This story is dedicated to the memory of M.E.P., 1964-1979. We never had the relationship that Eric and Mish have-we were just friends, but I had known her since birth. She never got Eric’s prognosis-she got Danny’s, and beat the odds by a considerable amount by living 2 ? years. But she couldn’t, finally, beat the leukemia that took her life at the horrific age of 15. She’s been gone 24 years and I still miss her.
I ended the story proper somewhat ambiguously. However, in my mind’s eye, Mish and Eric are married. They’re in their mid-thirties. They live in pretty house in Westport. They have a little girl, and Mish is pregnant with their second. Eric’s an oncologist, and Mish taught school for a while before deciding to stay home with the kids. They’re in love. They’re happy. That’s what my mind’s eye sees.
I could have invented that scenario for Mary, but it would have been a lie. I know the reality all too well. So I gave it to Mish and Eric. Because someone deserves it.
If there’s a better reason why I write fiction, I can’t come up with it.
And, so, that is why this is the story I had to write.
Thanks for reading,
Frank