Worst Job Ever

Hey, Olly, I’m really sorry to say this. This is the worst job I’ve ever had to do. I know you won’t begrudge me. 

Then again, there are things you won’t…. you can’t…Oh, I don’t want to think about it.

I find it hard, though. How can I not notice you sprawled out on the dove grey bed sheets you’ve inhabited for almost a year now instead of barrelling down the stairs with your favourite fire engine red skis, the ones you’ve christened Pepper? The freshly fallen snow taps away an invitation to hibernal enchantment on your windowpane, but your winter boots won’t get a single squelch in the ivory blanketed Chesham streets. Your head, once crowned with gold ringlets, is bare, the skin alabaster save for a smattering of aubergine spots. Your once-glittering sapphire eyes resemble the dried-out nibs of the pens in the navy blue case you used to be inseparable with. The only trace of the Olly that I knew, the one flickering bulb in the string of who you are, is the faint, toothy smile perpetually plastered on your hollowed-out face even as you sleepily watch some holiday special on the telly.

God, I hate seeing you like this. I hate that you…

‘Raph?’

I glance over, and you’re studying me propped up on two now-spindly arms. I force my bile-coated mouth to move as the only words my mind could conjure sputter out.

‘Hi, Olly. It’s…uh…been a while.’

‘It has…uh…’

Your gaze directs itself on the taupe rug your blistered feet are touching before coming up, now a blue flame, to match mine.

‘So, does this mean it’s…’

‘Yeah, ’I manage to mutter. ‘But we don’t have to yet. Not until you’re…’

‘Oh…well, can we….at least, for a bit?’

‘Of course,’ I respond, a twig of a grin forming on my face. ‘Like I said, only when you’re okay to…oh no!’

I’m pulled away from the trickle of thoughts I’m lost in by the squeals piecing through the gaps in the frost-dusted jalousie. I float over to observe two russet-tressed girls with similar fern-tinted reindeer jumpers and parakeet laughs. The older sister holds the smaller one up as she balances on her lavender skates, a guardian for her sibling. Oh, how I tried to seal off the giggles, keep you blissfully unaware, but by the quiver of your lips and the mist of tears now staining your cheeks, I know I’m too late.

‘Sorry, I know I was supposed to…’

‘No, no, don’t be. It’s not your fault, Raph. It’s just….well…’

‘Well, what?’

‘Well, remember when Dr. Hingle warned me that I needed to be brave,” you replied, your azure irises turning into weighty chrome orbs as they bore into me. ‘He said that the worst bit is all the needles, the infusions, the vomiting.’

‘I do recall that.’

‘Well, Raph. I’ll tell you now there’s something even more devastating than that. The pain, I could handle but….’

‘But what?’

You sigh as you pull yourself off the sea of pillows and hobble to the other end of the room. I hear your raggedy breath catch as your regard fixes itself on the redheaded ice princesses. A solitary lachrymal drop tumbles down, but you don’t even recognise it.

‘But it’s really hard when all I want to do is run out, feel the frost on my skin, and laugh…and live. But I can’t,’ you moan.

‘So, what do you want to do?’

‘If I could, I…just want to skate like them.’

All of a sudden, an idea bubbles inside of me like the crystalline geyser waters I witnessed the creation of. 

‘Quick, get some socks.’

‘Okay, what for?’

‘Well, you said you wanted to skate, so...’

‘Oh! That, I can do.’

Like a comet, you zip your way to your cupboard and retrieve your favourite Superman pair. Within minutes, you slip it on your thinned-out legs and try to spin for the first time in months. Your lilting, wind chime of a chuckle finally fills your room after what feels like an eternity as you gracefully glide on the frigid pine floorboards.

‘I’ve missed hearing that, you know, Olly,” I blurt out.

‘Me too, Raph. Me too.’

You practically float across the wood, the sparkle back in those sapphire peepers. You spot your study desk, and a mischievous expression overtakes your countenance.

‘Race you to there?’

‘Aren’t you afraid you might hurt yourself, Olly?’

