Page 102 of Misery and Ecstasy

He rolls his eyes at the end of his sentence while shaking his head with attitude. His words make me smile, and I can feel my panic subside a little more.

Just then, a woman comes out of the bathroom and sits down next to him. Guessing it’s his mother, I tear my eyes from him. I don’t want her to think I’m some weird, inappropriate adult talking to her kid.

“Sometimes, I play practical jokes on my nurse.” He pulls my attention back to him, and I tentatively look at the woman beside him to see how she’s going to react. She only looks between us and smiles.

“You do?” I continue the conversation with him. “Like what?”

“Justin…” The woman pats him on the leg and whispers. I smile when he looks at her lovingly. “Make sure you’re not bothering anyone. Okay, buddy?”

“Oh, he’s not. Really. If anything, he's the world’s best distraction.”

She smiles sweetly at me before picking up a magazine to read.

For the next several minutes, Justin details some of his most memorable practical joke moments for me. His laughter is the kind of medicine I need right now. When the receptionist calls his mother up to the counter, I take the moment to ask him some serious questions.

I’m probably fucked-up for doing it, but I need to know how this kid can be so fucking positive and optimistic, knowing his fate.

Does he know what his future holds? Maybe his cancer is beatable, unlike mine?

“Justin, can I ask you what kind of cancer you have?”

When he turns to me to answer, I change my mind. God, where the hell is Draven? He could help me keep my mouth shut if only he were here.

“Never mind, that’s private. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. My mom tells me it can help to talk about it.”

I turn to look at his mother who is still talking to the receptionist.

“I have GBM.” At Justin’s words, my breath leaves me again. “My doctor said she wants me to do chemo and radiation before they can get in there to try to take it out.”

My heart breaks for this kid. For his family.

“Aren’t you scared?”

Jesus Christ, Mck. If he wasn’t before, you’re sure as shit going to cause him to be.

“Yeah, I am a little.” His admission cuts through me like a knife, and my chest clenches.

“How old are you?”

“I’m eleven.” He answers as he traces an invisible pattern on his jeans.

“You’re an extraordinarily brave eleven-year-old, Justin.”

“Thanks.” He smiles at me again. “My mom says the same thing. She tells me it’s because I’m a superhero.”

Smiling, I fight back tears that threaten to fall all over again.

“I just try not to think about it. We all die, it’s just a matter of when.”

My head shoots back in his direction. I stifle a gasp, not expecting such profound words from such a young boy.

“I think life should be more about how you spend your time while you’re here and less about the amount of time you have to spend.” Justin just shrugs again, like what he said is no big deal.

But his words utterly demolish me. They pick me up from my chair and shake some sense into me. It took this wise-beyond-his-years eleven-year-old exactly three seconds to put my entire existence into perspective.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I smile at him as his mother comes back and stands before us.

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