When the first card falls, the house is soon to follow. This had been the case for fifteen-year-old Hughie Dunfeild—who was on track to die within a couple of months. Every day thousands of cancer cells are created, and simultaneously they are also destroyed before they can become harmful, This is, of course—if everything goes right. Hughie's biological definition of right had been a little scarce to him. As it turned out some of these cancer cells slipped through the cracks, this had not been a medical oddity, in fact, it had been a somewhat natural albeit unfortunate part of life. He supposed these types of things just happened, with no influence whatsoever, whether that be cosmic or science-based. These are usually ideas that circulate during the long walks that he has been taking ever since his diagnosis.
The walks themselves had been more than therapeutic to Hughie Dunfeild, they had been cathartic. They usually start with a paced, natural walk, one foot in front of the other. Around the ten-minute mark, Hughie found himself being lost in his surroundings, the trees, the passing traffic on the road, the foliage—oftentimes rain. Thirty minutes into his walk he tranced to gliding. Although his walk still may seem natural to the average passer-by, it does not feel natural to him. Now, as he makes his way to his destination, he is completely transfixed within the chambers of his mind. Spiritually he is out of body, becoming numb to his surroundings and the aches and pains brought on by the cancer. This does not bother him, as of the moment he would much rather choose to live within his mind as opposed to the real world. Hughie Dunfeild had not fit the definition of a nihilist by any stretch of the imagination, but considering the circumstances, he wondered if anyone could blame him. That had been if anyone besides his family knew about his condition, as the Dunfeilds had chosen to keep the affair private. This dire secret had also been kept from an elderly woman by the name of Cassandra Holly, who had come down with the weakening condition of age. She and Hughie had been in much of the same scenario, the two of them had both been decaying.
His thought ceased as he reached the porch of the home, as it stood single file in the rows of houses, it looked as though it were a rectangle. The house was definitely a single, once occupied by two but in the years following—before Hughie was diagnosed with his illness—Cassandra's spouse, Tom Holly, had passed away.
The wheel, revolving around and around. It’s revolving towards you soon, Hughie. The thought crosses Hughie’s mind as he makes his way up the front steps to the front door.
Making his way into the house, (it had gotten to the point where he was allowed in without knocking) Hughie makes a couple of keen observations. Making his way down the tan-yellow wallpaper corridor he makes notice of the many bibles laid across the house. On an end table at the end of the corridor, there's one, followed by another at the kitchen table (seemingly for post-dinner time) and finally one within the old woman's bedroom, where Hughie was now. He stood still, disheartened by what he saw. The slow rhythmic drip of the iv-bag rang in his ears like a macabre droplet of rain, this was paired by the near raspy breathing of the old woman, Cassandra.
“Is that you Hughie?” says the bedridden woman. Hughie clears his flem-infested throat, preparing to speak.
“Hey Cassandra, I’ve brought you something” Hughie makes his way to the woman's bedside table. Brushing aside the many bottles of prescriptions. He places a pack of Werther's Originals on the polished oak surface. Seeing the state in which she was in, a thought crosses his mind.
“Are you sure you should be eating these?” The question came off as a little dull, perhaps offensive. Despite this, his compassion prevailed over his tact.
“Oh, you sweet boy. But shame on you for asking!” She says. Hughie smirks. This had been one of the only people that he knew who could bring any semblance of a smile to his face after the diagnosis… Now that he had given it some thought, he never had gotten too many chances to smile before that either. His smirk, a sign of happiness that Cassandra's comment, quickly faded.
He ran through the motions of their check-ups, he had gotten pretty good at it by this point. Moving with haste from the kitchen back to the bedroom. Hughie had prepared a bowl of ice water and a rag. He dabbed the cloth lightly on her wrinkled forehead to keep its temperature down. He sorts through her prescriptions, preparing them neatly for the week to come. As he did this he felt a certain warmth deep within his belly. He had rarely if not ever gotten the chance to help people, unless it was at school in regards to subjects such as Math or Chemistry. No, actually help somebody—somebody who needed it. He supposed he felt like this because he would be gone soon. He felt as though whatever service that was spent on him would be overall useless, but perhaps he could contribute something good to planet Earth before he left it entirely, even if it had been something as small as helping out an elderly friend.
