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"I
think I've worked out my options."
I had sat there most of the
night, watching my fiance's sleeping form.
"My options - what I can do
next." My voice was stable. There was no tremble caused by
tears - crying was a thing of the past.
"Have you been up all..."
"This is what I can do," I interrupted
gently. "One, we can go on like we are, continue to plan,
take our time getting married and hope I'm still here for
the ceremony.
"Two, we can get married now,
have the happy little domestic life, 2.4 kids, a dog, a white
picket fence and live in 1950s ideology while I have time.
"Three, I leave you now, travel
around the world, doing what I want, when I want, with who
I want, and run back to you every now and then, or when I'm
in trouble. Come back for the check ups as well, of course.
If I'm stranded somewhere, I'll have my laptop and I'll email
you. I'll enjoy the splendours of the world.
"Four - I can kill myself. It's
not something I want to do, believe me. But it is an option.
Or five - I can lock myself away from the world. Hide in a
room and let it just take me away.
"I don't like that one either.
I want to live while I have the chance - I want to suck the
marrow out of life - carpe diem, seize the day and all that
crap - I want to live before I die."
Through all of this, my voice
did not waver, did not break or change tone. I had rehearsed
while he slept, memorizing each word, each phrase, every inflection,
so I could say it all without faltering.
Spencer looked at me, a sad
expression in his eyes. "You've got it all worked out, haven't
you?" He said it slowly, with a tiredness that was more than
just from waking up.
"Yes," I replied. "I know what
I want, Spence. I want to fight this thing. I want to fight
it and beat it. I want to live. I have so much to give - too
much for a brain tumour to take away from me. I'm not going
to lie down and die."
Spencer sighed and held my hand.
"I know you won't, love. You go and do what you have to."
I looked at him with new respect.
I expected him to fight for himself, to challenge my choice
of options. But he didn't, he just let me choose - he let
me have the third.
"Thank you." Unwelcome tears
began to well in my eyes and I hurriedly began to leave the
room.
"Bet, there is another option."
I turned and looked that the man sitting on the bed. Spencer,
the man I loved, looked so old and tired. "You could come
back to me."
Confused, I just smiled. As
tears ran down my cheeks, I said "I'll come back - I could
never leave you forever." I then left the room, looking to
live life while I could.
Back in the bedroom, an old
man wakes in the bed, alone but for his tears. Always the
same dream, every time, every year.
Spencer's Bet never came back
to him. She never got to live life either. She left the house
that early morning to catch a bus to adventure and experience.
Neither one of them had thought of option seven, though.
Spencer sat on the edge of the
bed, sorrow filling his heart as he opened the drawer. Removing
a piece of folded newspaper, he prayed for it to read differently
- but like his dream, it hadn't changed in over forty years.
"Lives claimed in horror hillside crash
"Fifteen
people died and twenty others wounded when a passenger bus
collided with a semi-trailer yesterday on Kiristone Range....
"...those involved were residents of Deepwater
Village...
"...among the deceased, local novelist and playwright,
Elizabeth Nandor..."
...Bet...
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