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“ Forever.” He whispers in silence, a promise that knew he can’t keep, because love is hopeful and beautiful and blind, while death is the cruel truth of every pretty word that’s whispered between kisses and tears and breaths.
“Forever.” He echoes, feeling that this is the right thing to say, because no other word is light enough to fill the silence.
Marco is thirteen and his afternoons are spent on a bed surrounded by four white walls instead of playing. Marco is thirteen, but he can already tell every part of hospital with his eyes closed, he already knows most of the doctors and some of the patients, because he has been here for a while. Marco is thirteen and he has already seen his family cry for him as if he was already dead. Marco is thirteen and he’s diagnosed with leukemia.
With the time he has learned that nothing is immortal, that nothing can last forever and that people are something fragile, hung on a thin string between life and death. Unlike other people, who have to spend a lot of time thinking and still fail, he’s already used to the term of ‘dying’, but then again every patient diagnosed with cancer at some point of their lives is. He has heard of people dying, he has heard about pain and agony, about inhuman screams of tremendous pain in-between shouts of crying for relief, crying for death to take them already. He’s been in touch with death for as long as he can remember.
It first started was when he was six. His mother told him that grandma was sick and she would have to go away for a few days. Then the few days turn into countless visits every day for four years. Then it turns to him watching scared and crying behind his mother as the doctors cover her little and sickness-consumed frame with a sheet.
It’s two years later when a beautiful spring morning he wakes up to his legs and arms hurting and his left side of body numb. His parents first pass it off like growing pains, but when the pain doesn’t seem to subside, but only increase further they take him to the hospital, worried and troubled with the thought that it must be what they had feared all along.
That’s how Marco gets diagnosed with cancer.
He has seen people come and go. Has known a few of them, has watched them leave happy hand in hand, or through tears and in a plastic bag, and during all of these things he has come to conclusions that no young man his age should. Death is inevitable to each mortal frame, it has different forms and shapes and it doesn’t spare anyone. Everyone is meant to die, so what’s the point in taking pity of it?
Marco doesn’t fear death. He has nothing to lose.
But it’s a beautiful morning when a boy with big brown eyes and pale skin is being hospitalized in the same room as him when he suddenly thinks; ‘Maybe not everything has to be black and white.’
It’s a beautiful morning, if one had to be completely honest. A pretty atmosphere, with a light autumn essence in the air and life buzzing all around the place. Only that to Marco it’s not. He finds it ironic and sickly familiar to that particular day when got dragged away from his family to this disgusting and aging prison.
There’s not much to do in a hospital, that’s common sense, especially when your physical abilities don’t allow you even the essentials, so being bored is a common part of Marco’s emotional state. He doesn’t have any friends (and it’s kind of his fault, he’s always the one getting annoyed of their childish way of thinking, he was always one for perfection) and his family doesn’t come to visit him often so he buries himself in books and Fifa most of the time, half saying that it’s better like this and half wishing he had someone to share his universal doubts with.
He lazily gets up from his bed, slowly making his way to the chair close to the window, occupying himself with looking out of the window, not really feeling in the mood for video games as the door opens and he turns to look. “Hello Marco. Good to see you’re awake.” The nurse warmly salutes him, but Marco only nods his head, his attention directed at something else. Or someone, to be more specific. There’s a young boy hiding behind the nurse’s back, looking small and insecure, and that intrigues Marco. He has a suitcase at his right side, his fist wrapped tightly around the handle, his knuckles white and face grim.
“Oh, haven’t you heard yet?” She asks smiling softly as she moves from the door letting the boy enter and leave the suitcase to the side. “This is Mario, he’s is going to be your new roommate.” Then she directs the boy to the bed at the other side of Marco’s room, giving him information about the happenings in this hospital and the schedule while Marco takes his time to take a closer look at his new roommate.
He has brown hair and eyes that remind him of Bambi, he’s smaller than him and somewhat way too thin with a pale skin and baggy clothes. He looks fragile and out of place, even though he looks and is sick enough to be in a hospital. The nurse asks Mario if he needs anything and the boy simply shakes his head and smiles politely. She leaves closing the door soundlessly and they are left alone. Marco feels the need to say something or do something, but just as if the boy has read his mind, he turns at him and smiles. It’s a big one, with dimples, and the boy looks somewhat shy and almost blushing, nothing like that previous gloomy state he’d previously been in and Marco decides that he might really like this guy.