“Hughie? What would you say about that, my dear?” speaks Cassandra. Hughie had been so completely caught up in his thoughts that he neglected to acknowledge Cassandra, who had been trying to ask him a question. Hughie pulls up a chair and sits beside the woman.
“Sorry, I zoned out,” He says, clearing his throat. Cassandra laughs in return for this little comment.
“Sure thing my dear—sure thing” Hughies lips curl inward, his guilt is painted on his face. Just tell her now… He considers spilling his secret, but that would only make her worry more, something she could do without at the moment. “Don’t worry darling. What I was trying to tell you about was god, Hughie” Hughie exhales. “I know, we’ve talked about this before. And I remember from our conversations—‘I don’t have faith’ and ‘It was always hard for me to connect’ is what you would tell me” Hughie begins to speak, Cassandra stops him. “I know, I've heard it all before,” she says.
Leaning over to the right-hand side of her bedside table (her husband's side) she opens the small oak drawer and retrieves something. She turns back to him bearing a brown leather-bound book. Then, at that moment, Hughie counts number four.
“I want you to have this… It was my husband’s, she says, handing the book over to him. Hughie, even before his cruelly dealt hand given to him by the universe, had not been a believer in god. Though he did not see anything wrong in believing in such matters, he had always felt a bit… Off, about it all.
“Cassandra I—”
“Nonsense. I insist you take this bible. I know you like to read, so what’s the harm?” She explains. Hughie observes the book, then he looks back to Cassandra. He sees them in the same boat, close to the waterfall at the end of the river. Despite her ride being a bit longer than his. It would be impossible to say no.
“Ok, thank you!” He says, forcing a smile. “I think I should be leaving now—goodbye Cassandra,” he says, getting up. She stopped him before he could reach the door.
“Hughie! One more thing” Hughie turns around to face the elderly woman once more.
“I want you to find a nice girl,” She says. This almost succeeds in getting a genuine laugh out of Hughie Dunfeild. No one would have you Hughie, cancer or no cancer.
“Me?... With a partner? I don’t think so” he says. Hughie, possibly due to the constant bullying from his peers growing up, had never thought too highly of himself. He had and would never have a romantically inclined partner, and now he assumed he never would.
Cassandra points to the book that Hughie is carrying with her bony index finger. She begins to speak.
“Faith, Hughie.” Hughie returns a smile. Turning around, he begins for the exit. As he exits the house many thoughts cloud his mind. Through the storm of incomprehension as to what he felt like at the moment, he hadn’t noticed he was clutching the bible with ferocity.
* * *
Sitting in his second-period classroom, before the day takes its transition to lunch, followed by noon—Hughie Dunfeild sits zoned out staring at the classroom's clock. In a sterile white room such as this, the clock is the only thing that stands out to him. In the dead silence, if he listens carefully, he can hear the tick chime of the second hand making its rounds.
That’s the sound of your life running its course.
Shortly after this brief moment of silence in which everyone had taken their notes and prepared to answer the questions laid out to them by their textbooks, the class roared back to life. Now, idle chatter filled the room, effectively disturbing the peaceful silence.
Suddenly, nearly inaudible, a voice from behind him. “Excuse me! Can you give me a hand with this?” says the voice. Hughie feels a pit grow within the depths of his stomach. He did not recognize the voice, and when an unrecognizable voice was trying to capture his attention, that was cause for concern. Hughie awkwardly shifts his chair around to meet the voice, face-to-face. The chairs' grinding screech echoes throughout the nearly silent class.
Jennifer Collins, by all accounts, was an exceptionally pretty girl. She was (Out of your league Hughie) relatively a part of Hughie's life for as long as he could remember. Despite this, he was sure the two of them had never actually interacted before. Following each other through elementary and middle school, Hughie noticed her, he noticed the attention she would bring in from her looks. Hughie assumed that she had never noticed him the way he noticed her… Something that didn’t necessarily bother him, just a thought that crossed his mind.
She wouldn’t even notice you after you go.
Faith, Hughie.
Faith was hard at a time like this. Hughie clears his throat, setting his overabundant nerves aside, and he prepares to speak.
“Hello,” he manages. He can hear the raspiness in his voice. He supposes she can as well. How embarrassing, just give it up. “Did you say you needed something?”
“Yes. Uh, right here,” she points to the page of her Chemistry textbook with her scarlet polished fingertip. “I don’t understand this whole prefix thing…” Without hesitation, Hughie immediately takes charge, breaking into explanation.
