Part 5 (2/2)
”I like saying it. The more I say it, the less real it sounds.”
”Fair enough. What do I have to do?”
Becca waved me over to her bed with a fl oppy hand, and I scrunched in next to her. Even without hair, I could smell her sham- poo, citrusy and fresh, almost good enough to eat.
She reached underneath her mattress and pulled out a crinkled piece of h.e.l.lo Kitty stationery I vaguely remembered giving her for her birthday in elementary school.
”This is my bucket list. I've been writing it since I was nine,”
Becca shared.
”And I'm the morbid one?” I raised my eyebrows.
”Yes. I'm not the one who used a needle and pen to tattoo their thigh with a smiley face.”
”It's not a smiley face. It's a dead guy smiley face. That's what the 'X's instead of eyes mean.”
”Yeah, like I said, morbid. The point was-”
”There was a point?” I laughed a little.
”Alex, we're running out of time. I'm running out of time. Tomor- row is it. What ever happens, I have no idea what it's going to be like or how long or what I'll look like or when I'll see you again, so we need to do this now.” Becca had worked herself up, or I had, and she started coughing. When she didn't stop after a few hacks, her mom's --1 feet pounded up the stairs.
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”Here, honey.” Becca's mom reached for a small pitcher on her nightstand, and, with shaking hands, poured a gla.s.s of water. Becca drank it slowly, deliberately, until the gla.s.s was emptied and her mom fi lled it again.
”Thanks, Mom.” Becca sounded younger and sweeter, like a lit- tle kid version of Becca I remembered from when she had a broken arm and she worked the pity factor to get a ma.s.sive Polly Pockets yacht.
But this didn't feel like working it. She was already becoming a smaller, frightened version of herself.
”Alex, Becca needs to get her rest for tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I think you should probably go.”
Becca snapped out of her weakness for a moment. ”Mom, I need to keep talking to Alex. I might not see her for a while.” She looked at me. ”The doctors said I'd be really out of it. And I can't risk bringing germs into the house because of my weakened immune system. You won't want to see me all gross and gnarly anyway,” she a.s.sumed, turn- ing to me.
”Gross and gnarly is my business, Becca. But what ever you need me to do.”
”Fifteen minutes more, Mom?” Becca opened her eyes wide in their most manipulative, manga- like expression.
”Your hair-” It was as though Becca's mom just noticed the ma.s.s of missing locks. Tears and shudders erupted from her, the abso- lute worst thing to watch. I knew parents were supposed to be human and all, but I wish she could have pulled it together for Becca's sake.
And mine.
”I saved some in a bag for you.” I tried to cheer Becca's mom up -1- and held the bag out for her to see. Apparently, that wasn't the correct 0- thing to do. The sobs and shudders turned even more extreme.
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”Mom, you're freaking Alex out, and I just got her back. Can you please give us fi fteen minutes alone? I'm fi ne without the hair.
Just pretend it's for a big role starring opposite Hugh Jackman.”
Becca always knew the right thing to say, and I saw the smile I had hoped for spread across her mom's face. She loved Hugh Jackman.
”Fifteen minutes,” she agreed, and grabbed a handful of tissues on her way out.
”And you wonder why I'm in drama,” Becca sighed after her mom closed the door.
”The list?” I had to know where she was going with this.
”Yeah, so I've been doing this since I was nine. Not, like, as an I'm going to die list but more like a list of things I need to do someday.”
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