Every time I felt tired and wanted to sleep in, I reminded myself that I was dying. It was extremely motivating at first.

I’d get up, drink some coffee, and get to writing. At noon I’d make a small lunch. I’d usually continue my story in the afternoon, but sometimes I’d read a chapter from one of Bella's textbooks instead. That way when she arrived, in the afternoon, I could talk to her about her classes. I wasn’t tutoring Bella so much as following along in all of her courses. I’d taken them before; it was easy to keep up.

When Bella got home we’d go over her classes while she prepared dinner. She had started cooking for me without asking. I didn’t have the energy to do it myself, most of the time. We’d talk about writing surprisingly little, though.

I’d give her my progress for the day, and she’d mark it up so I could edit it. Bella wasn’t as good at writing as I was, by a long shot, but she noticed different things, which made my writing better anyway.

I wouldn't write in the evenings at all. Instead, Bella and I would do something. Usually a movie, or a short walk, or some videogames by ourselves. Bella was much more of a stay-at-home kind of person than Emma had been, and that was absolutely fine with me. Then, at about ten, she’d go home to her actual house.

We kept this schedule for two weeks, and they were the best two weeks of my life.

—

“Are you sure this is a good idea…?” asked Bella. We were walking along the riverside.

“Not one hundred percent,” I replied, “But I’m sure that staying at home all day isn’t going to help either.” I looked at the trees, which were still bare. I realized that there was a very good chance I’d only see them sprout leaves one more time.

I was having many realizations like that. I bid farewell to my coworkers when I picked up my things; I’d never see them again. I went to an office supply store to get a whiteboard; I’d never set foot in it again. I took Bella to a restaurant and it might be the last time I ate there, or the last time I ate rose curry. I’d never taste it again. It made me chew my food a bit more thoroughly and walk a little more deliberately, looking at everything before it was gone.

Bella and I had gone out for dinner. I saw a familiar shape on the menu, symbolizing healthy options.

“I never really noticed how common the lung symbol is,” I said. The two overlapping teardrops were everywhere: on Valentine’s day cards and balloons, for sure, but also in paintings and advertisements; stylized on clothes and tattoos; in emoji and on playing cards. And of course everything medical had those two teardrops, to let you know it was related to human health. Even dishes in restaurants.

“We sort of take it for granted,” said Bella.

“That’s for sure,” I said, taking a drink of water. “Lungs mean a lot of things, don’t they? Love, obviously, but also health and excitement…” Bella looked pained. I was noticing these things, because my own lungs were failing me. “It’s just kind of funny that we associate an organ, of all things, with so many concepts.”

“Just like we associate brains with things,” she said.

“You don’t see little brain shapes all over the place, though. Not like the lungs.”

“True,” she said. “But the brain symbol is more complicated.”

“The complication of the symbol is completely arbitrary though,” I said. “You could imagine the lung symbol including the trachea, aveoli, the diaphragm–not just two overlapping teardrops.”

“I always thought of them as petals,” she said. “But I see your point.”

“Ah well. I’m glad my brain continues to function, at least." She gave a small chuckle.

Seeing everything anew helped me with my writing. I was writing a fantasy novel, one about magicians going to war. But it ended up featuring a lot of walking along rivers and a lot of striving against a lack of air. It also featured a beautiful woman, someone the protagonist met only when he abandoned his obligation to fight for his nation.

“I’m so lucky,” I said, taking Bella’s hand.

“You don’t seem very lucky to me,” she said, leaning into me. “I’ll stay by your side either way, though.”

“That is why I’m so lucky.”

—

The barbecue was surprisingly fun and easygoing. Gavin, Anna, and the Brookes were there. I’d gone ahead and invited Diana, but she hadn’t responded. Perhaps it was for the best. At this point, my life was a complication she really didn’t need.

The Brookes had some friends over as well. I’d told them to invite enough people that the party wouldn’t be about me. Although some of the people there knew I was dying, and that I’d requested this as a sort of last wish, none of those in the know were willing to bring it up. We all just sort of forgot about it, or chose to ignore it inside our own heads. Instead, we ate grilled meat, fake or otherwise, and tossed horseshoes.

I was telling Gavin about my novel, and he unrepentantly told me to put a sex scene in it.

“It’ll sell better that way,” Anna acknowledged. Gavin tossed a horseshoe and it bounced off the stake. “You aren’t very good at this,” she told him.

“It’s not about sales,” I said. “I’m writing this for myself. I mean, if it goes big, that’d be nice… but the story is worth it for its own sake, too.”

“Yeah. Sex scenes are worth it int… inter…” said Gavin.

“Intrinsically,” I suggested.

“Exactly. So put one in.”

