Firecracker Love

“I love you.”

It was the hardest thing she had ever done, she claimed. She told me that telling me she loved me was so difficult, she thought she’d throw up and charter a jet to another continent when she made up her mind to tell me.

Of course, I didn’t know this at the time.

She seemed so optimistic at the time, ironically. She came right up to me while we were studying and just blurted out the “I love you”. Right in the quiet library, and everything.

But, well, she’s always been a bit spontaneous.

I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s always been bubbly, very bright and very happy. Nothing could ever get in her way. Nothing could ever stop her.

Whenever anyone looked at her, they always made the same type of comment: she’s a firecracker, loud and obnoxious but bright and cheerful all the same. 

She’s always been this way, true, so it didn’t really surprise me when she decided that spontaneity was her best bet that day.

What made her jump up that day? Well, I don’t really know. Who can say?

But we’ve been dating ever since then. Sure, it’s only been a few months, but I even briefly considered asking her to marry me.

She deserves the best, after all. Nothing but the best.

Life could keep knocking her down, over and over, and she’d still get right back up. That’s just how she is, really.

So she deserves to be happy - happier than she can be on her own, with her optimistic, never-say-die attitude.

For both of our families, we had always had a bit of that optimistic outlook on life, for a very long time. But she always had it the most out of all of us.

Whenever someone needed something? She was right there to help. If someone needed a pick-me-up to remind themselves the world wasn’t so bad? She was the first one to always give reassurances, and usually tell some stupid joke.

To her credit, her dumb jokes always made people laugh, even if they sounded rather weird and the punchline was never entirely right. 

But that was her own unique quirk, if you will. And heaven help me if I tried to correct her punchline.

That sort of action would usually get me, “Well nobody asked you! Plus mine was totally funnier!”

And she’d be right, of course.

But people even thought it was funny that our arguments were in jest.

I’m glad that she could make people laugh like that. She always made me laugh like that too.

As we spent our time together, more so than usual due to our relationship, we grew even closer. I didn’t think I could be convinced that such a thing was even possible in the first place, but apparently I was wrong.

She loved geraniums. Why didn’t I ever know that before? I had known her my whole life, so why wasn’t it obvious that she loved geraniums?

In any case, small bits like that were new, and we learned more about each other.

(She even forgave me for not knowing about her love of geraniums when I brought her some every day.)

In truth, nothing had ever made me happier than beginning to date her. 

She was honest about her love, that much was obvious. She kissed my cheeks as a cute gesture, grabbing my hands all the time and pulling me along with her.

It made me laugh more than I ever had, I think. Nothing made me happier than being with her.

So I finally did what I thought I’d do from the beginning.

I asked her to marry me.

She answered as I suspected she might - a loud “yes!” There was screeching and crying and hugging, the whole nine yards.

I was happy to have made her so happy. She really did deserve only the best.

We married in a courthouse soon after, not wasting time. Why should we?

Both of us were still in graduate school, so we didn’t bother with an extravagant honeymoon - but if I bought us both tickets to the theater to see her favorite musical? Well, that was just a bonus.

Though the happiness didn’t last long.

I knew it wouldn’t.

Why should it?

There she was, sprawled out in the bed, looking as tired as ever.

I brought her the daily bouquet of geraniums, though they looked a bit out of place on the table.

Not that it was surprising. She wasn’t in our bed, after all.

“How is she?”

The question was addressed to my mother, and hers.

They were sitting beside her bed in chairs, and her mother was sniffling softly.

“It’s just as you thought. Again.”

I sighed, a poor substitute for my frustration. And if my sighs sounded more like a punch to the chest? No one was the wiser but us.

My mother stood, gesturing for me to sit in the chair, next to my wife.

Her mother, unable to bear it for long periods of time, sniffled again, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. She stood, and left the room with my mother, telling me to call them if anything changed in the next few minutes.

I agreed, and turned my attention to the figure dozing prone on the bed. I gently reached for her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles and ring.

Cancer really was a terrible way to go.

And she’s had it all of her life.

That’s just how it goes, sometimes, I guess. Not that I’ve ever agreed.

My beautiful friend, so strong, struck down by something so insidious. It didn’t even deserve to dwell inside her cells.

Feeling the hand in my grip turn, I glanced up at her face, and saw her eyes open.

“Hey,” she murmured, sleepily. All that chemo will do it, after a while.

“Hey,” I returned, giving a soft smile.

“You’ll always be here for me, won't you?”

I grinned wider at the question.

“Please,” I chuckled, “what kind of accusation is that?”

She must have found the joke funny, as I’d hoped, because she smiled, a weak laugh coming from her throat.

I knew she didn’t have long. We knew that from when she was young. In reality, it’s a miracle she’s lasted this long.

But nobody could ever tell her that. She’s always been that relentless firecracker we all know.

“I love you,” she whispered, squeezing my hand.

I really did love her. She was my best friend. Always, and forever, my best friend.

But I didn’t love her the way she loved me. I tried. I really did. She deserves the best that anyone could ever give her.

So I gave her what I could, and hoped and prayed that it was enough.

If one small lie was enough to make her happy, then I’d never stop telling it to her as long as she still lived.

“I love you, too.”