And, somewhere out there, someone close to me had been battling an enemy called cancer and fleeing from an adversary named death? Somewhere out there, a person had been smiling for twenty-four hours a day even though he was next to the gates of hell?
I blew the smoke out of my lungs through my nose, somewhat like a dragon. What can I do? What can I do to make him feel better? I was at my wits’ end, trapped in a nest of confusion. Thinking rationally had not helped, when the situation was beyond a seventeen-year-old’s acceptance.
My tears had not stopped streaming since I dashed out of the ward. I had two missed calls from Jacky. I did not call back. I merely SMSed him, “Give me time.” I knew I would go crazy again if I heard his voice.
What must I do now?
I flicked the cigarette butt away and knew there was no way I could find the answer there. I headed home. I might not have Landy anymore, but I had a new chat mate.
* * *
Fortunately, Grandma was at home.
It was 6.30 p.m. She was sitting on the sofa, just like what Landy used to do. Unlike Landy who was always eating something, Grandma was massaging her legs while watching the news. I sat next to her.
This is Grandma? Suddenly, I was hit by a tinge of guilt. We seldom talked, for I had Landy as a companion. But who did Grandma have to confide in? Who did she approach when she was depressed? I had always been beside her, yet I lived in my own little world, ignoring the very same old lady who lived with me. I might have my complicated story to tell, but she might have even more.
I gently pushed her hand away and rubbed her leg. She smiled and passed me the ointment. “Wah, Gwan, so good today?” she said.
I shrugged. What kind of life had I been living for the past few years? A life of escape? A life of rebellion? Against this whole world? Or, against myself?
I said nothing as I continued to massage. When a drop of water splashed on Grandma’s leg, I realized I was crying again. I dared not look up.
“Tell me what happened,” Grandma said.
I recalled the days I spent with Landy. I would sit there, chatting with Landy while Grandma would greet us and retreat to her room. Jacky changed everything. He chased away my imaginary friend and brought me closer to Grandma. Jacky had placed reality in front of imagination.
I told Grandma everything about Jacky. I told her how he smiled in every situation and how he always kept his temper in check. I told her about the first day that he held my hand, and how he helped me. I told her everything, from my curse to Landy. I told her how much I loved Jacky. And, finally, I told her that he was dying.
“I love him,” I repeated the sentence, as if it would help. “I love him a lot.”
Grandma did not interrupt. She just nodded and, occasionally, patted me on my shoulder. Her eyes held contact with mine as I mouthed every word. At times, she would smile when I mentioned something funny that Jacky did. Sometimes, a frown would appear on her face when I raked up sad memories.
“Gwan, do you realize something? Your life is so complicated, with an imaginary friend and a curse that kills your parents. But all you care now is Jacky. So, what do you intend to do?”
I was at a loss for words. Here I was, trying to get an answer to that question. Yet, there she was, posing me that question. I shook my head. “What can I do?” I whispered.
“You want me to tell you a story?”
I did nothing. I continued staring at the floor, counting the tears that had escaped from my eyes.
“I’ve never told anyone about the story of your grandfather and me.” She grabbed my shoulders and held me straight up. I was amazed by her strength. “Be strong and listen to my story. Because this story is all about life and courage. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
15
“Your grandfather and I met when I was working at a restaurant as a dishwasher. He was a cook in the restaurant. When we saw each other, we knew it was love at first sight.
“He kept staring at me while he was cooking and I could not concentrate on my washing. I stole quick glances at him, amazed by his awesome cooking skills and his good looks. By the fifth day of my work, he asked me out. I did not reject. And so, we went to a park and chatted about almost everything under the sun.”
I tried to recollect memories of Grandpa. It was then that I realized I had never seen him before: He had died before I was born. However, in my mind, I could paint a picture of him: a young and handsome man who knew how to turn raw eggs into an omelette.
“We went on a few more dates. Unknowingly, we started holding hands. And as we continued dating, our love for each other grew so much that a day apart was intolerable.
