ALSOBYJOHNGREEN
LookingforAlaska
AnAbundanceofKatherines
PaperTowns
WillGrayson,WillGrayson
WITHDAVIDLEVITHAN
DUTTONBOOKS|AnimprintofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.
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Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingor
dead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
Copyright©2012byJohnGreen
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PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyDuttonBooks,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.345HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014
www.penguin.com/teen
DesignedbyIreneVandervoort
ISBN978-1-101-56918-4
TOESTHEREARL
Contents
EPIGRAPH
AUTHOR’SNOTE
CHAPTERONE
CHAPTERTWO
CHAPTERTHREE
CHAPTERFOUR
CHAPTERFIVE
CHAPTERSIX
CHAPTERSEVEN
CHAPTEREIGHT
CHAPTERNINE
CHAPTERTEN
CHAPTERELEVEN
CHAPTERTWELVE
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
CHAPTERNINETEEN
CHAPTERTWENTY
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the ocean:
“Conjoinerrejoinderpoisonerconcealerrevelator.Lookatit,rising
upandrisingdown,takingeverythingwithit.”
“What’sthat?”Iasked.
“Water,”theDutchmansaid.“Well,andtime.”
—PETERVANHOUTEN,AnImperialAffliction
AUTHOR’SNOTE
This is not so much an author’s note as an author’s reminder of what was
printedinsmalltypeafewpagesago:Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Imade
itup.
Neithernovelsnortheirreadersbenefitfromattemptstodivinewhether
anyfactshideinsideastory.Suchefforts attack the very idea that made-up
storiescanmatter,whichissortofthefoundationalassumptionofourspecies.
Iappreciateyourcooperationinthismatter.
CHAPTERONE
Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was
depressed,presumablybecauseIrarelyleftthehouse,spentquitealotoftime
inbed,readthesamebookoverandover,ateinfrequently,anddevotedquite
abitofmyabundantfreetimetothinkingaboutdeath.
Wheneveryoureadacancerbookletorwebsiteorwhatever,theyalways
listdepressionamongthesideeffectsofcancer.But,infact,depressionisnot
asideeffectofcancer.Depressionisasideeffectofdying.(Cancerisalsoa
side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really.) But my mom believed I
requiredtreatment,soshetookmetoseemyRegularDoctorJim,whoagreed
thatIwasveritablyswimminginaparalyzingandtotallyclinicaldepression,
and that therefore my meds should be adjusted and also I should attend a
weeklySupportGroup.
This Support Group featured a rotating cast of characters in various
statesoftumor-driven unwellness. Why did the cast rotate? Asideeffect of
dying.
The Support Group, of course, was depressing as hell. It met every
Wednesdayinthebasementofastone-walledEpiscopalchurchshapedlikea
cross. We all sat in a circle right in the middle of the cross, where the two
boardswouldhavemet,wheretheheartofJesuswouldhavebeen.
InoticedthisbecausePatrick,theSupportGroupLeaderandonlyperson
over eighteen in the room, talked about the heart of Jesus every freaking
meeting, all about how we, as young cancer survivors, were sitting right in
Christ’sverysacredheartandwhatever.
So here’s how it went in God’s heart: The six or seven or ten of us
walked/wheeled in, grazed at a decrepit selection of cookies and lemonade,
sat down in the Circle of Trust, and listened to Patrick recount for the
thousandthtimehisdepressinglymiserablelifestory—howhehadcancerin
hisballsandtheythoughthewasgoingtodiebuthedidn’tdieandnowhere
he is, a full-grown adult in a church basement in the 137th nicest city in
America, divorced, addicted to video games, mostly friendless, eking out a
meager living by exploiting his cancertastic past, slowly working his way
towardamaster’sdegreethatwillnotimprovehiscareerprospects,waiting,
aswealldo,fortheswordofDamoclestogivehimthereliefthatheescaped
lothosemanyyearsagowhencancertookbothofhisnutsbutsparedwhat
onlythemostgeneroussoulwouldcallhislife.