“Hi, I’m Mario.” He says softly and Marco thinks that’s simply the perfect name for him. He looks exactly like a Mario, not that he knows what a Mario is supposed to look like, but the name fits him in a perfectly right way and that makes Marco smile without even knowing. His face breaks easily in a smile, his previous pre-existential crisis strangely forgotten.
“I’m Marco.”
*
Mario starts easily snapping him out of his daily 6 hours inner debate of what’s right and what’s wrong, life and death, and how the essence of this world is built on a lie. (Man, he feels like he could write a book.) And he’s grateful for that because for the first time in his life he finds himself smiling easily, being happy and carefree.
They spend their afternoon talking and playing Fifa, sitting close to each other in Marco’s bed and making lame jokes when either of them loses a chance. He presents his books to Mario and he is the first human being who takes an immediate liking to them as well as his opinions, instead of criticizing them and him for liking such deep matters at such young age.
It’s a friend, Marco slowly realizes, what he had needed all along. It’s Mario.
*
It’s not until three nights later that he wakes up to the sounds of crying. He lifts his head from the pillow, rubbing his eyes still half asleep as he looks around. It’s the middle of the night, everything around dark and peaceful. The only sound is coming from Mario’s bed across the room and Marco’s half-asleep mind immediately alerts.
“Mario?” He whispers and the sound immediately stops.
“Mario?” He whispers again, this time just a tad higher, but he’s met with nothing but silence.
“Hey, it’s ok.” He says. “It’s only me.” Marco reassures and this time he can hear Mario slowly breathe again. He has no idea what’s going on, but he has this feeling that this has been going on for a while, including the previous nights. How come he hasn’t noticed?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says sniffling and Marco can almost taste the sadness and tiredness in his raspy voice.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me up.” He responds and smiles even though it’s dark and Mario can’t see him. “You want to talk about it?”
There’s silence for a long time and Marco suddenly feels dense for asking, because maybe Mario wants to keep things to himself and that’s a personal matter, but just as he’s about to apologize Mario speaks.
“I had a nightmare.” He sniffles again, and Marco understands. Of course he does. He has been in his state for a rather long time to know exactly what it feels like. It’s never easy being alone in cases like these. “It’s ok.” He reassures him softly. “It’s over now, you’re ok.”
And some time passes like that until Mario breaks the silence again. “Marco?” His voice is insecure like he’s in doubt.
“Hmm?” Marco responds again.
“Are you sleeping?”
“No.” He says.
“I’m scared. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to sleep.” And it wouldn’t be weird if one would say that silence’s favorite place was their room for the night, because silence conquers again, until it gets drowned by the sound of shuffling sheets and bare feet padding the cold floor rhythmically.
“Scoot over.” He says and when Mario does so Marco quickly gets in, not wanting neither of them to deal with the unpleasant chilly air of the night. He wraps the covers around them securely and throws an arm around Mario’s waist making sure they’re both warm and comfortable.
His friend needs this, he tells himself. He needs all the comfort he can get, because leaving home at such early age with a half a promise to never return is not easy. Marco knows. But no one has been there for him at his first nights. He closes his eyes and sighs, but then Mario calls his name again.
“Marco?” He asks.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” His voice is sincere and it briefly takes Marco off guard.
“Always.” He whispers, tightening his grip on Mario’s waist. They stop talking after that, Mario being the one falling asleep first and Marco following right after wondering whether Mario feels safe, until weird protective thoughts lull him to sleep.
*
By the end of the month they decide to put him on chemo. Marco closes his eyes in grief. As much as he would love Mario to be his friend and stay with him forever, right now he’d only want him to walk out of that door and never return. His chest burns with pain and his throat tightens as a nurse breaks the news to him while Mario is still at the doctor.
He screams and cries and beats himself up with thoughts and what ifs until he crumbles to the ground, sighing, defeated and tired, knowing that he cannot change this world and make things right. Perhaps, he slowly comes to conclusions; it is always the good people who suffer the injustices of this world. He slowly gets up from the ground, erases every trace of his previous breakdown and waits for Mario.
Mario asks him to come to his first chemo treatment. He looks so scared when he asks, so small, innocent and insecure Marco wishes he could take that weight off his shoulders and carry it himself… but he already has his own to hold.
He holds his hand the entire time and he hurts inside with every gasp and whimper of pain Mario lets out. His little and only friend means already so much to him. He notices him biting his lip and closing his eyes as he tries his best not show any pain. But Marco wouldn’t love his friend any less if he showed that he’s hurting, he sees no use in pretending, he has tried it all.