“Whenever I woke up, I would wonder what he was doing. Whenever I walked to work, I would wonder if he was doing the same thing. If there had been handphones during my time, I would have called him every single minute.
“Then one day, he brought me to a forest. During our days, Singapore had many forests. Although I declined, he insisted. So we went into the dark forest, carrying only candles. Suddenly, he disappeared. I panicked and nearly fainted, but he suddenly appeared with a ring in his hand. He knelt before me and proposed to me.”
I wiped off the remnants of my tears and tried to smile. Although I failed, Grandma sensed my attempt and patted me on my shoulder.
“How could I have rejected? How could I have rejected such an offer? I cried on the spot and, ten days later, we were officially husband and wife.”
I realized that everyone had a story to tell: The middle-aged woman selling fish soup might have the most romantic love story; my old and stubborn literature tutor Mrs Goh might have the most tragic story to tell. Yet, I always pondered on the poignancy of my own story, as if my story superseded all other stories.
“Our relationship was as strong as a rock during our first few years of marriage. But everything soon changed. We began to drift apart. We seldom talked. There was just no reason for this.”
“You didn’t love him anymore?” I asked, curious.
Grandma did not answer me. She sighed and then continued, “I thought of a divorce. But during that time, divorce was a taboo. We continued living together, exchanging less than a few words a day. And, as a tradition, we had to bear a child for our parents.
“And so, your mother was born. Even with the addition of a new member in the family, we still behaved like strangers. Your mother, angry with us for not providing her a good life, married when she was just seventeen. And when I was fifty, I decided to move out. I lived here alone for five years, until your grandfather called me. He said he didn’t have much time left.”
I cursed beneath my breath. Jacky’s words rang in my mind repeatedly: “Two more years, if I don’t have the operation within these few months.”
“So, I went to the hospital. Your grandfather asked me a question that made me think a lot: ‘Have you loved me throughout our marriage?’ I was lost for words. I spent the entire day thinking. And, when I finally said yes, we hugged.
“Since then, I visited him in the hospital for his remaining days. He said something the day before he died, which touched me very deeply: ‘I’ve been the happiest man in the world for two times: The first time was when you agreed to marry me, and the second time was when you said you had always loved me throughout our marriage. Because I have loved you all this while as well, but I just didn’t dare to say it.’”
Grandma smiled when she finished her story. I knew that the memories of her dead husband were replaying in her mind. I was thinking hard. There was a subtext in her story and, with a twist of my neck, I finally comprehended it.
“Your grandfather was smiling when he died. It doesn’t matter how long we live, as long as we live with a smile on our face.”
Yes, I got it, the moral of the story. At that moment, I wanted to kiss Grandma, but I dared not. However, after I had slotted my keys into my pocket, I leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you,” I said and made my way out, cheri
shing every single minute.
Wait for me, you bastard.
* * *
I had just told the taxi driver my destination when my handphone rang.
“Joanna?” It was Jacky’s mother. “I don’t know who else to call. You are the only one who knows everything now. Jacky’s in trouble.”
My grip on the handphone tightened and I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“The cancer cells are starting to spread faster. He needs an operation soon. Just…come.”
When she hung up, I told the taxi driver to stop. And, for the next few minutes, I stared out of the window, saying nothing. The taxi driver just let the meter run.
* * *
“Look at this.” The doctor pointed at a brain radiograph. A dark spot was visible on the left. “This is the tumour. As you know, his case is diffuse astrocytomas, grade II. The cancer cells will spread, but at a very slow rate. For the past few months, we’ve been trying to stop the cells from spreading too much with radiation. But it’s hard now.”
I tried to process what the doctor had said. He was explaining in layman’s terms. Jacky’s mother sat beside me, her eyes wide open.
