Always You

Always You


By Missy Johnson




Dedication

To my wonderful family





Prologue


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Eleven years earlier . . .

“What are they talking about?” she asked, screwing up her nose.

I shrugged. "The same thing they always talk about," I said. "That I'm gonna get sick someday."

She scratched her head and her brow furrowed. "Well . . . " She paused. "We're all gonna get sick someday, right? So why do we need to worry about it now?"

I looked at the little girl. She couldn't have been more than seven years old with her long dark hair and sparkling green eyes. She was a child, but she had just spoken to me like no other person had.

“You wanna see my cubby house?” she asked suddenly. I nodded. She raced outside, me right behind her. We ran down the far end of the property, behind the garage, past rows and rows of homegrown vegetables. Eventually, a tiny shack came into view. We slowed to a walk as we approached the door.

Inside, everything was pink: the walls, the thick shaggy carpet—even the two small armchairs that sat in the middle of the room were a sickly bright pink. She stood smiling proudly, waiting for my reaction.

“It’s very . . . pink,” I commented awkwardly.

“I like pink,” she said defensively, grabbing a doll and sitting in one of the armchairs.

I sniggered and sat down in the other. I was too tall for it, but I squished myself into it anyway.

“So, what’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“I might have the disease my father has,” I replied quietly.

She looked surprised. “So you don’t even know if you’re sick?”

I shook my head.

“Then why are you worrying about something that might not happen?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have an answer for her. I worried because my parents did. I worried because I saw how much my father struggled. I worried because every day he was one day closer to death, and living the life I might be destined to live.

“It’s hard to explain.”

What I meant was it was hard to explain to a seven-year-old, who couldn’t grasp the concept of life and death. At twelve, I’d lost my childhood. My life had revolved around this disease that may or may not one day consume me. The disease that was slowly killing my dad.

“I just don’t get why you would worry about maybe getting sick, especially when it wouldn’t happen for ages. You can’t change it, so what good is worrying going to do?” She shrugged and picked at her doll’s hair.

She said it so simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She'd pointed out something so obvious that I hadn't ever considered it before. Not really.

With all the years of paranoia, and grieving the loss of my life that may or may not happen in twenty or even forty years’ time, my parents had never thought to allow me to actually live. I’d never had the freedom—or the desire—to explore my life.

The fact that it might be cut short should have been more reason for me to be living my dreams, not an excuse to hide away from everything I wanted. In the space of a few short minutes, this little girl and her simple outlook on life had changed my whole perspective on living and dying.

I should've known it was her when I saw her again on that first day of school. It should've been obvious. But she'd changed, and so had I. The years had changed me.

And I was soon to find out that they had changed her, too.

This is our story.





Chapter One


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Wrenn

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“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” –Henry Stanley Haskins.

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This time last year, I was normal.

I had a great life in Washington, D.C. We lived in a huge house with a big, sprawling lawn. I went to a school I loved where I had lots of friends. This time last year I had a mom and a dad. A brother who, although at times he bugged the shit out of me, I adored. Then, just like that, they were gone.

Dead. And I was alone.

They say things happen for a reason, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out the reasoning behind that. What lesson could have possibly been big enough to require that kind of plan? To lose one family member is tragic, but to lose all three at one time is something I’ll never get over. No matter how much time passes, nothing will fill that gap. That aching in my heart will never dull, as long as I’m alive and breathing.

My aunt and uncle have been wonderful. I have no idea how I would’ve gotten through the past year without their love and support. They took me into their home, no questions asked, trying their best to make me a part of their family. But I’ll never completely fit in. As much as I know they love me, nothing can replace my parents and my brother.

All I can do is try to move on with my life and be someone my family would have been proud of. Try not to forget the wonderful things they instilled in me as a person.

I so badly want to make them proud of me. I can’t bring them back. I can’t erase the past, but I can control my future.