tuck your woes away. You can’t always expect others to bear your burdens. Just put on a happy face, no matter what, and show the world how brave and bright your smile can be.” She lifted my chin with a finger. “Show me that smile now, huh?”

I smiled. I always smiled for my mother when she asked, and she always smiled back.

She gave me a peck on the forehead, then stood and said, “There are leftovers in the fridge and as a special treat, you can watch TV all day long. I think they’re playing the old ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ movie… you know, the cute one with all the puppets. I’ll be home by six, then it’s presents and hot cocoa with…”

Before she could finish her sentence, she began to cough.

It was a rough cough and for a moment she lost control of it.

Her body shuddered and her shaking hand reached deep into her coat pocket for a handkerchief.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

She held up one hand as though she didn’t need my help, and with her other hand she covered her mouth with the handkerchief.

Slowly the rattle in her chest subsided and the coughing stopped.

My mother took a deep breath and wiped her lips.

“Goodness,” she said. “I’ll be glad when this winter’s over. Let’s spend summer in the park soaking up that lovely sunshine, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds great.”

She tried to return the handkerchief to her coat pocket, but her hand was still jittery, and unbeknownst to her, she missed.

It landed on the floor without her knowing.

With a wave goodbye she left the apartment.

The moment the door clicked shut, I looked down at the handkerchief on the floor, staring at the bright red blood stains that had soaked through it.

I didn’t get to spend that summer in the park.

I spent it in an orphanage instead.

Groggily I opened my eyes.

I was sitting in a large comfortable chair, but that’s where the comfort ended.

Instantly I felt the familiar tightness of tape sticking to my skin. I looked down to see a cannula in my forearm, taped down firmly, the intravenous tube leading up to a bag of plasma hooked onto a tall metal stand on wheels.

I knew all too well why the gluggy brown sludge was dripping down the length of the tube and into my vein, but if there was any doubt, Doc Morgan said from his desk a short distance away, “Your platelet count was dangerously low. We should have done this the day you arrived. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? You know how quickly platelets can plummet.”

“I’m sorry, I… I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Well why don’t you stop worrying about whatever’s on your mind and start putting your own well-being first.” Doc Morgan stood and sat against the corner of his desk, facing me. “Bastian, you’ve been doing this cancer thing long enough to know that you need to prioritize you if you wanna get through this.”

“But I’m in remission. I am through this.”

Doc shook his head. “That’s what everyone always thinks. But what nobody tells you is that the journey of recovery is just as difficult as the cancer journey itself. Your immune system is severely compromised, your platelet count is well below fifty when it should be above three hundred, and you’re susceptible to every infection known to humankind no matter how insignificant that cough or sniffle may seem to a healthy person. The brutal fact is, anything can kill you at any time. You’re not the same person you were before the cancer, and you never will be again. You simply have to keep playing the game of survival till the end of your days. Yes, you may have won against the cancer. But now you need to stay healthy, keep fighting, and keep winning.”

I hung my head and sighed. “Some days it’s… it’s exhausting.”

“Every day is going to be exhausting. That’s the hand you got dealt. You can’t put it back, so play the smartest game you can. My advice? Surround yourself with the people who will help make the road ahead as safe and easy as possible for you.” He pushed himself off his desk and checked the bag of plasma, giving it a squeeze to get all the fluid to the bottom. “Speaking of people, I’ve got a whole heap of them sitting in the waiting room, hoping you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna go out there and let them know you’re doing just fine. But should I send one or two of them in?”

“Is Benji there?” I asked, my voice full of hope that he was.

“He sure is. And his whole family. And Aunt Bea. Even Great Nan is here, although she’s sleeping at the moment. At least, I hope she’s sleeping. I probably should check for a pulse.”

Reluctantly I asked, “What about Sterling?”

“Skinny guy with blond hair and dressed to the nines in attitude?”

“That’s him.”

“Yes, he’s out there too. Who do you want to see?”

I took a deep breath.