“As you would have known, we did not operate on him to remove the tumour as the tumour is very close to his brainstem, a very important structure of the brain. However, his cancerous cells have now spread into the brainstem, growing near the cerebellum. The cerebellum is responsible for the movement of his muscles.”
“Operation is the only way now?” Jacky’s mother said.
The doctor nodded.
“What is the success rate?”
The doctor shrugged. Bad news. “Fifteen percent. It is very risky, as the cancer cells are inside the brainstem.”
“What if he doesn’t take the operation?”
“In the worst-case scenario, he will first be paralysed. Then, he will begin losing his brain functions and become brain-dead after a while. At any point, he might just stop breathing.” We were left speechless with that. He continued, as if he had no emotions, “The surgery must be done by next week. If not, the cancer cells might spread faster.”
“Who makes the decision?”
“He’s under eighteen, so you can make the final decision,” the doctor said. Jacky’s mother’s expression was a fusion of confusion and depression.
“Great,” she said and walked off without saying bye.
Jacky is dying within a few months. That thought whirled in my mind like a bad dream. Oh, please let me wake up from this nightmare.
* * *
I had just finished peeling an apple when Jacky woke up. Actually, I had intended to eat the apple; but since Jacky woke up exactly when I had finished peeling it, I passed him the apple. He held out his weak hand to take the apple.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, eh?” he said, taking a bite. “Get me more apples. Then I’ll be discharged soon.”
He already knew the situation. His mother had agreed to the surgery, and he was to undergo it next Thursday. He knew the success rate was only fifteen percent, and he also knew the consequences if he did not go for the surgery. Yet, his trademarked smile still lingered on his lips.
I wanted to say something; but, when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Talk to me, Jacky.
“I may have a bandage here on my head, so I may not be able to do the play. You make sure Johnny does a great job, eh?” he said. Johnny, one of our classmates, was to take over him as Romeo. “And yeah, I took up the role because I only needed to memorize two words and got to lie on a pretty girl’s back. But now, it’s different. It’s impromptu. There’s a chance that things might change. That’s why I’m backing out.” He laughed. It sounded strange.
“Rest,” I whispered.
“I’m lying on the bed with a blanket over me. I’m resting. And I’m eating an apple!” With that, he dropped the apple. It rolled off the bed and landed on the floor. I went towards it, but he stopped me.
“No. I’ll do it,” he said and slowly climbed out of the bed and hauled himself towards the apple. With great effort, he lifted the apple up as if it weighed ten kilogrammes. I could not tell whether he was just pretending or he was really struggling to control his muscles. “See? I can do it. I can pick up an apple from the floor. Why can’t I get a rock out of my head? The rock is so much smaller than this apple!”
I stayed with him for a few more hours before I left. As I was on my way out, I saw Dr Ong. I tried avoiding him by looking at the floor, covering my face with my hair. But my uniform gave me away.
“Hey, Joanna, I’d really love it if you could come visit me some day,” he said. Go to your clinic and curse more people? I wondered.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“I’m here to visit your best friend.” He stressed the word “best”. I wanted to ask him about Landy, but before I could say anything, he was off into Jacky’s ward.
How does he know about Jacky’s condition?
16
I came to a conclusion the next day: I had the most complicated life in the world.
Firstly, I had a dangerous curse. Secondly, my long-time best friend was imaginary. Thirdly, the guy whom I loved so much was dying.
Everything in my world seemed to collapse all of a sudden. I skipped school one day and visited Jacky. My classmates kept on asking me to go for the last full dress rehearsal of the play, but I declined. What good can a stupid play do now?
Jacky, as usual, was snoring loudly in the morning. I refilled the water in the vacuum flask, topped up the basket with fruits and took out a book to read. It had been a long while since I read a book. The book was Destiny’s Cries, a romantic love story set in Singapore written by a Singaporean novelist, Low Kay Hwa. Not too long ago, someone (I forgot who) introduced the book to me, but I had refused to read it. In the forlorn ward occupied only by Jacky and me, I began reading the first page.