“When identifying how many counts of a certain element there are in a compound, we must look at the prefix. With this example here: Di-Lithium Tri-oxide, we can deduce just by the prefixes alone, that there are two Lithiums and three Oxygens” He takes a second to catch his breath, the wind in his lungs running stale. “Di— means two, and Tri— means three,” he finishes.
Jennifer, who had sat through this lecture in silence, giggles at its conclusion. Hughies pale cheeks (for the first time in a while) go flush red. He feels a deep embarrassment. This is why you should always stay away from unfamiliar people Hughie, save yourself the embarrassment that you're destined for…
“You're really good at that, it’s impressive!” at the sound of his, his insecurities along with his heart melt. Just then the bell rings. Jennifer along with the entire class rises, Hughie remains seated. “Thanks. That was helpful” She then walks away, from the class, their brief interaction ending just as soon as it began.
I want you to find a nice girl. Cassandra's words echo in his mind. That would never happen, not in a million years! Save yourself further embarrassment.
His time was running out, he wouldn’t be alive for much longer, and what did he have to show for it? Seemingly nothing. Would he spend the rest of his life succumbing to his insecurity? As he sits in the now-empty classroom, he feels a sense of clarity washes over him. It had been true, he was going to be leaving soon, so what was really at stake? You're just going to prove to yourself that no matter how hard you try, your efforts will always be in vain.
It was settled. Perhaps he could have a shot at doing something that would make him feel good come the end of his days. He remembers her smile, the look of realisation on her face when the concepts of tenth-grade Chemistry clicked. He had felt the same warm feeling when helping Cassandra the Sunday prior. Though the odds of disappointment were high, he decides:
Why not?
* * *
That night, as thoughts of Jennifer Collins ran circles in his mind, Hughie Dunfeild was stationed at the desk in his room. His Chemistry notebook had been flipped open in front of him. He reads the questions that his Chemistry teacher scrawled in the textbooks from that day (compounds and prefixes) and prepares to make his mark. He drags the graphite of the pencil effortlessly across the paper, hastening as he goes on. This is all second nature to him, school had always come naturally to Hughie Dunfeild, and he moved through every grade effortlessly, showing a great deal of promise with his future… His future in academics. Your feature. Very funny. He continues to write his answers effortlessly; his hand moves with a certain swiftness across the page. There's not a doubt in his mind that he’s going to get a good grade come the time when he hands this in.
But what is it going to matter? Where exactly is that ‘good grade’ going to take you Hughie… He had also wanted to be a doctor growing up, he practically dreamed about it, much to the delight of his parents. It’s a shame those dreams are never going to be realized Hughie—
Suddenly, he hears the sharp snap of graphite, he looks at the broken pencil. This effectively snaps him out of his train of thought. He felt an intense frustration wash over him, this had been the first time he had felt anything regarding his diagnosis besides the initial shock. Frustration coursed through him with the ferocity with which he had been writing down his answers to the Chemistry textbook questions. Leaning back in his chair, he entered the depths of his mind.
This… There's no point to any of this, there's no point in trying, it’s all going to be for nothing anyway. There's no point with Jennifer Collins, there's only one way that will ever end. You're just going to leave yourself feeling worse than you already are—
Hughie then finds himself in a fit of coughing, a common occurrence, and also a common reminder of the state he’s in. The only thing you can do is wait until it's all over… Sweat lines his brow at the thought of his, his frustration and sadness have grown to an all-time high.
Then, he looks over, just beyond the pencil holder on his desk. Cassandra's husband's bible lays there, bound in its brown leather cover. This is dumb. He immaturely thinks as he leans over and picks up the book. He begins to read…
* * *
At school, more specifically in the cafeteria, Hughie Dunfeild slides his knight across the board. This results in the successful capture of his best friend Rook. Oliver Turner had been Hughies friend ever since grade school.
“Oh, man! You're getting better at this Hughie” Oliver says in his admittedly comedic cartoonish—in nature—voice. Hughie gives his response: a smile, tilting his head downwards. He has been very fond of his friend for quite a long time. Before the dark cloud that was the cancer diagnosis began to hover over his life, he had been at least halfway similar to Oliver. Now, he felt disconnected, bleak, and destroyed. He desperately wanted to connect with his friend the same way he was able to in middle school, the way he used to when he was happy… Or happier. After all, what was one more game of Chess?