“Will you read it if I don’t?” I asked.

“Of course I’ll read it!”

“I’m not going to, then. Also, you really don’t have to read it, it probably won’t be very good. I might not even put it online…” I should have gotten deathly ill with enough time to write two novels, I thought, so that I’d have more practice. I tossed a horseshoe and missed the post entirely.

“I am going to read it, man,” he said, not bringing up the topic we’d chosen as off limits. “You gotta finish writing it, first.” Gavin’s throw bounced off the post again.

“Neither of you are any good at this at all,” Anna said.

“From the sidelines, that means nothing,” I said. I handed my two other horseshoes to her. Anna threw, and nailed the stake–but it bounced off, just like Gavin’s had. “See, it’s not so easy.”

“I didn’t say I was good. Just that I could see that you are bad.” Bella walked over and Anna handed the last horseshoe to her. Bella, almost without looking, tossed the horseshoe and got it to ring around the post.

“How?” asked Gavin.

“It’s in my backyard,” she said with a shrug. “Milo, my dad wants some help with the grill.”

I left Bella with Anna and Gavin. I was a bit nervous about it, but Bella was apprised of what had happened between Anna and I, and she’d also promised to walk away if it looked like things could get heated. I didn’t expect them to, but even a small possibility worried me. I’d been burned once before.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

When I went to Mr. Brookes the grill was very full, and he handed me a spatula to hold. That he had two could tell you a lot about the man.

“How’s it going, Milo?”

“Very well. Thank you for setting this up.”

“I’ve got an important question,” he said. “It’s delicate, but I don’t want to let it sit for too long.”

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

“How long do you have left?” he asked. He flipped a burger, not meeting my eyes. Mr. Brookes was willing to step on toes, when it was important.

“It’s a, a distribution. Probably about six months.” He nodded as I spoke, his jaw set.

“My daughter doesn’t want to talk about it. I assume you’ve told her?”

“I have.” I concentrated on flipping burgers myself, so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Brookes. I know I’ve caused you and your family a lot of pain, I’m causing you a lot–”

“Enough of that,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure Bella knew what she was getting into. I wanted to know, myself.” His voice was a bit ragged. Mr. Brookes was having a hard time, like I’d feared. “I might not have chosen this for her, but she would choose it herself–and that is more important. Liz agrees, just so you know.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Listen.” I pointed at the place where my friends were playing horseshoes. Bella seemed to be giving them advice. “Gavin and Anna are both my dear friends. They’d do anything for me.”

“Good friends to have,” he said, his voice already less thick with emotion than before. We’d talked about what he wanted to talk about; I was dying, and he was okay with me dating his daughter despite that. I was grateful to have his acceptance.

“Anna’s good at logistics, she knows where to find stuff–she’s good at making a list of everything a person needs, whatever they are trying to do.” Mr. Brookes nodded. “Gavin repairs things. He also knows engines. He can mend a fence or trim a tree.”

“We can trim your tree, if you need.” I only had one, whereas the Brookes had almost a dozen. I always borrowed their equipment.

“I’ve told them to come visit you, if… I’m unavailable.” Mr. Brookes frowned at me, suddenly understanding what I was getting at. “If you had another barbecue with them, sometime, I’d be grateful.”

We grilled in silence for a few moments.

“We will be okay, Milo,” Mr. Brookes finally said. “This is your party. You should stop worrying about what the guests are going to do after you leave.”

“I do worry, though,” I said.

“Sometimes we can’t help it.” He handed me his spatula. “I’m going to go talk to–Gavin, was it? I’ll get his number. Not because I expect to need his help, necessarily, but just so you can stop worrying.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuine relief washing over me. I’d seen how they dealt with loss. I wanted them to have help.

I grilled and gave hot food to anyone who came to get it. They cordially said ‘thank you’. I explained to those that asked that I was a neighbor, but most vaguely knew who I was already. I’d been in the neighborhood awhile. Even the Vestas were there, and trying to be nice for a change.

I watched the party guests from the deck, and felt at peace. Many were old friends of Mr. Brookes’, and thus people I’d only met in passing. That none of them felt any particular need to talk to me meant that he had honored my request that he not mention my illness. Seeing them happy and oblivious actually made me feel a lot better about my situation. The world was full of good things, and would stay that way even if I…

I tried to keep it together. It would not do if I burned any of the food.

Mr. Brookes ended up laughing along with my other friends. He and Gavin threw horseshoes, competing against Bella and Anna. They all seemed to get along. I was worried about Anna and Bella, but it seemed like my old friend was serious about being a good friend, and a good friend would be nice to my girlfriend.