ANDYOUTOOMIGHTBESOLUCKY!
Thenwe introduced ourselves:Name.Age. Diagnosis.Andhow we’re
doing today. I’m Hazel, I’d say when they’d get to me. Sixteen. Thyroid
originally but with an impressive and long-settled satellite colony in my
lungs.AndI’mdoingokay.
Oncewegotaroundthecircle,Patrickalwaysaskedifanyonewantedto
share. And then began the circle jerk of support: everyone talking about
fightingand battling andwinning andshrinkingand scanning.Tobe fair to
Patrick,heletustalkaboutdying,too.Butmostofthemweren’tdying.Most
wouldliveintoadulthood,asPatrickhad.
(Which meant there was quite a lot of competitiveness about it, with
everybodywantingtobeatnotonlycanceritself,butalsotheotherpeoplein
theroom.Like,Irealizethatthisisirrational,butwhentheytellyouthatyou
have,say,a20percentchanceoflivingfiveyears,themathkicksinandyou
figure that’s one in five . . . so you look around and think, as any healthy
personwould:Igottaoutlastfourofthesebastards.)
TheonlyredeemingfacetofSupportGroupwasthiskidnamedIsaac,a
long-faced,skinnyguywithstraightblondhairsweptoveroneeye.
And his eyes were the problem. He had some fantastically improbable
eyecancer.Oneeyehadbeencutoutwhenhewasakid,andnowheworethe
kindofthickglassesthatmadehiseyes(boththerealoneandtheglassone)
preternaturallyhuge,likehiswholeheadwasbasicallyjustthisfakeeyeand
thisrealeyestaringat you. FromwhatIcouldgather on the rareoccasions
whenIsaacsharedwiththegroup,arecurrencehadplacedhisremainingeye
inmortalperil.
IsaacandIcommunicatedalmostexclusivelythroughsighs.Eachtime
someone discussed anticancer diets or snorting ground-up shark fin or
whatever,he’dglanceoveratmeandsigheversoslightly.I’dshakemyhead
microscopicallyandexhaleinresponse.
SoSupportGroupblew,andafterafewweeks,Igrewtoberatherkicking-
and-screamingaboutthewholeaffair.Infact,ontheWednesdayImadethe
acquaintanceofAugustusWaters,ItriedmylevelbesttogetoutofSupport
Groupwhilesittingonthecouchwithmymominthethirdlegofatwelve-
hour marathon of the previous season’s America’s Next Top Model, which
admittedlyIhadalreadyseen,butstill.
Me:“IrefusetoattendSupportGroup.”
Mom:“Oneofthesymptomsofdepressionisdisinterestinactivities.”
Me: “Please just let me watch America’s Next Top Model. It’s an
activity.”
Mom:“Televisionisapassivity.”
Me:“Ugh,Mom,please.”
Mom: “Hazel, you’re a teenager. You’re not a little kid anymore. You
needtomakefriends,getoutofthehouse,andliveyourlife.”
Me:“Ifyouwantmetobeateenager,don’tsendmetoSupportGroup.
BuymeafakeIDsoIcangotoclubs,drinkvodka,andtakepot.”
Mom:“Youdon’ttakepot,forstarters.”
Me:“See,that’sthekindofthingI’dknowifyougotmeafakeID.”
Mom:“You’regoingtoSupportGroup.”
Me:“UGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”
Mom:“Hazel,youdeservealife.”
That shut me up, although I failed to see how attendance at Support
Group met the definition of life. Still, I agreed to go—after negotiating the
righttorecordthe1.5episodesofANTMI’dbemissing.
IwenttoSupportGroupforthesamereasonthatI’donceallowednurses
with a mere eighteen months of graduate education to poison me with
exotically named chemicals: I wanted to make my parents happy. There is
only one thing in this world shittier than biting itfrom cancer whenyou’re
sixteen,andthat’shavingakidwhobitesitfromcancer.