I spent my morning listening to Jacky’s snores and reading the book. Amazingly, I finished the book within a few hours and was crying at the ending.
The story is about a guy, Alan, who finds a girl, Destiny, on a rooftop. When they fall in love, trials and tribulations occur and Alan is faced with a challenge that will test his love forever.
I began to peel an apple, hungry after all the reading. When I was done, Jacky moved and opened his eyes. When he saw the apple in my hand, he reached for it.
“Great, an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he said. “You’re good. Whenever an apple is peeled, its colour will change within a few minutes. Yours, the colour of your apple is always so fresh.”
I shook my head weakly, saying nothing. My phone rang again, but I rejected the call. “Our classmates asking me to go for the final rehearsal,” I explained. Everyone knew of his condition by then. Most of them visited him during evenings, as they had commitments in the afternoon.
“Go. Go and get a trophy for me.”
“I don’t wanna—”
“I wanna see the trophy when I wake up,” he said. “Come back again when you’re done with the rehearsal. Go.”
I stood up reluctantly.
“Make sure you get the trophy. Make sure you get it.”
* * *
Our tutors decided to add a special programme on the day of the play. They wanted every one of us to dedicate a message to Jacky on stage, regardless of whether the surgery was successful or not. Many of my classmates instantly composed a message. I sat at a corner and thought of what to say on the actual day. Then I borrowed a pen from Michael and, slowly, I penned my message.
The play was on a Monday, four days after Jacky’s surgery. I wondered whether I would be smiling or crying on that day.
After we were done with writing our messages, I went off to the hospital again. Jacky had one more week left, and I was going to make full use of that one week.
* * *
Jacky was reading a magazine when I entered his room.
He sm
iled upon my entrance. But his smile seemed to be too wide; too forced. Something was wrong. I sat beside him and did not know what to say. He had always been the one starting the conversation. Not me.
“I’m going for the operation on 25 September 2003 at 2.00 p.m.,” he said.
“I know.”
“Curse me.”
I nearly fell off my chair. Butterflies fluttered in my empty stomach and I stuck out my tongue without my control. What did he just say? Curse him?
“Curse me. Say I’ll never wake up from my operation. Say I’ll be in coma forever after my operation,” he said indifferently.
I balled my hands into fists. How can he play this kind of game! I could hear the loud and fast pounding of my heart. “It’s not a joke. It’s not a funny matter. Don’t mess with my curse.”
“You don’t have a curse and I’m going to prove that to you. I’m going to wake up on Thursday night, a proof that your so-called curse is a mental illness called obsessive compulsive disorder. Landy is one good example that you’re suffering from a mental illness.”
“You’ll—” I stopped. I was going to say the word “die”, but I managed to hold back in time. “Don’t,” I whispered. I had learnt that the only way to prevent me from cursing anyone in a heated quarrel accidentally was by walking away.
I ran out of the room.
* * *
Jacky’s mother called me a few hours later. Her voice was hoarse and choky. I was in the cafeteria, gazing at every single person who bought anything from the fruits stall.
“Jacky decided not to have the operation,” she said, her tone dire. Every time she called me, it had always been bad news. How I hoped I had not picked up any of her calls. “He said the reason is because of you or whatever. What happened?”
I wanted so much to explain over the phone, but it would take too long. “Leave it to me. I’ll go talk to him now.”
Even in my uniform, I dragged on two cigarettes outside the hospital before mustering all my courage and going to the room again.
* * *
As I predicted, Jacky’s mother was inside the room, talking to Jacky. Jacky was munching an unpeeled apple uneasily. “Ah, here comes the expert in apple-peeling.”
Jacky’s mother was clenching her teeth. She glared at me for a while, sighed loudly and went out. I was alone with Jacky again. He was still biting his apple. “My mother doesn’t really know how to peel an apple. Once, she peeled it and what was left was the stem. So I have it unpeeled.”