Just then, as if passing by, breaking Hughie out of his train of thought—a voice. The voice hit his soul, a fragment of memory that never truly went away, those had always stung the hardest when remembered. That had been because this memory was not a kind one, it was filled with scorn, cocktailed with hatred.
Elijah Harper Had been Hughie Dunfeilds bully throughout middle school. The two had rarely if ever interacted in high school. This was save for the sly comment every once in a while on Elijah's end, he had never forgotten the fun brought on by tormenting his victim.
And this is the person that gets to live. He's going to be fine for the rest of his life, he might find a good-paying job, a wife, and possibly even make a family. You're going to be long gone by then Hughie. Why does he get to have such a happy ending and you don’t? Poor sniffling Hughie with a tear behind his eye, at the mercy of your good ol’ friend Elijah every day. He’s definitely not going to care when you go, hell, he’ll probably even make jokes about you when you're gone. And that’s all you're going to be remembered by Hughie.
“Fuck you!” Hughie says, who's now standing and facing his rival. Elijah Harper turns around confused, an emotion more than identifiable on his face.
“I’m sorry?” He says.
Breathing heavily, nearly in a fit of coughing, Hughie says. “I said fuck you!” By now others in the school's cafeteria had noticed. Heads were turned, and Hughie felt the stares. They dug deep, piercing his sole as though they were taunting spears. Trying to recall it in the moment (the adrenaline was more than clouding his memory) he had tried to remember how loud he was. His mind was playing tricks on him…
Idiot…
…Idiot
Idiot!
He looked at Elijah, who had looked completely lost. As if he doesn’t remember middle school. He looked at Oliver, his friend had never seen anything like this. His mind continued to mess with him, time had slowed down He could have sworn he could hear the voices of others as if they were right next to him… He had to get out of here. Tears were coming.
His body broke out of its paralysis and he stormed out of the cafeteria. From behind him, he failed to hear Elijah, asking Oliver what that had been all about.
As Hughie made his way down the sterile hallway, eyes so filled with tears he was unable to see Jennifer Collins in passing. Eventually, he finds a back-exit. Pushing through, the fresh air hits his lungs and his adrenaline begins to subside. However, this had been the last card holding up the foundation of the house. When he was sure nobody was looking, the tears came. They are shortly followed by sobs.
* * *
The following day, after a terrible night's sleep, (one filled with tears and pity) Hughie Dunfield sits at the bedside of the dying woman he had become so fond of. He felt dull, on the verge of a disconnect, that was—say—for the urge to just wait out the inevitable. He now listens to the slow rhythmic drip of the old woman's IV bag, getting lost in the sound…
“I feel lost,” He says. “I feel like—like I have nobody to turn to…” Cassandra stirs, leaning up in her bed. They had previously been talking about the delectable taste of Werther's Originals before the whiplash-inducing tonal change.
“I’m sorry darling?” She says.
“I almost got into a fight yesterday and… I just feel angry, I've never felt this way before” He felt a lump the size of a large pebble grow in his throat. The first common sign that tears were about to come.
“That’s not like you at all Hughie” She says, putting the cold palm of her hand on the boy's cheek. Hughie does not shy away from it, he needs comfort…
“That bible, have you been reading it—” but before she could continue.
“That's never helped anybody!” Hughie says, lashing out. He comes to his senses immediately after, shocked and afraid. He begins to think that Cassandra is going to kick him out. Then he would truly be alone. Instead, Cassandra did not waver.
“Tell me what's got you so upset Hughie?” She says slowly, creating an air of comfort. Hughie thinks: he’s never told anybody about his condition. A select few knew, a couple of doctors and his parents, but no one else.
“I don’t know… if anyone is out there. I need help… I—” his lip grimaces in a terrible display of sadness, eyes gaining moisture. “I have cancer” The word took shape as it left his mouth. It escaped in a gasp, as though it carried weight. After all, it felt like it had. A brief silence ensued, occasionally broken by cracks of sobs from Hughie.
“...That’s terrible honey. How bad is it? If you don’t mind my asking?”
“I think—I think I only have” Just then he was met with an overpowering sob, one that halted him dead in his tracks. He composed himself for roughly thirty seconds, if he were to speak more a breakdown would follow.