When it’s over the nurse asks him to tell her how much it had hurt at a scale from one to ten. Mario’s answer takes him off guard.
His answer is nine, with glossy eyes and a quivering voice, but his answer is nine. Marco’s heart swells with pride and he can’t hide the smile that beams bright at his answer. He holds his hand the entire way back, following the slow pace of the wheelchair Mario’s sat in because he’s too weak to walk. And only when they’re back at the safety of their room, only then Mario lets his unshed tears escape with pain and a rhythmical shake of his shoulders as Marco kisses better the marks the evil needle has left in an attempt to make his Sunny feel better.
It’s not a long time until Mario’s hair starts to fall. He finds him in his room, sobbing as his stare is frantically fixed at his fists full of hair.
“Sunny!” He almost shouts, running towards him, taking his fists into his hands, but Mario turns his head to the other side.
“Don’t look at me!” He sobs as silent tears hit the mattress heavily.
“Sunny, look at me.” Marco says softly, but Mario doesn’t even listen to him. His stare is fixed to the floor, eyes open wide, full of tears and his body is shaking. “Sunny, it’s ok.” He says again.
“No, it’s not!” He screams back. “It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.” He whispers over and over again, his shoulders shaking and his lower lip quivering.
“It is! Believe me it is.” He says back, just as loudly, because he’s in the verge of losing it too and he needs Mario to turn and look at him and smile again like he always does… he’s shaking and desperate as he lets go of his fists and turns his body so he’s able to hug him. Mario doesn’t put up any resistance then, only cries silently at the crook of Marco’s neck, burning his soul with his warm tears.
“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything will be ok, you’ll see.” He keeps repeating until he’s sure that Mario’s listening to him.
It’s vain pretending that they are not doomed when they are, but the undying and restless hope for his friend drowns Marco’s pessimistic way of thinking about life and general existence. In that moment the stars don’t matter, life and death don’t matter, what’s right and what’s wrong doesn’t matter. All that matters is his Sunny and the hope that he’ll be ok.
When Mario has finally calmed down a little bit and has stopped crying they lie on the bed, his head on Marco’s chest and Marco’s fingers entangled lightly on those brown locks he’s going to miss so much.
“Marco?” Mario says and Marco stops his motions, lowering his head just a little bit so he can look at him.
“Yes, Sunny?” He answers and Mario for a moment looks pensive.
“Am I really gonna look that ugly without hair?” There’s despair in his insecure voice and Marco’s insides twist, begging to change that.
“No Sunny, of course not.” He says incredulously. How could Mario say that, has he not seen himself in a mirror? He’s way prettier than most people he’s met through his life. The prettiest, he’d dare to say.
“But I’ll be bald.” He objects again, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ll be just a little, ugly, bald boy who’s soon going to die.” His words cut like daggers inside Marco’s soul and just like that Mario starts crying again. Anger replaces his sadness.
“No Mario. No! You are not going to die! Don’t you even dare think that way again! You are not going to die and you’re anything but ugly to me.” His words are loud and passionate, leaving him gasping for hair, his chest rising up and down in fast movements but they prove to be the right ones to say as Mario lifts his eyes, wiping his tears slowly and giving him a smile.
“You really think so?”
“I know so, Sunny.” He responds, giving him his sweetest smile. “And let me tell you a secret.”
“Tell me.” He says closing his eyes just briefly.
“Kisses on bald head feel the best.” He gives him his best rascal smile, showing his dimples and shiny eyes and Mario’s humor turns back. He lifts his head and kisses Marco’s bald head, smiling shyly and Marco laughs then, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around Mario’s waist while tickling him mercilessly.
Later that afternoon they shave Mario’s head and Marco kisses every inch of his head repeatedly while Mario squirms and laughs heartedly until he cries for the second time that day. It’s the first time that Marco notices he would do anything for his Sunny to be happy and content, because if Mario will be happy then he will be happy as well.
Marco doesn’t fear death and that hasn’t changed, but now he has something to lose.
*
Mario loves the snow. Marco notices that the first day it snows. His eyes shine with amusement and his face easily breaks in a smile. It’s beautiful, Marco thinks. It’s beautiful how he smiles brighter than he has done for the past few days. How he stares at the tiny white snowflakes with pure amusement and happiness written all over his face. It’s simply frozen water falling from the sky, but the way Mario looks at it is entirely different and new, and it intrigues Marco. It makes him love snow too, and he swears that he has never looked at snow with such attention before.