Mompulledintothecirculardrivewaybehindthechurchat4:56.Ipretended
tofiddlewithmyoxygentankforasecondjusttokilltime.
“Doyouwantmetocarryitinforyou?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. The cylindrical green tank only weighed a few
pounds, and I had this little steel cart to wheel it around behind me. It
delivered two liters of oxygen to me each minute through a cannula, a
transparenttubethatsplitjustbeneathmyneck,wrappedbehindmyears,and
thenreunitedinmynostrils.Thecontraptionwasnecessarybecausemylungs
suckedatbeinglungs.
“Iloveyou,”shesaidasIgotout.
“Youtoo,Mom.Seeyouatsix.”
“Makefriends!”she saidthroughthe rolled-down windowasI walked
away.
I didn’t want to take the elevator because taking the elevator is a Last
DayskindofactivityatSupportGroup,soItookthestairs.Igrabbedacookie
andpouredsomelemonadeintoaDixiecupandthenturnedaround.
Aboywasstaringatme.
IwasquitesureI’dneverseenhimbefore.Longandleanlymuscular,he
dwarfed the molded plastic elementary school chair he was sitting in.
Mahoganyhair,straightandshort.Helookedmyage,maybeayearolder,and
hesatwithhistailboneagainsttheedgeofthechair,hispostureaggressively
poor,onehandhalfinapocketofdarkjeans.
Ilookedaway,suddenlyconsciousofmymyriadinsufficiencies.I was
wearingoldjeans,whichhadoncebeentightbutnowsaggedinweirdplaces,
andayellowT-shirtadvertisingabandIdidn’tevenlikeanymore.Alsomy
hair:Ihadthispageboyhaircut,andIhadn’tevenbotheredto,like,brushit.
Furthermore, I had ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks, a side effect of
treatment.Ilookedlikeanormallyproportionedpersonwithaballoonfora
head. This was not even to mention the cankle situation. And yet—I cut a
glancetohim,andhiseyeswerestillonme.
Itoccurredtomewhytheycalliteyecontact.
IwalkedintothecircleandsatdownnexttoIsaac,twoseatsawayfrom
theboy.Iglancedagain.Hewasstillwatchingme.
Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you
relentlesslyanditis,atbest,awkwardand,atworst,aformofassault.Buta
hotboy...well.
Ipulledoutmyphoneandclickeditsoitwoulddisplaythetime:4:59.
The circle filled in with the unlucky twelve-to-eighteens, and then Patrick
startedusoutwiththeserenityprayer:God,grantmetheserenitytoaccept
thethingsI cannotchange,thecouragetochangethe thingsIcan,andthe
wisdomtoknow thedifference.Theguywasstillstaring at me. I felt rather
blushy.
Finally,Idecidedthattheproperstrategywastostareback.Boysdonot
haveamonopolyontheStaringBusiness,afterall.SoIlookedhimoveras
Patrickacknowledgedforthethousandthtimehisball-lessnessetc.,andsoon
itwasastaringcontest.Afterawhiletheboysmiled,andthenfinallyhisblue
eyesglancedaway.Whenhelookedbackatme,Iflickedmyeyebrowsupto
say,Iwin.
He shrugged. Patrick continued and then finally it was time for the
introductions. “Isaac, perhaps you’d like to go first today. I know you’re
facingachallengingtime.”
“Yeah,” Isaac said. “I’m Isaac. I’m seventeen. And it’s looking like I
have to get surgery in a couple weeks, after which I’ll be blind. Not to
complainor anything because I know a lotof us have it worse, but yeah,I
mean,beingblinddoessortofsuck.Mygirlfriendhelps,though.Andfriends
likeAugustus.”Henoddedtowardtheboy,whonowhadaname.“So,yeah,”
Isaac continued. He was looking at his hands, which he’d folded into each
otherlikethetopofatepee.“There’snothingyoucandoaboutit.”