The party was going well. I had no intent of leaving anytime soon. Mr. Brookes came back to take over grill duties from me, and I went to sit with the others and talk about my half-finished novel.

My phone rang, so I excused myself. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I walked to the space between our houses to take the call.

“Is this Mr. Caldwell?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“I am Dr. Elba. I run a microbiology lab.” The party left my attention, entirely. “I was calling to schedule a longer conversation, where we could talk about experimental sarcoidosis interventions.”

“I am so glad to hear from you,” I said. “Just say a date and time.”

“Mr. Caldwell, I must emphasize that our techniques are experimental only. They are unproven.”

“I understand.” He didn’t want me to hang all my hopes on something that probably wasn’t going to work. We scheduled a followup conversation for the next day, where he could explain in detail some system they were working on for people with sarcoidosis.

—

I tried to approach my interaction with Dr. Elba with an appropriate amount of fatalism. As he said, the treatments were unproven. Any medication that he gave me would probably result in a datapoint rather than a miracle. However, it turned out that he didn’t want to give me any medication at all.

“Will you pay for all the upgrades?” I asked. I couldn’t afford anything without the help of insurance, and I didn’t think it would pay for this. Insurance would give you drugs for blood pressure, but it wouldn’t buy you a bicycle before you got fat.

“Of course. I wish I could tell you that an ultraviolet air filtration system would increase the value of your home, but it comes with significant maintenance costs. It might have the opposite effect.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “It sounds like cool tech.”

“It is indeed,” he said, some good humor entering his voice for the first time.

Dr. Elba’s lab had designed it. He spent an hour telling me about how it could kill a wide variety of airborne pathogens, hanahaki included. Dr. Elba also warned that I’d be exposed to hanahaki basically everywhere else–anywhere there was dust–so it was an incomplete solution. However, he had suggestions for protecting myself in other ways and in other places.

In fact, there was an entire guide to avoiding exposure. It was something that his lab had produced.

“So you agree?” he asked.

“Of course. I’m trying everything I can.” I had already explained that I was on immunosuppressants rather than antiflorals. “How many people with sarcoidosis have successfully avoided hanahaki, with your system?”

“Mr. Caldwell, this is a very new technology.” I let out all my breath.

“Am I the first to attempt it?”

“We are running a scale up study,” he said. “You are among the first, yes. We have four patients with sarcoidosis, five including you. One of them has been using our system for ten months.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Information like that is protected,” he responded.

“I understand. The point is, this hasn’t been running long enough to know if it works.”

“That’s correct.”

I set my shoulders. “Well, you have to start somewhere.”

The system hadn’t been designed for people with sarcoidosis in particular–it was for reducing airborne illnesses in general. However, if it could help me I’d jump at the chance. Hanahaki was the ultimate airborne illness, and the spores were particularly vulnerable to ultraviolet light. They used membranes to protect themselves, after all.

I tried to refocus on the reading and writing I wanted to do, but I was afflicted with excitement and hope. I finally broke down, and decided to start texting people about the system. Just like writing a plot summary and a single scene could get a story idea out of my head, telling a few friends good news could allow me to refocus afterward.

—

I was the one to kiss Bella, first. It was a gentle kiss on her forehead while we were sitting on the couch together. I was happy just to spend time with her; I’d kissed her without thinking. She leaned into me affectionately. My heart pounded almost painfully.

“I think I want to lie down,” I said.

“Can we keep cuddling?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. It was a bit awkward as we repositioned ourselves on the couch, but she settled onto my chest. I unpaused the movie once we were settled.

“It’s not hard to breathe, is it?” she asked.

“A little, but I don’t think it’s because I’m sick,” I said, laughing a little bit. Her face was very close; I could almost kiss her lips. Before I made some sort of move she set her head back down on my chest.

We continued to watch the movie, and at some points, I almost was able to pay attention to it instead of Bella.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” she said. “It’s very strong.”

“Thanks to you,” I said, not caring which way she interpreted it. It had been slowing down as we relaxed. That Bella would focus on heartbeat, instead of my breathing, showed how little she cared for conventional symbols of love.

I felt an immense contentment washing over me. I had nothing left in the world, nothing but this moment and Bella. I didn’t care if I had to die, as long as I got to experience this moment, first. I started to doze off.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” I responded. We lay there for a long time, until the movie ended. Bella finally got up. She started to gather her things.

“I’ll be going home, now,” she said. “I’d rather stay here… but it’s late.”

“It is,” I said.

“Thank you.”

I grabbed her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, too. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my entire life.”

She smiled warmly, but I could see the moment she remembered that I was, in fact, dying. I didn’t have a lot of time left, and recalling that made her brow furrow. I pulled her into an embrace.

“See you tomorrow,” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you too."