“Five or six months…” he says. He looks up at the ceiling. He rubs his tongue against the corners of his mouth, a common pacifying tactic he had been using this childhood.
“I don’t understand… Why me? If there is anyone out there, why would they do this to me?” Cassandra leads his attention back to her with her cold hand.
“The lord works in ways I even have yet to fathom Hughie. But what I do know is that you're a good kid. A kid who has stuck their head out for me out of the kindness of their own heart. Read that book Hughie, and try to find a connection. And when your time comes, I do not doubt that you will fit in just well with all those other saints up in heaven.”
* * *
That night when Hughie returned home he made his way to his room with haste. Opening the door and entering, he moved over to his desk and flicked on the lamp. A low, glowing yellow light partly illuminated the room. He grabs the bible sitting on his desk. Moving to the middle of his room with the brown leather-bound book, his mind begins to wander.
This goes against everything you believe in Hughie, this is pointless—
Faith, Hughie.
I never wanted any of this, I never asked for any of this. My entire life I have felt like I’ve been watching the game from the sidelines, I was just a spectator in a world of players. Prey at the predator's mercy. I’ve never achieved anything important, and now… Now I'm never going to achieve anything important. I’m going to be swept away forever before I know it…
Tears begin to stream down his face. He finds himself on his knees.
Is anyone out there? I would sure like for there to be… Please? I could really use some help. I… I—
“I don’t wanna die…” Clutching the bible firmly to his chest, Hughie Dunfeild falls to the ground. He lets what pent-up emotions he's been holding onto go, releasing both his mind and spirit from turmoil. For once, since his diagnosis, as he lays on his bedroom floor crying—he doesn’t feel so alone…
* * *
As the month passed, and the final frenzy of confusion came to a close, Hughie Dunfeild had finally found a moment to breathe. He was on one of his walks, though it wasn’t to whom he would usually visit. Cassandra Holly had passed away of natural causes a few weeks before the calendar's written date, that being November 19, 1997. Hughie will never forget his interaction with Cassandra, and he will be infinitely thankful for the gift she gave to him. Faith. Now, Hughie hadn’t felt so alone anymore… The time between his first and second periods slipped by as time usually did, however Hughie was in the process of living in the moment.
He and Jennifer had become quite good friends since the night Hughie found someone else out there, someone who would constantly look over him, and eventually take him within their embrace when the time came.
Now, Hughie Dunfeild sits in the cafeteria alongside his friend Oliver Turner, who is now in the process of cleaning up the Chessboard. Lunchtime would be ending soon. Hughie has accepted the path that life has laid before him, he has made his peace and came to terms with it all the same. However, there's still something he needs to do, fulfil a promise made to Cassandra and himself. He gets up from his seat as all of the students get up from theirs. Before he moves, as he would need to do this independently, he turns to Oliver. The two meet each other's gaze.
“I never thanked you for being such a good friend, Oliver,” perhaps this may have come off as a little odd, as Oliver or anyone else in his school did not know of Hughes's condition. But he felt as though it didn’t matter. That wasn’t going to get in the way of an acknowledgement to someone that matters to him…
As Hughie begins to move, too fast for Oliver to process, his friend quickly stops him. Hughie turns around.
“Wait! Hughie. Elijah wanted me to tell you something. He came up to me a couple of days ago. He remembers; he says he’s sorry”
“...Thank you, Oliver,” Hughie says with a smile. The two give a nod to each other, a mutual sign of respect—then, Hughie sets off to fulfil his promise. He makes his way across the crowded cafeteria until he finds Jennifer Collins.
Go back while you still can Hughie, you know this will never work. It’s not meant for people like you.
“Hey, Jennifer!” Hughie says. Jennifer Collins turns around to face him. “I have something important to tell you…”
* * *
When the school day came to an end, as all things must, Hughie returned home. He closed the front door behind him silently, as he could barely contain his excitement. For the first time in his life, all doubt was cleared, he had finally done something that he was truly proud of. His and Jennifer's date was set for that coming weekend.
I’m proud of you… Hughie.
He moves to the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table, he looks up at the clock. He fails to hear the slow rhythmic tick.
Finally feeling as though he’s found peace, he takes a deep breath, then promptly exhales. For once, since his diagnosis—he could finally cease playing this relentless waiting game. As the pieces fall into place and the castle of cards rebuilds itself, all he would have to do now is decide what to do with the time he has left.