Drip. Drip. Drip. The IV gets so annoying sometimes. Drip. Drip. and the news is all I hear in the soundtrack of my horrible ending. The flowers in the surrounding area reek of 1-800 – flowers (the cheaper dollar store version).The upside of this whole tragic event is my nurse she is as pleasant as a pizza party. Miss Patricia (Ms. Patty to moi) is about mid thirties, stocky, and speaks in a thick Jamaican accent. Patty is like a younger version of my grandmother who ended the same way. My hospital has a small window with bars across it that over looks a busy Brooklyn street. Homeless people, rich people, small people, and children walk 55th Ave. with a purpose and meaning. Might even be the hand of fate that these people are roaming the streets. Might be destiny that I have ended up like this or it could be a tragic accident...Like me meeting you. All the little faces below have somewhere to go and something to accomplish. I really can’t say the same about myself. I just stare at my IV, watch the news, and get really excited when mommy comes with good food. Working overtime usually is what keeps her away from me and me away from food that is actual edible. Hospital food tastes like crap. People in prison, like my good-for- nothing father, eat much better than the slop and gelatin I’m given.
Sometimes I get to go to the arts and craft room, but the younger kids are so squeamish and hyper, I feel the urge to hit them in the face. I have a hospital counselor who talks to me. She asks me the same 3 questions every Tuesday at 3pm. Question 1: How are you feeling today? Answer: Like s***. Question 2: Are you angry? Answer 2: Hell yes.. Sometimes..Really I don’t know. Question 3: Why? Answer 3: I didn’t do anything to deserve this…the end. Over the past year I have become bitter. Not only because her questions are the same every time, but she also is too wrapped up in an affair with the doctor, is whose wife dying the same way? The consistency of her questions, add to my routine. Now that my visits have been more often and for longer periods of time I have been consciously aware of every painstaking moment I spend trapped in these four white walls. I’m aware that the paints chipping. I’m aware that the ceiling fan is not working. I’m aware that I take up too much space, time and money. I’m aware that I’m going to die soon. I choose not to include the horrors in my letter to you. Just know I have accepted it and my doctors told me and my mother that it would be peaceful. Really they are just keeping me here so I can be comfortable until it happens. I want to warn you that this letter holds my fondest memories and my darkest ones. I will try to make it good and interesting and answer all the questions you can think of. Please know that my whole life has not been tragic- just certain parts.
Sitting at the park, I smelled the blooming spring flowers. Central park is so beautiful and worth the the train and bus ride. The flowers filled my nose so much that it overwhelmed me and my small bird friends. Afterschool I would go 7 miles out of my way to see its apple trees and its tourists. Tourists in New York are always easy to spot. They wear I Heart New York t Shirts, hats, and bags, with cameras dangling around their outstretched necks taking in views of tall skyscrapers. Usually they are from the west like Wisconsin the Cheese state or Idaho wear the Mormons live. Those places are lame compared to my dazzling fast paced New York. I repeat my routine every weekday. However today something changed. I was diagnosed. I wasn’t sad but I was worried. Scared. But I knew the inevitable would soon be approaching me like a crazy taxi driver. I knew the doctor lied when they told me I could be fixed and it was good we caught it early after that appointment my life would never be the same. Uncertainty lurked at every long block and hot dog stand. The startling realization that everyday should be lived to the fullest hit me in the head like a ton of bricks. School, Central Park, feeding birds, spotting tourists was my everyday way of life. Was I living my life to the fullest?
That’s when I spotted you. Young and handsome with a long neck gazing at the sky scrapers. Your hazel eyes and curly hair amplified your boyish wit. Your skinny muscular build, told me you were just fresh out of puberty. You’re too small I heart New York t shirt told me that you come here often. The way you held a notepad instead of a camera captivated me. I was definitely staring a little too hard. My routine led me to you, but you didn’t know that until now.


Look I’m running out of time because I’m getting worse dear friend.
Greatest Day Ever: Knocked on my apartment door and told me you’re not a freaking tourist. You just moved here, your stuff was still in Michigan (Lame), and had an awkward growth spurt. But to me you were still a tourist until you had Nathan’s hot dog at Coney Island.
Best Memory: You said I was special. We danced in the middle of Times Square. You took me during the day because at night was too cold for me.
Worst Memory: Your mom killed herself because of your dad beating her up. I’m glad my mom took you in. She always said you were a special boy. I never believed her.
Crap . Crap. Crap. I’m really cutting down to the wire. Well I’m glad you visited me today. You made what I’m about to tell you a little easier. I have practiced in the mirror at least a thousand times but I never had the balls to tell you.
“Sweet Dreams, and All this time I Have loved you and I’m so sorry I can never tell you because I’m selfish. I’m inconsiderate devil. My emotion has so much power yet I was too weak to fight for you. You were going to die. Every time you vomited or lost another patch of your hair it scared me. Loosing you was inevitable. I knew this when you first told me. THE Worst Day Ever! I will never forget the sadness you possessed that horrible day. Two Dorky 16 year olds on the swing set- One Dying, one barely living. I’m Sorry I failed you. Again I Love you but I am going to have to let you go.”
You took the words out of my mouth. Cancer Sucks Good Night Tourist. I Love….
Denzel, she has passed. – I found it under her pillow, thought I should finish it. You, all this time YOU have made her life worth living. In Her next one I hope she will find her way back to YOU. – Ms. Patty