“We’rehereforyou,Isaac,”Patricksaid.“LetIsaachearit,guys.”And
thenweall,inamonotone,said,“We’rehereforyou,Isaac.”
Michael was next. He was twelve. He had leukemia. He’d always had
leukemia.Hewasokay.(Orsohesaid.He’dtakentheelevator.)
Lidawassixteen,andprettyenoughtobetheobjectofthehotboy’seye.
Shewasaregular—inalongremissionfromappendicealcancer,whichIhad
not previously known existed. She said—as she had every other time I’d
attendedSupportGroup—thatshefeltstrong,whichfeltlikebraggingtome
astheoxygen-drizzlingnubstickledmynostrils.
Therewerefiveothersbeforetheygottohim.Hesmiledalittlewhenhis
turncame.Hisvoicewaslow,smoky,anddeadsexy.“MynameisAugustus
Waters,”hesaid.“I’mseventeen.Ihadalittletouchofosteosarcomaayear
andahalfago,butI’mjustheretodayatIsaac’srequest.”
“Andhowareyoufeeling?”askedPatrick.
“Oh, I’m grand.” Augustus Waters smiled with a corner of his mouth.
“I’monarollercoasterthatonlygoesup,myfriend.”
Whenitwasmyturn,Isaid,“MynameisHazel.I’msixteen.Thyroid
withmetsinmylungs.I’mokay.”
The hour proceeded apace: Fights were recounted, battles won amid
wars sure to be lost; hope was clung to; families were both celebrated and
denounced; it was agreed that friends just didn’t get it; tears were shed;
comfort proffered. Neither Augustus Waters nor I spoke again until Patrick
said,“Augustus,perhapsyou’dliketoshareyourfearswiththegroup.”
“Myfears?”
“Yes.”
“I fear oblivion,” he said without a moment’s pause. “I fear it like the
proverbialblindmanwho’safraidofthedark.”
“Toosoon,”Isaacsaid,crackingasmile.
“Was that insensitive?” Augustus asked. “I can be prettyblindtoother
people’sfeelings.”
Isaac was laughing, but Patrick raised a chastening finger and said,
“Augustus,please.Let’sreturntoyouandyourstruggles.Yousaidyoufear
oblivion?”
“Idid,”Augustusanswered.
Patrickseemedlost.“Would,uh,wouldanyoneliketospeaktothat?”
Ihadn’tbeeninproperschoolinthreeyears.Myparentsweremytwo
bestfriends.MythirdbestfriendwasanauthorwhodidnotknowIexisted.I
wasafairlyshyperson—notthehand-raisingtype.
And yet, just this once, I decided to speak. I half raised my hand and
Patrick, his delight evident, immediately said, “Hazel!” I was, I’m sure he
assumed,openingup.BecomingPartOfTheGroup.
I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. You could
almostsee through hiseyesthey weresoblue. “There willcomea time,”I
said,“whenallofusaredead.Allofus.Therewillcomeatimewhenthere
arenohumanbeingsremainingtorememberthatanyoneeverexistedorthat
ourspecieseverdidanything.TherewillbenoonelefttorememberAristotle
orCleopatra,letaloneyou.Everythingthatwedidandbuiltandwroteand
thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this”—I gestured
encompassingly—“will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming
soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the
collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before
organismsexperiencedconsciousness,andtherewillbetimeafter.Andifthe
inevitabilityofhumanoblivionworriesyou,Iencourageyoutoignoreit.God
knowsthat’swhateveryoneelsedoes.”
I’d learned this from my aforementioned third best friend, Peter Van
Houten,thereclusiveauthorofAnImperialAffliction,the book that was as
closeathing asIhadtoaBible.PeterVanHoutenwastheonlypersonI’d
evercomeacrosswhoseemedto(a)understandwhatit’sliketobedying,and
(b)nothavedied.
