Numi had covered me with an electric blanket and had even gone as far as to lie next to me, holding me close to him. I had told him to quit being so gay, but I appreciated his help. More than he knew.
Nothing can beat the chill now. When I break out in a sweat and my skin begins turning bluish, mottling, according to the doctor who comes out to see me—he is a young guy who speaks too loudly from the living room—I hear him tell Numi that I am in my final days.
Always nice to hear that. Secondhand.
Yesterday had seen me decline further, and that’s when the call had been made to my mother and Mary.
Today, I am faring a little better, but that could be due to the activity, although a final burst of energy is almost common for those on their deathbeds.
Enough energy for a final good-bye.
My lungs have gotten progressively worse, along with the pain. I am on more pain medication than I want to admit. Mary and I spend a quiet moment just sitting with each other. The moments remind me of our sessions, when I didn’t always have the strength to speak, and she would tell me that that was okay, and we would sit quietly together. It had been those small moments that had made me fall in love with her. That and her cute nose.
“Get better, Jimmy boy,” she says. “I’m not done with you yet.”
I smile at her positive words. She, perhaps better than most, knows that there is no getting better for me. But I appreciate her optimism.
“Miracles do happen,” I say.
But now she can’t stop the tears, and her brave face is gone. She lies across me gently and holds me tight and runs her fingers through my hair and tells me over and over again that she loves me and will always love me, no matter what. I tell her the same, but my whispered words are drowned in her own, and so I lie there and absorb her love, and relish her love. Finally, she stands and wipes away her tears, smiles at me for a long, long moment, and then she turns and leaves.
A moment later, Numi steps in and closes the door behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My friend does not look good.
I want to make a joke that I’m the sick one, but I let it go. Numi does not look like he’s in the joking mood. I’ve joked with him long enough. I’ve made light of my sickness long enough. Numi never once joked about my illness. Numi took it seriously. Took me seriously. Took our friendship seriously.
Numi is not handling any of this well. And why should he? His best friend is in his final days. And we both know they are my final days, no matter how much Numi wishes otherwise.
“How do you feel, kemosabe?” asks Numi as he sits on the edge of the bed.
He rests his hand on my chest and I let him. No longer do I try to shrug him off. Or move away from him. I don’t have the strength to shrug or to move, and now that I have had time to reflect on it, I realize that I appreciate his touch.
No, I think, as his big hand spreads over my chest and pats me gently. I need his comforting touch.
“I’ve been better,” I say.
Numi’s stoic face cracks in a small smile. “Yes, boss. You have definitely been better.”
“Have you been painting?” I ask, although I know the answer to the question.
“Not for many months, cowboy.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
Numi stares down at me a long time before answering. “I’m going to miss you more, brother.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “Hey, that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged that I’m dying.”
“I ain’t acknowledging shit.”
I smile again, and so does he. Outside, through the closed door, I hear someone laugh lightly. The detective, I think. Nice of him to come. He has already stopped in to say hello, although, of course, I knew it was to say good-bye.
“You going to miss me?” I ask Numi.
“I sure as hell ain’t going to miss your racist, homophobic jokes.”
“You like my racist, homophobic jokes.”
He nods and gives me a full smile. “Some were funny. But I’m still pretty sure you have issues to work through.”
“A little late,” I say.
Numi doesn’t acknowledge that the fun is over, I can see. There are tears in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to miss your white ass.”
“Who’s racist now?”
But Numi covers his face with his big palm as a short, sharp burst of air escapes from behind his hand. I have never seen—or heard—Numi cry. Shed some quiet tears, yes. This is a first for me.
“I don’t want you to go, Jimmy,” he says, and hearing my name from Numi sounds almost foreign to me.
“I know you don’t,” I say.
He keeps his face behind his hand. “I tried so hard.…”
But he can’t finish his words and I do something I’ve never done before. I sit up and reach my arms around him, and he wraps his around me and holds me tighter than any man has ever held me before, and I don’t care. I don’t care that Numi is a man, or a gay man.
He is, I realize, the closest thing I have to pure love on this earth.
And as Numi holds me tight, I realize that I am having trouble breathing again. Also, I realize that my burst of strength is fading.
I release my hold on him and sit back, and the tears are streaming from his face freely. I feel them on mine, too. I do not let on that I am having trouble breathing again. And I definitely don’t let on that slow, swirling lights have appeared in the room.
Numi’s hand is back on my chest and as the lights swirl faster and faster, I realize that I am having a very, very hard time breathing. I reach for Numi’s hand, hold it.
“Numi,” I say, the word coming out in a short burst of air.
My friend has seen me like this before. He knows the drill. “Relax, kemosabe. It’s going to be okay. Relax, breathe.”
“Numi,” I say again. My lungs aren’t working. In fact, they are nowhere close to working. “I can’t…”
He’s patting my hand with his other hand, leaning over me. I feel something wet splash on my face and I know they are his tears. Complete and total panic grips me. I sit up, trying to get my lungs to work. The light in the room continues to swirl, and it seems to focus in the corner of the room, where the light is forming a shape. A small shape.
“Numi…”
“Breathe, brother. Relax. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
Numi is holding me against him, holding me in this world. I feel his own heart racing, pounding through him and into me.
A small breath works its way into my lungs, and I suck it down, expanding my lungs. More air comes to me, and I can take a handful of small breaths.