~*6 Weeks Later*~
As the end of August came right around the corner, the end of the summer, the end of their youth, Wyllah leaned lazily against the metal doorframe of the future site of their café, a pink zip-up sweater wrapped around her shoulder, admiring the carpenter’s handy work with the cherry wood floor. Wyllah could feel the sweat pop up against the brim of her black MADE trucker hat, chemo beginning to take its toll on her beautiful locks, Wyllah finding more and more patches of baldness every time she stepped into the shower. She knew she had to cut it sooner or later, to make it less noticeable, but she cherished her hair like it was a precious doll. Her hair made her feel beautiful, free, wild even. Wyllah was afraid what Leukemia would filch from her next.
Wyllah was feeling pretty well that day, at least no morning vomiting spells or sudden dizziness that inconvenienced her on some days. Wyllah went back to Dr. Goldman and it was confirmed through some lab work that she had in fact contracted Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, something she has been suffering from since she was 3. ALL, as it is referred to, is the most common leukemia associated with children caused by the abnormal growth and development of early nongranular white blood cells. Basically, from what Wyllah wanted to understand, she had messed up blood cells that have costs her months of pain, alienation and fear. Wyllah was hoping, praying that God would make up his mind whether to take her under his wing or leave her on Earth. Maybe this would be the last time.
Wyllah sat down on the light brown ledge of the building, looking out at the laxed midday traffic flowing through Main Street, waiting for Deon to come back from her visit with Benji. Wyllah’s hand shook a bit against the knee of her sandblasted jeans, a little set back from her chemotherapy treatments. Wyllah has talked to Joel and Paul quite a bit over the past 6 week, and she convinced them that there was much to be done on the café, so a visit was near impossible. They understood completely without a second through to it, and it broke her heart. Wyllah had to literally push Deon into her car so she could go spend some time with Benji. Wyllah hated seeming like a burden.
Wyllah heard the gears on Blaze squeak to a halt, Deon jumping over the driver’s door and bolting into the building breathlessly, excitedly wrapping her arms around Wyllah’s neck, Wyllah yelping in pain as they came crashing down on the ledge. “I drove 95 miles per hour on Southern State to get back her as soon as possible!” Deon shrieked with an apologetic smile, gently rising Wyllah up on the ledge. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Wyllah admitted with a pixie smile at Deon’s childish antics, rising Deon’s orange 70’s sunglasses on top of her head to see her sea greens. “So how was Maryland?”
“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Deon whined, rolling her eyes as they fell to the waxed floor, then up to the beautifully crafted bar area with matching cherry wood shelves, “The carpenter came? He did nicely.”
“Trouble in Paradise?” Wyllah asked curiously, rising to her feet as sliding across the floor on her fuzzy white slippers over to the antique coffee maker, pulling a foam cup from its sleeve and pushing down the lever.
“It’s almost unbearable,” Deon pouted sadly, lifting herself onto the bar and crossing her legs, “I barely saw Benji, my Baby Boy, the whole week because of his flights here and flights there and interviews and all and when I did see him, all we did was fight.”
“Their album is coming out soon, you know that,” Wyllah reminded her, the sweet scent of hazelnut tickling her nose. She believed Deon needed a reality check, that not everything was revolved around her.
“I know this, Tots,” Deon sighed, drumming her fingertips on her knees, “But, no joke, we’ve spent like 10 hours together the whole week. He didn’t even really seem interested that I was there and we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. I spent most of my time with Tom Cruise and Ben Affleck.”
“He was probably so busy, his mind caught up in everything that’s happening. Give it time,” Wyllah assured her, sipping on her coffee, the steamy liquid soothing her coarse, grainy throat.
“It’s just…we both have short tempers and jump to conclusions and all,” Deon continued, gripping the edge of the bar with her hands, “We’re both headstrong, you know? My way or the highway.”
“You just need to understand each other more, get to know each other more. Maybe the jumping right into sex wasn’t the best way to start a relationship,” Wyllah suggested flatly, scraping her fingernails into the foam cup absentmindedly, her fingers suffering froma dull ache at the joints.
“I feel like I’ve known him for centuries,” Deon giggled, reveling how much more intense the sex was when one or both of them were angry, and how much power the other has to sooth their partner’s fury.
“Absence does make the heart grown fonder,” Wyllah enlightened her, tossing her empty cup onto the bar.
“You are definitely the smart one,” Deon told her, reaching out for her frail wrist and giving it a loving squeeze. Wyllah glanced up and slid a small smile on her face, the kind that looks painful to display. “How’s therapy?”
Wyllah shrugged, trying to show that it didn’t bother her, that life was still normal, even thought it wasn’t. “OK,” Wyllah replied nonchalantly, leaning tiredly against the bar, “It’s pathetic that I’m feeling worse than when I was off chemotherapy. I don’t remember ever feeling this worn out before. I thought it was supposed to make you better.”
“It is, Wylly,” Deon reminded her gently, tapping her thumb against Wyllah’s wrist, “It takes time, you know that. But you have so much support, nothing will go wrong.” Wyllah tried to show her teeth this time through her smile, but even her jaw joints hurt. “Have you told the boys?”
Wyllah looked intentionally around the room, Deon responding with a stern frown. “Not yet,” Wyllah whispered, wriggling her wrist away from Deon and stuffing her hands in her pockets.
“How long do you plan to wait?” Deon replied quite forcefully, hooking her hands on her hips.
“You know, you make it sound like I’m telling them that I stole a pen or something,” Wyllah responded angrily, throwing her hands in the air, Deon beside herself with Wyllah’s sudden mood change, “I just found my family. I don’t want to drive that away.”
“How can you think that, Wyllah?” Deon asked softly, trying to simmer down the volatile atmosphere they were surrounded in, touching Wyllah’s shoulder gently, Wyllah shrugging laggardly away, her face contorted like she was going to cry.
“It was so hard to tell you and I’ve know you all my life,” Wyllah responded, almost choking on her anguish, her throat feeling like it was closing up, turning her back to Deon to hide the tear that snaked down her cheek, “How am I supposed to tell people who I’ve known only a few months?”
Deon stared into the back of Wyllah’s baseball cap, suddenly having a revelation of what Wyllah may really mean. Deon stepped in front of Deon and took Wyllah’s hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs over the hands whom so many times held Deon as she cried, but Deon sobbed about nothing as important or meaningful as this. The silence was uncomfortable, but it felt like there was more to be said. Deon looked up into Wyllah’s beautiful hazel eyes, eyes who had seen too many false faces and false promises, eyes who teared every time when the door slammed. “Don’t let those pricks you’ve dated in the past decide your future,” Deon guided her, Wyllah’s expression of hopelessness not wavering. “Paul is crazy about you. All he talked about was you,” Deon gloated, jumping a little to mimic Paul’s excitement, Wyllah hooking the corner of her lips upward.
Wyllah pulled her hands away and leaned her elbows against the bar, staring at herself in a mirror that ran lengthwise on the wall, Wyllah not recognizing the fallen person she saw, Wyllah not liking the fallen person she saw. Wyllah hated not being invincible, never been seen as an equal or worthy of other guys’ time. “Paul was really bummed you didn’t come with me,” Deon sighed, leaning one arm against the bar, wishing she could even hear a moment of what Wyllah pensively thought about when the silence crawled in.
“If I…” Wyllah began, leaning up on her elbows, arching her neck to better see her reflection, Deon looking into the mirror curiously, “If I look into Paul’s honest eyes…or Joel’s sincere eyes…or Benji’s curious eyes…I don’t know how I could hold back this secret.”