He starts loving the way the tiny snowflakes, slightly paler than Mario’s skin falls in his face, tickling his nose and then melting, making both of them laugh in pure delight, and for more than a brief second they both wish they weren’t standing on a hospital window, sneaking on nurses to touch the snow. They wish that they were healthy and good just like other kids their age are, that they could go out and play and run and laugh... they wish they were normal.
Marco starts noticing all these little details about Mario not long after; how he always wears two pairs of socks because his feet are always cold, how much he loves the warmth (and especially Marco’s), how much he loves to cuddle and hide his face into the crook of Marco’s neck and let him protect him from the cold, how he always finds a way (don’t ask, Marco doesn’t know it either) to sneak pretzels and sweets in their room even though their diet and the hospital absolutely forbid it (that sneaky bastard has charmed the nurse), how he does those puppy eyes when things don’t go his way, or the devilish smirk he has after because those eyes work on literally everyone (even on Marco, especially on Marco).
He notices that he knows how Mario looks when he wakes up, when he’s just about to fall asleep, when he laughs (closing his eyes, eyelashes fanning over his pale face, his head thrown back), when he breathes. Like Mario is transparent and he can see right through him, every single feeling, every single thought.
He keeps noticing these little details, memorizing them, taking them to heart with adoration and a strong protective feeling for his young friend, until he finds himself with a heavy heart and unsteady feelings. At first he shrugs it off as normal, because friends know everything about each other and they protect each other, right?
Well, no. Marco has read enough books to know that this is not his case. Because he has this continues urge to hold him and protect him in ways that are weird for friends to think of each other. Because he thinks of how beautiful his Sunny is, even though he is sickly pale and his hair has long since fallen. He feels weird around him in a way that he can’t explain, like there’s this empty, bubbly feeling in his stomach and his chest clenches when he sees Mario smiling and happy. It should make him happy too, but in fact it only makes him hate himself and be angry all the time.
He can’t bear to ruin the only true friendship he has had his entire life because of a silly… crush? At least he thinks this is a crush. There’s no using manual for feelings and Marco feels helpless. So he decides to avoid him instead and that seems like the best idea at the moment. He avoids him a day, two, and he’s determined to continue so until those feelings he has completely vanish. He’s sure he can control his feelings and make them go away.
(But that, on the other hand, doesn’t help Mario at all, who’s torn and confused at his friend suddenly not talking to him.)
A week passes and that feeling only has become more frantic and desperate and Marco can’t stand being away from him. His eyes, sad and teary and desperate cut like daggers into his soul. He misses him, he misses talking to him and holding him and watching him fall asleep and he simply can’t do this anymore. He can’t.
So he decides not to anymore.
Perhaps, he thinks, he doesn’t have to hide from Mario to make the feelings he has go away. Perhaps standing with him will prove him wrong and will clear his mind and heart until there’s nothing left but what they had in the beginning. Perhaps pushing those thoughts to the farthest corner of his mind will make him forget and will bring him back to senses. Yes! This is it! How come he didn’t even think of this in the first place? ... But he hasn’t talked to Mario in a week and he’s sure he’s mad at him. God, he’s such an idiot! How is he even going to explain things to him?
After a lot of time thinking he decides to talk to him first thing in the morning and explain himself.
But morning doesn’t find Mario well at all.
The first things Marco hears are fast footsteps in his room and voices of people talking to each other somehow loud and panicked. At first he turns on the other side of the bed, his tired mind begging for silence. But there are sounds of violent coughing and cries that can be no one’s but Mario and his brain alerts altogether. He gets up throwing his blanket to the side and jumping to his feet, feeling dazed for a moment and it looks like the air and time upon him is frozen. Mario lies there in his bed, shaking and coughing and whimpering in pain and the nurses try to calm him down, but it doesn’t work. His coughing increases and he shakes even more frantically as a nurse tries to grab his hands and the other find a way to put a needle through his arm. It doesn’t work. His coughing turns into vomiting and cries of pain and Marco thinks he’s going to lose it.
Marco cries out his name and tries to move his limbs towards him but he’s frozen in place. Moments seem like hours, as they dread endlessly until Mario suddenly stops moving altogether. Marco screams. He moves from where he’s standing and pushes the nurses away calling his name repeatedly, thinking the worst as Mario doesn’t respond to him. He starts crying while the nurses put him away and to his bed as one of them explains to him that it’s only the medicine they gave to Mario and that he’s going to be ok.
