After twenty minutes of mingling, Sadie yawns, appearing just as tired as me. “I’ll walk you to your room?”
She nods.
We make our way toward her room in silence, but I can sense something is playing on Sadie’s mind. “Your friend Georgia…” I wait, giving her time to continue. “Do you have the same thing she did?”
When we reach her door, she makes clear she won’t enter until I answer her question. “Yes.”
The unspoken lingers, but what I said earlier confirms that we’re all on borrowed time.
I’m not sure how Sadie will react, but she shows me what a remarkable person she truly is when she wraps her tiny arms around me. “Night, Lola.”
“Good night, Sadie.” I gently return her warm embrace, and it means more to me than she’ll ever know.
She pulls away first and gives me a small wave before entering her room.
I stand outside her door after it’s closed, digesting everything that’s happened over the few short hours I’ve been here. I came to Strawberry Fields to help other people who are just like me. But each minute spent here reveals that maybe I was wrong. Maybe we’re here to help one another.
A light whimper catches on the still night air, interrupting my thoughts. I would have missed it if not for the fact the sound is in concert with my soul. I should turn away and go to my room, but I can’t. I feel like I’m now somehow involved.
I follow the sound, tiptoeing down the hallway like a common thief in the night. It gets louder and louder the farther I advance. I round the corner, not sure what I will find. The weeping is now muddled with a jumble of words. I stop just before an open door, knowing the sound comes from within.
This is incredibly rude, and I should let whoever is inside grieve in peace. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I peer around the doorjamb. At first, the darkness shrouds whoever is locked away inside, but a moment later, the full moon shines through the stained-glass window, lighting up the altar and who is contained within. There is no mistaking that long golden hair.
It’s June.
Her downturned head and muted sobs touch my heart, and I feel her sorrow. What’s made her so sad? She’s kneeling at a pew, her hands interlocked as she mumbles, “Why,” on a loop.
The small chapel isn’t as extravagant as the rest of this place, but it doesn’t need to be. The heavy cross which sits on the clothed altar is all the comfort one who comes here needs. One doesn’t come here to marvel at the elegance, but to get away from it and just be with their maker. I’m not a religious person; how can I be? I don’t understand my sacrifice, but June appears comforted being here and letting her guard down.
I’ve imposed on her privacy long enough and creep away just as quietly as I arrived.
My mind is plagued because, on the surface, June looks happy—the perfect mainstay of joy—but we all have our demons.
Slipping out of my clothes and climbing into bed, I’m exhausted, and it’s only day one. As my eyes slip shut, I can’t help but wonder what day two holds.
It’s still dark out when I wake.
Reaching for my cell, I see that it’s 5:15 a.m. Too worked up to go back to sleep, I decide to take a shower and get an early start on the day.
When I step out, I dry off and stand in front of the mirror. It’s fogged up, thanks to my blistering shower, so I swipe my hand down the glass, leaving a slash in its wake. I peer at myself in the shred, half my face and body obscured, but I can see enough.
I’ve changed so much. Each day robs me of breath. It’s like Georgia took a piece of me with her.
A small, bothersome voice whispers in my ear that I’ve given up too easily. I could call Dr. Carter and ask to trial the new drugs available, but I won’t. Since being diagnosed, I’ve had the choice made for me. I was going to die. But lately, the line has been blurred because I wonder each day if I’m scared of dying…or am I scared to live? Am I afraid that it will work, and therefore, I get to…live? Why am I given such luxuries when Georgia was never given a chance?