As we lay there together on the grass, a thought found its way into my head. “Hey” I poked him. “If Charlene and I both fell into the sea, who would you save?” He bit his lower lip, as he often did when he was in deep thought. “It’s a tough call,” he mused. “My steady girlfriend or my best friend?” I kept quiet, still gazing up at the sky. “I think I’d save Char.” He concluded after a while. “What?” I turned toward him. “WHY?!” He grinned and turned toward me, so that his face was only a few inches away. “She doesn’t know how to swim.” I pushed him hard and he fell onto his back. I rolled over, laughing, and then turned to him again. “No, seriously, who would you pick?” He stopped laughing and sat up. “Oh you girls. Always asking these questions. What’s it matter anyway?” He grunted, somewhat irritated. “Well I want to know..” I pressed on. “Please..” I pleaded softly. His face relented. “Alright. Let me think about it. Like I said, it’s a tough call.” He gave me a stern look of finality. I smiled happily. “Okay!”
A few days later, Greg passed out at the supermarket while we were stocking up on ice cream. At the hospital, we found out that Greg had a tumor in his brain. His sister starting sobbing uncontrollably into his mother’s arms, while she herself cried. Greg was silent. He sat there, white faced, and kept his head in his hands for a long time. I watched him intently. Finally, he looked up, and asked. “How long more do I have to live?” The doctor heaved a sigh. “not very long, I’m afraid. About 4 to 5 months. 6 if you’re lucky.” The words hit me hard. I heard the sobs of his mother and sister getting more pronounced, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry in front of him. I walked out of the room with the bravest face I could summon, and once out in the corridor, I let the tears fall.
“Hey” I heard his soft voice above me and looked up. His eyes were red. Wiping away my tears, I stood up from the corner of the corridor in which I had been crouching at, sobbing my own eyes out. “Hey” I replied, sounding very much like a strangled chicken. “So, I’ve got 4-5 months more to live.” The words came out so cold I felt another sob coming out. Trying my best to hold it in for his sake, I nodded. “Ah huh” I choked out, and with it out came the sob. He looked at me as more sobs came out and I tried desperately to control myself. “Hey, come here..” he said softly, enveloping me into his arms. I cried uncontrollably in his arms, holding him tightly, and I felt his tears fall onto my head. “I…don’t…want you…to go” I choked out helplessly. “I know. Neither do I. I don’t want to leave you.” He whispered softly. We pulled away after a while, and tried our best to smile. “Hey, we’re going to make every minute last right?” he said. I nodded. “Definitely”
Greg held on for 7 months. The last month he spent mostly in bed. He broke it off with Charlene at the beginning of the 7 months, even though it hurt him. I was with him as much as I could be. I spent all my time with Greg, helping him with stuff, sleeping on the pull out couch in his room (after the first few sneak outs, my parents yielded to my request of staying at Greg’s). I spent a lot of time with his family that way, and we both gave and took support that was much needed from each other. Greg, even till the last moment, still cracked jokes to make me laugh. He didn’t want the last few months of his life to be sad, so we all put on a smile, just so that he would get by. He was in pain, we knew, but he still laughed and made everything seem easy. He was strong that way, and for him, I promised to be strong too.
Greg passed on one Saturday night. I was by his bedside. He died holding my hand. His mother and sister cried throughout the service and the funeral. I somehow couldn’t bring myself to. Sometimes in your life, you reach a point of sadness where it numbs you. That was me. Numb. I saw him get buried six feet under ground. At the beginning, I couldn’t bring myself to watch, but I pressed on, for Greg. A week later, I was sitting on the verandah of my house. His mom and sister were clearing out his stuff. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, despite an invitation. His mom said she would bring over anything that had anything to do with us. I nodded. I wanted them.
I saw her walk over with two huge boxes of stuff, one piled on top of the other. She placed them on the floor next to me, hugged me tight, and left. She was hurting too, I knew. I opened the first box and saw that it contained all the pictures Greg and I ever took together. At picnics, at outings, everything. I searched inside me for some sort of emotion. Nothing. Closing the box, I opened the second one, right at the top, was a letter, with my name on it, in Greg’s handwriting. I tore it open.
“My dearest Monique,
If ever you and my crush fell in the sea,
No matter how much I liked her,
I would save you.
If you and my girlfriend were stuck in a burning house,
If you fought with my wife and I had to choose,
No matter how long we were married,
I would pick you.
Because, as much as I like her, I love you so much more,
Because, as steady as we are, you and I are grounded to the floor,
Because, as long as we were married, we’re friends for a long time more.
I’ll never leave you, so long as life permits me to do so,
So never doubt or fear my dear,
For even if it were between immortality or just a day with you,
I would pick you.
Your Ever Loving Greg”
It was dated the night I asked him the question. As I held it close to me, I cried. Harder than I’ve ever cried before. I knew then, that in my whole life, I would never find another friend that would love me as much as Greg did. And he was gone.
*Its for my assignment , its jst a dream btw for "I would pick you"
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