When they leave, they leave Mario sleeping and Marco helpless and crying. He has never been one for believing and his position in this life makes him question God’s existence, but right now it looks like none of that matter anymore. So he falls to his knees and maybe for the first time in his entire life he closes his eyes and… prays.
When Mario wakes up again the night has long since fallen. His whole body hurts and his head is a mess. He briefly remembers coughing until he had vomited, but it looks like a nurse has already seen to him getting clean again. He turns his head to the side and sees Marco who has fallen asleep in a chair close to his bed, his face squished between Mario’s hand and the blanket. It feels like his heart stops beating for a moment and he finds it hard to breathe. He’s is here with him.
He had been so sad when Marco had stopped talking to him altogether without even telling him why. At first he had tried to talk to him and make him talk to him, but when it hadn’t worked he had simply given up, worried that it must have been something he had done.
His hand grabs his, wordlessly telling him that it’s fine and that he has forgiven him. Tomorrow there will be time for talking, but for now they both need to rest.
The first thing Marco notices in the morning is that his neck hurts like hell and that Mario is already awake and staring at him. At first he expects to be yelled at, or Mario to tell him that he doesn’t want to be his friend anymore, or worse that he doesn’t even want to be in a room with him anymore. But none of that happens as Mario smiles at him, it’s a small and tired one, but it’s a smile nonetheless and that lifts Marco’s spirit and briefly snaps him out of his tired and guilty state. He stares down at their entangled hands, he feels content and almost complete. (There’s still so much guilt he needs to process.)
They spend the day together as if to make up for the time they’ve been apart, and they haven’t been so happy in days.
That night Marco realizes that he cannot escape Mario or the feelings for him. He decides that he has had enough of fighting of pushing things away and he can’t take this anymore. So he decides to love him just like certain beautiful things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Maybe now Marco fears death, but not his, he doesn’t care about himself. Mario is all he cares for.
*
After that night they return back to normal… at least as normal as the situation they’re living in can be. They continue chemo and Marco has a feeling that they’re both getting better. For now it’s fine.
*
Mario finishes his chemo treatment and the doctors say his cancer is gone. It’s gone forever and he’s not sick anymore. It’s the happiest and saddest day of Marco’s life. He’s happy because his Sunny will be alright and will continue living normally and sad because he’ll go away and probably never return while Marco will be stuck in here, probably for a long time.
The next day Mario has his bags packed and a big smile while he’s sitting in his perfectly made bed in which Marco will miss sleeping and which will be empty for a rather long time because Marco is not sure he’ll be able to let someone else sleep there after Mario. Mario’s parents come to pick him up an hour later, smiling and hugging their ‘healthy’ son. Marco despises them, he despises them with all his heart. They weren’t there when their son was almost dying, but they suddenly appear now that their son is ok again. They remind him of his own parents and his stomach turns.
When they’re about to leave Mario hugs him the longest and right before he walks out of the door he can swear those are tears he sees in his eyes. Mario promises him to visit and Marco promises him to never forget him and the time they spent together, because deep down he isn’t sure Mario will really come to visit him again.
Mario walks away asking Marco to promise to him that he’ll get better fast, which makes two things Marco isn’t sure about.
*
It turns out that Mario is better at keeping promises than he is. He visits Marco three times a week and he stays longer during weekends. It slowly turns to be the only thing Marco thinks about and it’s almost like back in the days, only that Mario’s hair are growing back and he gets taller and leaner and so much more beautiful as days pass.
They celebrate his 15th birthday together and Marco’s only wish is to get better…
*
The doctors decide to cut his chemo treatment, noticing that his leukemia is gone, at least for now and that he’s good to be back in real life. Words simply are not enough to explain Marco happiness. He calls Mario and tells him that he’s healed and he’s ok and Mario cries on the phone, screaming of joy and – and Marco couldn’t ask for more.
He finds out that their houses aren’t that far from each other, so five days after he gets out of the hospital he decides to take his first walk while going to Mario’s house. When Mario answers the door he screams and smiles surprised throwing himself in Marco’s arms. Marco can’t help but notice how beautiful he has gotten and his hearts leaps in his chest. It cheers him up beyond belief in a way that deeply inside he is grateful to someone up there that he’s alive.
