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Robby's Story - Dying Friend
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 Created on 2-19-08
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The grandfather clock down the hall had just struck twelve o’ clock. That, along with the phone ringing, woke me up and put me in a grumpy mood. Just the same I didn’t want mom and 2-month-old Emma to wake up (dad lived in Wyoming because of his job transfer) so, rubbing my eyes, I ran as fast as my tired legs would take me to the kitchen.
“Hello?” I yawned.
“Robby, this is Mrs. Parks. Sophia’s in the hospital and wants to see you…” In an instant I was wide awake.
After Mrs. Parks explained that Sophia had a really bad case of pneumonia I agreed to meet them at Parkview Hospital as soon as possible. Dashing up to my room I pulled a dirty pair of jeans over my boxers, socks, and a shirt and hoodie on and sprinted back downstairs. Shoving my boots on, writing a quick note to mom, and grabbing the keys took less than two minutes.
Once outside the wind rushed against me and I almost wished I’d remembered to grab my winter coat but there was no way I was going back for it. All I could think about was how grateful I was to have my license, how long it would take me to reach Parkview in all this snow, and if anything worse happened to Sophia I’d never forgive myself.
As it turned out the weather didn’t slow my progress down very much, and traffic wasn’t very busy either. I pulled into the hospital’s parking lot not fifteen minutes later and met the Parks outside Sophia’s room. Mrs. Parks was crying softly and Mr. Parks was holding her in his arms.
Right then I longed to hold my sick friend, tell her everything would be alright – even thought I didn’t know if that was true.
Mrs. Parks wiped her eyes and turned to me, saying, “Oh, Rob, you’re here.” She walked over to me and we hugged, but instead of letting go clung to me. “Sophia woke up last night and came into our room, saying she felt too warm. Before we could check her temperature she ran to the bathroom; she’d thrown eight times by morning and we brought her here. Now she’s…she’s…” Mrs. Parks started crying and Mr. Parks came over to us.
“It’s fine, Rose. The doctor said she should be fine.”
I nearly sagged with relief but Mrs. Parks interjected, “Should be fine, David, but will she?” She burst into small sobs and I didn’t wait for an invitation; I walked past them and opened the door to Sophia’s room, not prepared for the sight that awaited me.
Sophia lay on the crisp white hospital bed, eyes closed, IV trailing from a water machine into her right arm. Her frame looked small and frail; I’d never seen her face look so… pale. Her short brown hair clung to her face; her chest rose and feel with each short breath.
I choked back tears, and just then those usually sparkling blue eyes of hers flickered open. She turned and, seeing me, smiled and motioned for me to come over, saying, “I’m glad to see you.”
“Hey,” was all I could manage. I was so relieved to see her awake, slightly smiling, and not…
She must’ve read my thoughts because she frowned suddenly and tried to sit up. I rushed over to help her but she ever-so-slightly pushed me away, saying, “I don’t need help.” Neither of us spoke for what seemed like eternity, so I nearly jumped when she said, “Rob, what’s up?” in a suspicious tone of voice.
I couldn’t stop the tears that came to my eyes but I did manage to get out, “I’m just glad you’re not… not –”
“Robert Adam Johnson!” she interrupted, shocking me by actually laughing. “I didn’t want mom to call you and tell you that I’m dying.” She spat the word out like she didn’t say it often and it tasted disgusting. She paused and grew more serious. “Is that what she told you?”
I scratched the back of my head and didn’t say anything, and clearly that told her all she needed to know.
“I am NOT dying!” Sophia yelled, eyes flashing.
“Sophia, you –”
“If all you’re going to do here is pity me and feel sad about my being sick and hoping that I don’t die – which, I won’t – well then you can just leave.” Tears streamed down her face after that outburst.
And then I couldn’t resist. Sitting down beside her on the bed I took her into my arms and said, “I’m sorry, Soph.” We had been friends ever since she was 8 and I was 9; that was 9 years ago.
She hugged me back and, after a few minutes, when I assumed she was calmer, I said quietly, “Why did you laugh?”
She pulled away and looked at me. “What?”
“Before you started yelling you laughed. Why?”
She chuckled a moment before answering. “I never told you this, but I used to make you mad on purpose. Like when we were younger and playing with our toys or romping around outside, I loved to get you mad at me.”
“Why?” All the surprise I felt apparently showed on my face because an instant later Sophia was laughing again.
“Because you look so funny! Your hair seems to spike out an extra inch, your gray eyes look like they’re about to pop out of your head, and your mouth gets all tight.” She stopped and looked at me; I searched her eyes, remembering all of our fun moments, the times we got sick, and all our adventures.
Neither of us spoke; we simply sat staring and in deep thought. Sophia was the first to break the gaze; she lay back onto the long hospital pillow. For a minute a far-off look passed over her face, which was now saddened. But before I could ask her what was up she said in a quiet voice, “Have you ever thought about dying, Rob?”
I ran a hand through my black hair and replied, “Yeah, sure.” But the minute the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back. Sophia bit her lip and then broke down crying.
“I’m sorry, Soph –”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess you think I’m acting like a big baby.” I wanted to tell her how wrong she was but she continued, “I mean, I know I should be happy, knowing I’ll be with the others who are waiting for Christ’s return, but the truth is – I’m scared.”
She was scared; I’d never seen her tremble like this before, let alone talk like this.
“I-I’m scared. I’m only 17; I wanted to go to college, get married, start a family, travel…” after each wish she listed a sob escaped her and soon she couldn’t say anything at all.
How I longed to tell her she’d do all those things. We’d talked about college before. And years ago we’d joke to one another about marrying each other. But that was then and this was now; it didn’t help that I didn’t know what would happen. And I didn’t think mentioning those memories would help Sophia much.
So in the end I pulled Sophia into my arms again, admitted that I couldn’t tell her what would happen and that everything would be ok, and that we just needed to let go and let God.
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