A Thousand Boy Kisses(91)

“They think about a week, if that.”

This time, there was no masking the utter happiness radiating from her wide smile. She closed her eyes. “I can make it that long,” she stated confidently, and held my hand just that little bit tighter.

“You’ll last longer,” I promised and watched as Poppy nodded.

“To one thousand boy-kisses,” she agreed.

Stroking my hand down her cheek, I said, “Then I’ll draw them out.”

“Yes,” Poppy smiled. “For infinity.”



*



Poppy was discharged from hospital a week later. The true extent of how much the infection had affected her had become apparent after a few days. Poppy couldn’t walk. She’d lost all strength in her legs. Her doctor informed us that if her cancer had been cured, over time she would have recovered that strength. But, as things were, she would never walk again.

Poppy was in a wheelchair. And, being Poppy, she didn’t it let affect her one bit. “As long as I can still go outside and feel the sun on my face, I’ll be happy,” she said when her doctor had told her the bad news. She looked up at me and added, “As long as I can still hold Rune’s hand, I really don’t care if I ever walk again.”

And just like that, she melted me where I stood.

Clutching the new photos in my hand, I ran across the grass between our two houses to Poppy’s window. As I climbed through, I saw she was asleep on her bed.

She had been brought home just that day. She was tired, but I had to show her this. It was my surprise. My welcome home.

One of her wishes come true.

As I entered the room, Poppy’s eyes blinked open and a smile graced her lips. “The bed was cold without you,” she said and ran her hand over the side where I usually lay.

“I had to get something for you,” I said, sitting down on the bed. Leaning over, I kissed her lips. I kissed her deeply, smiling as her cheeks flushed in the aftermath. Leaning over, Poppy took a blank paper heart from her jar and scribbled something down.

I stared at the almost-full jar as she dropped the heart inside.

We were nearly there.

Turning back, Poppy shifted to a sitting position. “What’s in your hand?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

“Photos,” I announced, and watched as her face lit with happiness.

“My favorite gift,” she said, and I knew that she meant every word. “Your magical captured moments.”

I handed over the envelope; Poppy opened it. She gasped when her eyes fell on the subject. She searched through every photo with excitement, then turned to me with hopeful eyes. “First bloom?”

I smiled back and nodded. Poppy placed her hand over her mouth and her eyes shone with happiness. “When were these taken?”

“A few days ago,” I replied and watched her hand drop and her lips curve into a smile.

“Rune,” she whispered and reached for my hand. She brought it to my face. “That means…”

I stood up.

Moving to her side of the bed, I scooped her up in my arms. Poppy’s hands went around my neck, and I lowered my lips to hers. When I pulled back, I asked, “Are you with me?”

Sighing happily, she replied, “I’m with you.”

I placed her gently in her wheelchair, pulled the blanket over her legs and moved to the handles. Poppy tipped her head back as I was about to push her into the hallway. I looked down at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I kissed her upturned mouth. “Let’s go.”

Poppy’s infectious giggles echoed through the house as I pushed her down the hallway and out into the fresh air. I carried her down the steps. Once she was safely back in her chair, I pushed her over the grass toward the grove. The weather was warm, the sun shining down from a clear sky.

Poppy tipped her head back to soak in the warmth of the sun, her cheeks filling with life as she did. When Poppy’s eyes opened, I knew she had smelled the scent before she’d even seen the grove. “Rune,” she said as she gripped the arms of the wheelchair.

My heart beat faster and faster as we drew closer. Then, as we turned the corner and the blossom grove came into view, I held my breath.

A loud gasp slipped from Poppy’s mouth. Taking my camera from around my neck, I walked out to stand by her side until I had the perfect view of her face. Poppy didn’t even notice me pressing the button over and over; she was too lost in the beauty before her. Too mesmerized as she reached up her hand and delicately stroked a feather-light touch along a freshly born petal. Then she dropped her head back, eyes closed, arms in the air, as her laughter rang out around the grove.

I held the camera, braced on the button for the moment I prayed would follow next. And then it came. Poppy opened her eyes, completely enraptured by this moment, and then looked at me. My finger pressed down—her smiling face was alive with life, the backdrop a sea of pink and white.

Poppy’s hands slowly lowered and her smile softened as she stared at me. I lowered the camera as I returned that stare, the cherry blossoms full and vibrant around where she sat—her symbolic halo. Then it hit me. Poppy, Poppymin, she was the cherry blossom.

She was my cherry blossom.

An unrivaled beauty, limited in its life. A beauty so extreme in its grace that it can’t last. It stays to enrich our lives, then drifts away in the wind. Never forgotten. Because it reminds us we must live. That life is fragile, yet in that fragility, there is strength. There is love. There is purpose. It reminds us that life is short, that our breaths are numbered and our destiny is fixed, regardless of how hard we fight.