The rest continues normally. They hang out together all the time and play FIFA together and do all of the things they used to do in the hospital only that now they are both healthy and have hair.
*
He hasn’t talked to Mario in a while. Two days, six hours and twenty five minutes, more precisely. Marco has called several times and has wanted to go over, but Mario keeps insisting that he has the flu. He says that he’ll come himself as soon as he gets better.
There’s something suspicious in this. Not that Marco is playing Sherlock Holmes, but he has noticed that Mario has gotten distant in the past few days. First he has tried to shrug it off as something normal between friends, but the truth is that he doesn’t find this normal in any kind of way. Mario doesn’t get the flu and he doesn’t ask for space, so the option is that he either has done something stupid or Mario is in trouble.
(He mentally makes a list of good and bad decisions he has made over the past month as he loses yet another game at Flappy Bird… Whoever made that game is pure evil.)
Later that afternoon Mario actually calls him, instead of texting. His voice sounds weird through the phone and that’s a thing that makes Marco worry immediately. Mario asks him to come over and Marco has never run any faster in his whole life.
Mario answers the door and he looks sad. He stays silent during the afternoon and he doesn’t laugh even when they’re watching his favorite movie. Marco doesn’t ask what’s wrong, knowing Mario he knows for sure that he won’t tell him thing.
That night he just holds him tight and prays for everything to be ok. (He tries not to mind the way his chest heaves and how his eyes are red and swollen.)
After that night everything turns back to normal. Marco doesn’t know what that was all about, but he knows that it had a lot to do with Mario understanding something important about himself.
Soon they turn back to their normal routine of school, football and occasional movies (with Marco complaining about how the book was way better.)
Mario is happy, they are healthy again and for a moment everything in his life is perfect. It is all perfect…
*
It’s all perfect until that night when the pain starts again, that distant damned pain he knew far too well.
He stands in the doctor’s office, facing him while he’s writing something down on his papers and then turning to look at him in the eye. He’s once again at the place he promised himself to never return. Marco simply stares back at him, frozen in place and unable to speak a word.
“We have the results your last tests,” he starts again, “and I’m sorry to tell you but it seems like your leukemia is back in a more advanced and aggressive way. I’m sorry Mr. Reus.” Marco cannot believe his ears. It feels like the earth is trembling, shaking, wanting to take him under. The sky is ripping itself to pieces with a tremendous noise, slowly falling apart. It feels like the end of the world.
His eyes water and right now there’s nothing he hates more than his luck. ‘Why me?’ he repeats over and over in his head. Each time there’s no answer. He turns his head to the side, running his fingers through his hair and his soul feels so heavy he wishes he could rip his existence into tiny little pieces so his appearance could match his destiny. He violently wipes his tears and turns to look at the doctor.
“Is there something we could do? Like start chemo again or maybe try different medicines, the-”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do Mr. Reus. It is too early to start chemo again and your body wouldn’t accept it. Right now chemo is the strongest medicine we have against cancer, I don’t think anything else would work… We’re sorry.” He says and Marco thinks of the future, of his plans he made when they told him that he would be able to live normally again, of Mario. Mario, Mario, Mario, Mario.
“How much do I have left?” He asks, voice distant and eyes casted down at his hands. His blunt nails leave marks of tiny half moons at the palms of his hands. It stings, he doesn’t care.
“That is something I’m afraid we can’t predict Mr. Reus” He says. “It could be months, it could be days…” His other words fade into air.
He locks himself into his room and screams and cries and lets it all out, until he’s a sobbing mess. He grabs his hair in his fists, pulling at them. He doesn’t want them anymore, not like this. He thinks of Mario and his smile and how they were never meant to be together and how he hasn’t even told him how he feels… probably he won’t even have a chance to. He cries and cries, his chest heaving into painful sobs and heart wrecking coughs, until he thinks that this is it. This is the moment he is supposed to die. He laughs bitterly at a poem he has dearly loved some time ago.
‘This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.’
What do they know of death? What does he know of death? He finds himself ironically begging for life when he has not ‘feared’ death until now. He’s a hypocrite and a coward.
‘Love makes us all cowards.’
He wants to laugh at himself for his mortal stupidy. Everything hurts.
He decides to tell Mario about the cancer, he feels like he has the right to know. Though he doesn’t meet him until a few days later when he gets a call for Mario asking him to come over. His voice sounds strange over the phone and Marco immediately senses that something is wrong.
