Finding Jaime

Chapter 104

Over the past couple of days, though, Ethan had been more asleep than awake. He hadn't been speaking anymore. He hadn't had the energy or really, lung capacity to. Yesterday, he'd been struggling more to breathe.  The nurses were keeping him comfortable, but everyone knew he had been looking at hours. Not days. And finally, tonight, he'd lost his battle.

Mom and Dad both held me while I cried for a nine year old I barely knew, and yet knew so well. I knew his best friend's name is Toby. I knew he liked skateboards and idolized Tony Hawk. I knew he liked Fortnite. His favourite band was The Offspring, or so he said. It's what we'd listen to together. He liked the Red Sox for some reason, and the Lakers. He wanted to learn to surf.

Mom and Dad held me until I stopped crying. Dad kept his arms around me and Mom was leaning on my back and holding me there. I couldn't stop shivering.

"I'm so cold," I chattered. Mom put her hand on my forehead.

"You don't feel warm. It's probably because you're so upset. I'm so sorry, Jaime. I know it was expected, but it doesn't make it easier or better," she said. I nodded. She pulled an extra blanket off the end of my bed and wrapped it around me.

"Dad?" A voice from the doorway said. "What's wrong? What's the matter? Is Jaime okay?"

"He's fine, Saint," Dad said. "In as much as he's not sick or anything. Ethan's mom just called."

"Oh," Saint said simply. He knows what a call from Linda meant at this time of night. "He? I'm sorry."

"Thanks, bud," Dad said. "Jamie's upset, obviously."

"Yeah," Saint said, coming into my room and sitting in my desk chair. "I'm sorry Jaime. Again."

"Thanks, Saint," I said.

"What did Linda ask you that you said you'd be honoured?" Dad asked.

"She asked if I would speak at his funeral. But she also said I could change my mind," I replied.

"That is very nice of you. And them," Meagan said, tightening her hug.

We all sat like that for a while and then Dad got Saint to go back to bed. Meagan said she was going to go with him, checked that I'd be okay and kissed the top of my head. She took Saint back to his room.

"Think you can get some more sleep?" Dad asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Fair. Do you want me to stay with you a little longer?"

"No thanks," I said. "I'll be okay. I don't know if I'll sleep much, but I'll try."

"Okay. Just call if you need or want anything. Okay?" Dad asked. I nodded. He hugged me again, ruffled my hair, squeezed my shoulder and left my room.

I lay back down.

"Hey E," I whispered. "I'm sorry, bud. I'm so sorry."

Fresh tears came to my eyes. It wasn't fair. It should have been me. Ethan was nine.

I can't be certain I fell asleep, but I guess I dozed off or something because the sun was up when I opened my eyes. I stared at my ceiling. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to face the day. I wanted it to be yesterday morning when Ethan was still alive. When I didn't have to face the reality of our shared disease.

Why did I get better and Ethan died?  Where's the justice in that? 

There was a light knocking on my door. I didn't answer but the door swung open slowly.

"Oh, you are awake," Mom said, coming into my room.

"Yeah," I said as she sat on the bed beside me.