Gone - part 4

Over the next several weeks, I go with my sister-mom twice a week to the hospital for her treatments.  I don't know what to think during all of this.  I lost her and now she's dying again except she isn't dying, she's getting better.  I'm afraid to hope for the best, but it seems like she's going to make it.

When I look around the waiting area, most people are downcast and sad.  Or they are trying to show no emotion at all.  They look at the floor or their hands or stare at their phones.  But one day, about three weeks in, I catch the eye of a man who seems hopeful, like me.  I want to look away after that initial contact, but for some reason I don't, and he comes over and sits next to me.

"It's tough being here, isn't it?" he says.

I scoff a little.  "Understatement," I say.

He nods.  "I know."  Then he holds out his hand.  "I'm Peter."

I hesitate just for a moment and then accept his gesture.  "Holly," I say as I shake his hand.

"Well, Holly," he says, "I know it's tough now, but it's going to get better, I promise."

Confusion must register on my face because I sure feel confused.  "How can you possibly know that?" I ask.

He shrugs.  "Sometimes you just gotta have faith," he says.  "Faith that someone is watching out for you."

I smirk a little.  "Like God?"

He chuckles.  "Or someone much closer," he says.

That makes me feel weird and I'm about to excuse myself claiming to need the restroom when he says, "A friend of mine has been sick for a very long time, but I know there are lots of people who care, who are helping her to get better.  I have faith she's going to pull through."

"Oh," I say.

We're quiet for a moment and then he says, "Well, it was nice meeting you, Holly.  Stay strong and I'll see you around."

With that, he walks off.  I expect him to come back, or to see him leaving with that friend of his, but I don't see him again that time and then my mom is done and we go home and I forget all about Peter.  Well, I forget all about him until one week later when he's in the waiting room again.

This time, Peter is quiet.  I almost say something to him, but I figure he would talk to me, like last time, if he wanted to talk.  He doesn't talk, and mom/sis is done before whoever it is he's waiting for.  I try to exchange a look of encouragement with him as we leave, but he's looking the other way.

As more weeks pass, I sometimes see Peter and sometimes not.  He's always alone, which is strange since I could have sworn he said there were lots of people who care about his friend.  But he's always alone.  And he never leaves with anyone either.  Finally, my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Peter?" I ask, moving to sit next to him.

He looks up.  "Yes?"

I'm relieved I remembered his name.  "Listen, this might be none of my business, but you said a friend of yours is sick?"

"Yes," he looks a little nervous and I wonder if I should back off, but he hasn't asked me to so I press on.

"I was just wondering... well, who is she, if you don't mind me asking?"

I swear he lets out a little sigh and looks relieved when I ask.  He smiles and says, "Someone I wish I knew better."

"An... old girlfriend?" I hazard a guess.

Lets out as sort of chuckle of scoff at that and shakes his head.  "No, no," he says, "more like a mother figure, but one I never really got the chance to know personally."

I'm starting to feel a bit nervous myself.  "That's rather vague," I say.  "Listen, if you'd rather not..."

He sighs and looks into my eyes.  I know this should be awkward, the way he's looking at me, but somehow it isn't.  "It's not that," he says.  "I'd like to explain it all, it's just very difficult to explain."

I think about my mom and say, "Yeah, I know what you mean."  I close my eyes take a few breaths and open again.  He's still looking at me that way.  I should mind, but I don't.  "My sister is sick.  She's the one I come here with.  She was gone from my life for years.  I thought I'd never see her again.  I thought she was dead.  And now that I find out she's alive, it turns out she's dying."

"But she's going to be okay," Peter says.

I smirk and look away.  "You can't possibly know that," I insist.

"Sometimes you just have to have faith," Peter says.


For several weeks after that, Peter and I talk.  It's all very vague when we talk about ourselves, but we find it comforting to talk about other things as well.  Even the other things are a bit odd, though.  For example, Peter says he likes baseball, but seems to sometimes forget who the current stars of his favorite teams are.  Once, he mentioned a name I'd never heard of before but that he seemed to think was quite famous.  When I asked him about it, he seemed to get a bit embarrassed and just said he must have been wrong.  As more of this sort of time went on, I started to feel like I knew him quite well and yet not well at all.  All I could think of was that it must be the hospital that made things strange.  I liked Peter, and I didn't want to always associate him with that place.  Not if there was a chance that maybe, there might be something more to our relationship.

"Listen, would you like to get dinner with me sometime?" I asked, finally.

I can't even describe the look of joy on his face.  It was like we were in middle school.  Another one of those times when it should have been awkward but somehow it wasn't.  It was so odd.  It felt like Peter knew me, like better than he should have, and instead of making things weird, it made it comforting.  "I'd love to," he said.  "When and where?  Anywhere but the hospital cafeteria."

I laughed.  I actually laughed.  "Yeah, that would be the plan," I said.

"Well where then?"

We set the time and place just as my mom came walking out.  She was getting weaker, but the doctor tried to assure me that was from the treatments and not from the cancer.  The cancer, he said, was weakening, slowly but surely.  I had allowed myself just a sliver of hope at that.

"So are you finally going out with that boy?" mom asked as we were walking away.

"Mom!" I almost exclaimed.  Almost.  But I restrained myself.  "Yeah, next Friday," I said.

She smiled.  "Good.  I want you to be happy.  That's all I'll ever want."

"Well I want you to make it through this," I said.  "Let's get you home."


The night of my date with Peter, I finally started feeling nervous.  All those weeks at the hospital, exchanging small talk in the waiting area, but now it was real.  I had actually made a move.  I felt nervous and guilty.  How could I even think about dating when my mother could be dying?

"It's okay, sweetie," she assured me.  "I want you to have a good time."

I tried to remember that approval while I was on the date, but I just couldn't shake it.  All through the date, I was distracted.  I didn't hear all that Peter said, and I felt that really wasn't fair to him.  Before we got the dessert menus, I said, "Listen, I'm really sorry.  I just don't feel like I should be here.  It's, well, I feel bad being away from my sister."

"I understand," Peter said, "but she would want you to be happy, right?"

"Yes, she says that."

"And I'm sure she means that.  Listen."  He reached across the table and held my hand.  I didn't stop him.  "Listen.  She's going to be okay.  You both are."

I felt irritated then.  "How could you possibly know that?" I asked.  I felt my brow wrinkling and my anger rising.  Peter had been a comfort to me in the hospital, but now his confident was starting to annoy me.  "Tell me, how could you know that?"

He sighed as he took his hand away.  He looked down at the table for a very long time and I considered asking the question a third time when he looked up at me, his eyes growing cloudy with tears, and said, "Because I've seen it."

"What the..."

"I've seen it, Holly.  I know she's going to get well."

"You mean you've seen something like it?"

He shook his head.  "No, I've seen it for her and you.  Exactly what's going to happen."

I just can't believe what I'm hearing.  I shake my head back at him.  "You're crazy," I say as I stand to go.

I've turned my back on him, when I hear him say, a bit louder, "I know she's not your sister."

The room grows quiet.  Or at least it does in my head.  In my head, I could hear a pin drop.  I turn back and look at him, unaware of anything else.  He's standing, looking at me, with shame in his eyes.

"What did you say?" I ask, feeling angry and confused and, strangely, hopeful.

"I know she's not your sister," he says in a hushed tone.

I take a step back towards him.  He sits back down and looking up at me, he says, "I know she's really your mother."