Bittersweet, Part 1

Brad leans in close to his mirror in order to examine his pale, gaunt face with protruding cheekbones and deep purple pockets under his eyes. His ashen skin is so thin it appears nearly transparent, the veins showing through as though traced on its surface. “This is what Chris looked like in the end...” he whispers. He slowly raises a shaking hand towards his cheek, as though not believing that what he sees is true. When his fingertips touch his skin, a few tears slip out of the corners of his eyes, trace their paths down to his chin, and from there, fall onto the bathroom countertop. He turns dejectedly away from his reflection, and with all his remaining strength, makes his way back to the comforting warmth of his blankets.

The telephone on his pill bottle-strewn night table rings. He reaches out a skeletal arm to pick up the receiver and brings it to his ear. “Hello?” he answers in a voice croaking from disuse. The only response is a small feminine sigh, and the click of the person on the other end of the line hanging up. “I love you too, Mom,” he whispers sadly, replacing the receiver. His parents never come to see him. His father, morally outraged that his son could be one of those people, refuses to have any contact with him whatsoever. His mother, on the other hand, constantly worries about him, but not wanting to anger her husband, she satisfies her need to make certain that her son is relatively well by calling once per week to hear his voice.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of the prank calls he was receiving on a regular basis, until on Saturday the person had stayed on the line longer than usual. Hearing someone breathing, Brad became very frustrated. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to bother a dying man?” he demanded in a voice barely concealing his rage. Then he heard the last thing he expected – a woman apologizing through her sobs. A woman who sounded an awful lot like his mother. “Mom?” he asked gently. The sobbing increased and the woman hung up. The phone calls continue at their regular intervals. Although Brad’s anger is less intense, there are still days when he is so disgusted with his mother for abandoning him that he would yell at her if he had the strength.

Sighing, Brad lied back onto his pillows and tried to rest before Asia and Erik arrive. He knows that they mean well, and their company makes him feel better than any of his medications, but their visits can sometimes be tiring, especially lately. He closes his eyes and drifts into an uneasy sleep filled with images of hospitals and funeral homes.

***

Catherine wipes her tears as she hangs up the telephone. Knowing that her only son is suffering mere miles away from her while she is unable to be there for him breaks her heart. No mother should have to live with the knowledge that her child is slowly fading away. She calls Brad every week, but that is not nearly enough for her. She wishes that she could drive herself over to his small, cluttered apartment, take him in her arms and make his pain go away. But somehow, Marshall would know, and she is scared that his heart couldn’t handle the rage that would surely ensue. The only real contact she has had with Bradley in the last six years was last fall, when he had come to see her when he knew his father would be gone to work.

***

It was early afternoon on a beautiful autumn day – the sun’s rays on the leaves made all their colours seem even brighter, the reds, yellows, and oranges more vivid. Catherine was in the kitchen, finishing with the dishes from lunch when she heard something on the front porch. Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, she made her way to the front of the house, and found Brad looking in at her from the little window in the door. He was a mess, his eyes red and bloodshot, as though he had been crying or drinking – or both. She hurried to open the door, and as she did, her son collapsed into her arms in a sobbing heap and they slumped together to the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, she held him tightly and rocked him, running her fingers through his hair like she had done when he was young. When he finally quieted down, Brad looked up at his mother and the pain that she saw in his eyes chilled her soul. “Bradley, what’s going on?” she asked nervously, scared of what the answer would be. “It’s Chris, Mom. He... he died this morning,” he stammered in a voice so defeated that all she could do was hold his hand to comfort him. “He’s been sick for a long time, so I knew it was coming, but I just can’t believe he’s gone...” A few more stray tears fell from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Honey,” she said sympathetically. “I know you loved him very much.” She patted his shoulder gently.

A few moments passed in silence with mother and son holding each other. “Mom, there’s something else I need to tell you,” her son admitted quietly. It felt like her heart stopped beating and time stood still as she waited to hear what he needed to say. “Please, God, don’t let my baby be sick too,” she pleaded silently. More tears welled in his eyes, and she could see that he was terrified. “I...” he began and his voice stopped working. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m dying, Mom, and... I’m scared,” he whispered.

