The Dream

The Dream

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  • On the fourth night, I couldn’t sleep. I find myself being dragged by my own feet to her door. I knock.
  • “You were right.”
  • “Yes?”
  • “About?”
  • “Everything. We are slowly dying. I am dying, maybe even faster than slowly.” I say. “My whole life I have been living to drinking my meds and taking my regimen instead of taking them in order to live. Arrhythmia has taken so much from me. It has stolen so many things from my life. And just this once, I don’t mind stealing something back.”
  • We both smile at each other before wrapping ourselves in the warmest clothes that we have. Snow in December in New York is the last thing that should be on the list of people with CF and Arrhythmia. But we were both so eager to go to town. Me, to finally live and Andrea, to help me do it.
  • I look at Andrea, “please take me to see the December lights.”
  • In the middle of our walk, I feel my chest began to contract and my vision began to blur.
  • “Almost there,”
  • “Are you okay?”
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