I can hear them.
The doctors.
They're telling my parents
that they shouldn't expect any change in my condition.
That their only child will be gone soon.

If they though I was awake,
they wouldn't talk so loud.
My parents are waiting for me
to open my eyes and smile at them.
They are waiting for me to live
one more day.
The doctors are waiting for me
to stop breathing.
For the machine beside me
to stop beeping.
For the line to go flat.

I don't mind, I suppose.
Most kids diagnosed with leukemia
don't live.
I didn't think I was
going to be very different.
I've seen some kids
fight to love;to stop
Death from taking them away.

I don't mind, I guess.
I've long since forgotten
what it was like to go to school.
What it was like to have friends
who had unending faith in the optimistic possibilities of the world.

I turn over and feign waking up
to get the people out of my ugly
white-walled hospital room.
It works.
The doctors and my parents
continue their conversation in the hallway.

I open my eyes and sit up.
I can see the sun thru my window.
I smile.
In my life of monotonous changing,
of hospitals, of surgeries, of recovery rooms, the sun is one of the only constants.
One of the things that will never leave me.

I look around.
It looks the same as it
usually does.
White-walls, door in one corner,
bathroom in another, I turn to
the side.

There, sitting in the hard plastic chair next to my bed,is a box,
wrapped in a paper that is my favorite shade of green.
On the top it says:
To Lucie
From Blake
Blake,
another constant.

Inside is a scrapbook,
covered in a dark blue material that reflects the sun.
Pasted to the pages
are pictures of us over the years,
from pre-school to now,
junior year, high school.

Picture of princes and princesses, of monsters and dragons, of cowboys and indians, of Peter Pan and Wendy,
and at the very back,
a picture of us on Halloween,
me as a princess, him as a prince.
Below it says:

Lucie,
Once upon a time, you and I were 5 and when asked what you wanted for your birthday, you said you wanted a prince, and a happy ending. You mother said, "Is that it?"
You said "no", grabbed my hand and said, "I want Blake to be my prince, because i will always love him."
Well Lucie, you've always had me.
Now, all you need is that happy ending.
So don't give up yet.
Forever yours,
Blake

My eyes fill with tears.
Memories of me and him, of hope, and of strength to carry on to tomorrow.

I feel the tears slide,
hot and heavy,
down my face.
One boy, has reignited
a dying girl's hope and faith.
He has stopped her from giving up.

Blake my best friend since I was three years old, my constant, has saved me.