and while I figured she was either in the mall or in the parking lot, I still wanted the next two hours to myself.
I liked my mom, but her perpetual nearness sometimes made me feel weirdly nervous.
And I liked Kaitlyn, too. I really did. But three years removed from proper full-time schoolic exposure to my peers,
I felt a certain unbridgeable distance between us. I think my school friends wanted to help me through my cancer,
but they eventually found out that they couldn’t. For one thing, there was no through.
So I excused myself on the grounds of pain and fatigue, as I often had over the years when seeing Kaitlyn or any of my other friends.
In truth, it always hurt. It always hurt not to breathe like a normal person, incessantly reminding your lungs to be lungs,
forcing yourself to accept as unsolvable the clawing scraping inside-out ache of underoxygenation.
So I wasn’t lying, exactly. I was just choosing among truths.
I found a bench surrounded by an Irish Gifts store, the Fountain Pen Emporium, and a baseball-cap outlet—
a corner of the mall even Kaitlyn would never shop, and started reading Midnight Dawns.
It featured a sentence-to-corpse ratio of nearly 1:1, and I tore through it without ever looking up.
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