He has spent the last few days in his room, with his drawers shut tightly and his parents trying to reassure him. It hurts them as well, he knows. When he arrives, he feels like he should run back to his room and never return, but when Mario opens the door, eyes red and face blotchy, he forgets everything.
Protective senses kick in immediately and Marco takes one step forward. “Mario what’s wrong.”
“Come in.” He says simply, motioning the direction with his hand. They take the stairs to Mario’s room in complete silence. Mario leads the way and Marco finds in odd that his friend is not taking about this and that like he always does. Something must be seriously wrong.
Mario leaves the door open for Marco to enter and meanwhile sits on the bed, silent still. Marco sits next to him without taking much time.
“You see-”
“Mario-” They both start at the same time. “No you go first.” Says Marco and Mario inhales deeply.
“You see, there’s this thing I’ve been holding in for a while and…” He trails off for a long moment. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I never seemed to be able to find the right time and this is killing me.” He stops again, sighing sadly. Marco grabs his hand.
“You can tell me anything. Is something bothering you, do you have troubles at scho-”
“No.” He says withdrawing his hand. “You have to listen to me… I really like you, ok? I have for a while and I know that shouldn’t and that you probably like girls and I’m not a girl, nor attractive, but this thing has been eating me up and I- I can’t take it anymore.” His voice cracks up painfully in the end.
I like you.
“What?” Marco says slowly. He’s not sure if he has heard it right.
Mario starts crying then. “I’m sorry, ok?” I didn’t mean to. I’m so-” But Marco doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He has a hard time deciding on what to say, so he decides to simply kiss him and go with it. It’s unbelievable, wonderful, bittersweet, all the things he had imagined and more. It burns his heart with love.
“I like you too.” He says smiling sweetly. “And I’ll never let you go.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He says, looking at him with such love and care as if it was the last time he’s ever gonna see him. Mario smiles too, hitting him in the arm playfully.
“You have never been good at keeping promises Marco.”
“Oh, yeah?” He laughs reaching to kiss his hands, holding them lovingly to his face. “Well, I intent to keep this one, Sunny.” Mario kisses him again and they both lie down like they have done countless times, only that this time is different. He feels pain, but he’s gonna be alright, at least for a while. At least for as long as he has Mario.
The night passes silently between kisses, tears and words left unsaid…
*
Telling Mario will take time, and time is the only thing Marco doesn’t have.
And Marco wants to tell him. All of this is eating him alive. He loves him; he loves his kisses, his smile, his laugh, his smell. He never stopped loving him… and now that he finally has him he can’t bring himself to ruin what little happiness they can have.
It takes a week for him to do so. He invites Mario over and orders pizza, Mario’s favorite. They play a few games and then watch a movie, and when it all ends and the tension gets too much Marco spills it.
“I have cancer.” Mario turns to look at him slowly, his smile caught midway between his lips. His eyes turn confused in a matter of seconds, rapidly searching his face, his arms, the objects around him, as if trying to hold on to reality.
“What?” He asks unbelievably. His breathing gets heavier, Marco can tell.
“B-But how? Why? How come?” He raises his hands to his head, grabbing his hair. “But they said it was gone. They said it was fucking gone!”
“I know.” He says softly, reaching to touch his hands and bring them down. They don’t deserve this. They have done nothing to deserve this.
“It can’t be, it can’t fucking be!” He starts crying and Marco can’t bear to watch him like this. “Did they say they would start chemo?”
“Too late for that.” Marco replies shortly.
Mario soaks his shirt with his tears that night, cursing their fate to the hell and back and Marco reassures him, as if he wasn’t the one dying. He feels powerless and weak and sad, but at least he has Mario and that somehow is enough.
*
By the end of the week Marco takes Mario to their first date. He manages to find tickets for the Bayern-Dortmund game. It’s needless to describe how amazed they both feel standing right next to each other as they watch their favorite players play. Every word seems too much, so they just let themselves get lost in the game.
*
A week later Marco’s mother drives them to the carnivals. They hold hands and ride the biggest roller-coaster there is and take pictures with silly faces and Marco even wins Mario a teddy bear. Everything looks fine and wonderful, but Marco has a feeling that this won’t last long.
Five days after, they have to take him to the hospital.
Relatives come and go, some of them crying in hysterics, some others staring at him in silence, with sadness, holding in their tears as their last shred of self control. Mario stays with him through it all.