***

Asia, with Erik a few paces behind her, pulls the key to Brad’s apartment from the pocket of her jeans. “Come on, Erik, stop stalling...” She turns to face him. Seeing the uneasiness in his eyes, she pauses before reaching for the door handle. “I know you don’t like seeing him like this, but he’s been alone all day. He needs us,” she says, reaching up to put her hands on his shoulders. “I know, it’s just... hard,” he admits, his blond hair hiding his eyes as he lowers his head. Asia lifts his chin with her fingers to make him look at her, then nods questioningly – “are you ready?” is the unspoken message. He sighs and nods in return. Asia unlocks the door and they enter the apartment.

“It smells like a hospital in here,” Erik thinks as soon as the antiseptic odour reaches his nostrils. He looks around the living room, glad that this part of the apartment, at least, hasn’t changed since his best friend became ill. Distracted by his surroundings, he trips on the little rug near the door, drops the plastic bag he was carrying, and nearly topples into Asia, who is taking off her shoes. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “You gonna be ok?” she asks quietly, so as not to wake Brad if he is sleeping. “Yes, yes... I’m fine,” he grumbles crossly, silently cursing his clumsiness. He slips out of his sneakers, picks up the bag, and follows Asia into the bedroom.

Entering the room, Brad’s best friends have two very different reactions. Asia, the optimist, thinks that she sees a little more colour in his cheeks today, and hopes that it means that his illness is becoming less aggressive. Erik, on the other hand, is horror-struck. “He looks so old... he’s only twenty-seven, how can he look like he’s at least twice that?” He stops his train of thought in order to smile for Brad, who’s just opened his eyes at the sound of his friends’ footsteps and smiled feebly when he saw them.

“Hey you,” Asia greets him quietly, “how are you feeling today?” Brad’s smile flickers briefly. “Today’s a good day. I got up this morning,” he informs her, glad to see that this news cheers her. “That’s great, Hun!” She beams at him, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed. He turns towards Erik, who is still standing in silence by the door, his fake smile looking more like a grimace than anything else. Brad smiles sadly at Erik, knowing how difficult it is to see someone you love deteriorate. “I’m really glad you guys came to visit. I was getting a little lonely...” he admits. “I was dreaming about Chris... Oh, and my mom called again,” he adds, as though it were an afterthought.

“And did she say anything?” asks Erik, finally making his way toward the bed, going slowly, as though building up his courage. Brad shakes his head. “Same as usual. I miss her; I don’t understand why she won’t just talk to me. It pisses me off that she refuses to talk to me because of Dad... it just doesn’t make sense.” The strain of speaking sends him into a coughing fit. When it passes, he leans back into his pillows and closes his eyes, wheezing in his effort to bring air into his lungs. He stays still for so long that his friends wonder if he has fallen asleep.

“Did you guys bring it?” Brad asks suddenly. He opens his eyes and looks from Asia to Erik and back again. “Yeah, it’s here...” Erik informs him, reaching into the plastic bag that they brought and taking out a small bag of marijuana, already rolled into little white portions for his friend’s convenience. Brad sighs with relief. “Thanks guys. I hate asking you to do something illegal, but it’s one of the only things that help with the pain.” He doesn’t know how to show them how much he appreciates everything they do for him. Other than the nurse who comes every other day, they are the only people he sees. Asia pats his hand softly, letting him know that they do it because they love him. Noticing the time, she informs Brad that she and Erik have to leave.

Asia hugs him and gets up from the bed, and Erik shakes his hand. “So we’ll see you again tomorrow. I finish work around three, then I’ll go pick up Asia and we’ll be by after that,” Erik declares gruffly. He has trouble saying goodbye to Brad, because he never knows if it’s going to be the final time he says it. “See you then,” answers Brad as Asia leans in to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. As he watches them leave, he thinks to himself how lucky he is to have great friends like them. He knows that Erik is having a hard time dealing with everything, but he shows up everyday nonetheless. They are his family, the brother and sister he never had. He groans as a sharp pain stabs his side. He stretches out his feeble arm and fumbles awkwardly through the drawer of his bedside table, looking for his lighter.

***