‘No, you’re just scared I’d beat you, as usual.’

‘Oh, you are so on.’

We take our spots at the same corner where you keep Pepper. Your newly-dropped voice drones out a countdown, and we’re off. I try to catch up to you but your legs refueled with determination power you to our makeshift finish line.

‘Ah, of course you did it,’ I say. ‘Why do I even bother to…Olly?’

I turn and in your hands, you clutch a Polaroid that must have fallen from the shelf housing your books. The folded bottom-left edge testifies of the many nights you have beheld the image like a nugget of pure gold. On it, a young girl with rich, chestnut waves and eyes that resemble cabochon emeralds beams at an unseen blush-hued peony. 

‘I was about to tell her, you know,’ you declare, a sigh once again escaping your lungs.

Indeed, you were. You formulated your plan to confess to Joanna Malcolm, school captain and member of the literary guild that you head, with me by your side. Together, we had crafted a love sonnet worthy of her jewel stares, of the bewitching way she hums whilst walking around campus, of her half moon smile when a bolt of poetic inspiration strikes her. You were hoping to be the Robert to her Elizabeth Browning and had connived with me to slip our creation into her exercise books whilst she wasn’t looking. And then….

‘I just wonder if she thinks of me. When I got pulled out of school, I never found out,’ you muse.

I swallow a gulp as scenes of her secretly sketching you in her composition notebook in a crowded canteen play in my head. Would it be better if you discovered the rhymes of her heart?

‘Olly, how could you not leave your mark on anyone you meet? I bet you cross Joanna’s mind.’

‘I hope so,’ you answer before giving a pause. ‘No, what I really hope for is that she’ll be happy when she's grown up. That even if...she could. If that could happen, I would be content.'

‘I’ll make sure of that,’ I promise, holding a now-bony hand.

Your eyes fly up to the ceiling yet again as you purse your lips. When you return your gaze on me, it burns through me yet again.

‘Raph, will it hurt…when…?’

‘No, it won’t. It’s just going to be instant. You won’t feel….’

‘No, I don’t mean me,’ you cut in. ‘I mean Mum and Dad. Will they be okay?’

‘I…well…I….’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Olly,” I begin, bile once again swirling like a whirlpool in my throat. ‘I wish I knew. You know it’s not usual for them…I mean…normally, it’s them that…you know.’

‘I know.’

Suddenly, I feel a dam break inside of me, flooding my brain with the sentences I’ve held back since first arriving by your bedside this afternoon. 

‘It’s not supposed to be this way, Olly. You were supposed to be planning to conquer the world, not… I hate that it’s like this. I ask myself why you, why someone so…’

You reach out and catch one of the drops from the torrent streaking my face with a wiry finger. A peace washes onto your face like the gentle flowing of a stream onto a bank.

‘Don’t worry about me, Raph. I’ll be okay. Just try to make sure my parents are fine, I guess? Even when you’re assigned a new task? If you can, that is. I know it could be hard if your new...’

‘I will. That’s my vow to you.’

‘Well, I think I’m ready,’ you state, your voice both soft and resolute, a whisper that roars and reverberates across the four walls enclosing us.

Immediately, the air in this little sleeping space evaporates, and I feel an invisible grip choke me.

‘You sure about that, Olly? We can still linger if…’

‘I am. It’s time. I want to go home.’

'Okay then. I guess I have to make it official.’

I take you by the arm as I let my glowing wings unfurl at my back. You tighten your hold as a golden ball of light encases us.

‘Oliver Daniel Newton, you’re now being called back by God. It’s time to go.’

I know what’s next. Your devastated parents will get further and further lost in a dark, vine-draped jungle of grief until time dulls out a pain that will never quite dissipate. I will be given a new ward, a new life that will hopefully remain ablaze for eight or so decades, not the decade and two years until yours was extinguished. Most of all, you now have an eternity skiing slopes of puffy, white cumulus, stomping gilt streets and serenading them with the lilt of your laughter.

You will have the best time, Olly. It's what you deserve. Still, this is the worst job I’ve ever had to undertake.