Marco is dying; he has been dying since they first met, Mario deep down knew that, he just didn’t want to believe it. But now he doesn’t have a choice other than to accept their fate. He slowly starts understanding Marco’s general pessimism as it slowly becomes his own.
He stays there, in a chair near Marco’s bed for days in a row, listening to Marco carefully, memorizing his voice, his face, the lines around his eyes, the sound of his laughter, the outline of his lips. He holds his hands as they stay cold all the time, kisses his knuckles tenderly wanting to memorize their outline too. He stays with him through all of Marco’s screams of pain, silently cursing their fate as tears roll down his face.
Marco on the other hand tries to take Mario’s mind off of it, talking about this and that, about when they first met, about his grandma or the kids he met during his stay at the hospital. Mario listens to all of that, his heart shattering with each word. His Love has suffered way too much.
“You know, the thing I regret most is that I never had the opportunity to show you how much I love you.” He says after a while of silence.
“I know.” Mario says. “I love you too, more than you can imagine.”
“Can you do this last thing for me?” His voice is low and raspy.
“Anything.” Mario responds.
“Kiss me.” And Mario does. He kisses him with all the love and tenderness he can manage, until the kiss leaves then teary and out of breath. “I love you.” He whispers before drifting to sleep.
“I love you too.” He says, reaching to place a kiss on his forehead.
“Forever.” He whispers in silence, a promise that knew he can’t keep, because love is hopeful and beautiful and blind, while death is the cruel truth of every pretty word that’s whispered between kisses and tears and breaths.
“Forever.” He echoes, feeling that this is the right thing to say, because no other word is light enough to fill the silence.
The last days are the hardest. Marco sleeps most of the time and his hands and feet are ice cold. His talking starts making no sense and at some point he doesn’t recognize anyone… not even Mario. His breath becomes noisy and sometime around two o’clock in the morning of 24th April… it stops... forever. Mario swears that his heart stops beating too.
Everything else passes like a blur, Marco’s mother breaking down right next to him, Marco’s lifeless face, his own break down…
The funeral is painful. All of those people gathered together to give the final goodbye to someone. Mario was never good at saying ‘goodbye’ just like Marco was never good at keeping promises. Somewhere in his tired mind a young, healthy smiling Marco is repeating itself to no end… but he can’t cry anymore. He‘s tired of everything.
When he’s standing at the altar, he tries not to think of Marco’s mom crying only meters in front of him. He tries not to think of how everyone is wearing black and he tries not to think that Marco is dead, because if he starts crying right now he will never stop.
“Marco was my roommate at the hospital for two years.” He starts. “Life showed that I got to live and he didn’t, and I’m not proud of that… Marco, he always had a different way of thinking about things in general. People liked to say that those thoughts were way ahead of his age, but to me they seemed just fine. He’d say that nothing is immortal, that nothing can last forever and that people are something fragile, hung on a thin string between life and death. I remember several days before Marco’s death he said he had been thinking that birth and death were similar in some ways. He said he bet if you asked any unborn child if they would like to leave where they were and be born into a new world they would all choose to stay right where they were. He said that he did have some fear about death but thought it was natural fear of the unknown. He was brave and loving and caring and he was the only person I came to love unconditionally, the only person I’ll continue to love even after I die. He was a wonderful person and he didn’t deserve to have the life he did.”
The rest passes in a blur, he remembers none of it.
-
Marco is 17 when cancer breaks his youth in half. He’ll be 17 for a long time, while Mario will grow up, finish school, probably have a family and move on as time goes on. But he wants none of that, not without Marco. He wants to hold on to him forever. He screams his name in the silence of his room, falling powerlessly to the floor and cries and cries. It feels just like his heart is going to rip itself out of his chest. He wishes he were in Marco’s place, he wishes he’d be here with him, alive and breathing still. He wishes so many things, but he can’t escape reality.
-
Mario holds his picture dearly to his chest.
Dear Mario,
Between being and not being we chose to be, with the given condition of time. It is up to us then how and what for we use this time. I want you to know that even though we didn’t have all the time of the world I had you and that was enough. Know that I will love you for as long as I have breath in my chest, for as long as my spirit will wander this world, in a shape or another, it doesn’t matter. I will love you forever. For my body is only temporary I know that my soul is eternal and that’s how long I’m going to love you.
Yours forever, Marco.
“Forever.” Mario whispers, as a tear rolls down his face. He closes his eyes.