AfterIfinished,therewasquitealongperiodofsilenceasIwatcheda
smilespreadallthewayacrossAugustus’sface—notthelittlecrookedsmile
oftheboytryingtobesexywhilehestaredatme,buthisrealsmile,toobig
forhisface.“Goddamn,”Augustussaidquietly.“Aren’tyousomethingelse.”
NeitherofussaidanythingfortherestofSupportGroup.Attheend,we
allhadtoholdhands,andPatrickledusinaprayer.“LordJesusChrist,we
are gathered here in Yourheart, literallyin Your heart, as cancersurvivors.
YouandYoualoneknowusasweknowourselves.Guideustolifeandthe
Lightthroughourtimesoftrial.WeprayforIsaac’seyes,forMichael’sand
Jamie’sblood,forAugustus’sbones,forHazel’slungs,forJames’sthroat.We
praythatYoumighthealusandthatwemightfeelYourlove,andYourpeace,
whichpassesallunderstanding.Andwerememberinourheartsthosewhom
weknewandlovedwhohavegonehometoyou:MariaandKadeandJoseph
andHaleyandAbigailandAngelinaandTaylorandGabrieland...”
It wasa long list. Theworld contains a lotof dead people. And while
Patrickdronedon,reading the list fromasheetofpaper because it wastoo
long to memorize, I kept my eyes closed, trying to think prayerfully but
mostlyimaginingthedaywhenmynamewouldfinditswayontothatlist,all
thewayattheendwheneveryonehadstoppedlistening.
When Patrick was finished, we said this stupid mantra together—
LIVING OUR BEST LIFE TODAY—and it was over. Augustus Waters
pushedhimselfoutofhischairandwalkedovertome.Hisgaitwascrooked
like his smile. He towered over me, but he kept his distance so I wouldn’t
havetocranemynecktolookhimintheeye.“What’syourname?”heasked.
“Hazel.”
“No,yourfullname.”
“Um,HazelGraceLancaster.”Hewasjustabouttosaysomethingelse
whenIsaacwalkedup.“Holdon,”Augustussaid,raisingafinger,andturned
toIsaac.“Thatwasactuallyworsethanyoumadeitouttobe.”
“Itoldyouitwasbleak.”
“Whydoyoubotherwithit?”
“Idon’tknow.Itkindofhelps?”
Augustus leaned in so he thought I couldn’t hear. “She’s a regular?” I
couldn’t hear Isaac’s comment, but Augustus responded, “I’ll say.” He
clasped Isaac by both shoulders and then took a half step away from him.
“TellHazelaboutclinic.”
Isaacleanedahandagainstthesnacktableandfocusedhishugeeyeon
me.“Okay,soIwentintoclinicthismorning,andIwastellingmysurgeon
thatI’dratherbedeafthanblind.Andhesaid,‘Itdoesn’tworkthatway,’and
Iwas,like,‘Yeah,Irealizeitdoesn’tworkthatway;I’mjustsayingI’drather
bedeafthan blindifIhad thechoice,whichI realize Idon’thave,’and he
said,‘Well,thegoodnewsisthatyouwon’tbedeaf,’andIwaslike,‘Thank
youforexplainingthatmyeyecancerisn’tgoingtomakemedeaf.Ifeelso
fortunate that an intellectual giant like yourself would deign to operate on
me.’”
“He sounds like a winner,” I said. “I’m gonna try to get me some eye
cancerjustsoIcanmakethisguy’sacquaintance.”
“Goodluckwiththat.Allright,Ishouldgo.Monica’swaitingforme.I
gottalookatheralotwhileIcan.”
“Counterinsurgencetomorrow?”Augustusasked.
“Definitely.” Isaac turned and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a
time.
AugustusWatersturnedtome.“Literally,”hesaid.
“Literally?”Iasked.
“WeareliterallyintheheartofJesus,”hesaid.“Ithoughtwewereina
churchbasement,butweareliterallyintheheartofJesus.”
“Someone should tell Jesus,” I said. “I mean, it’s gotta be dangerous,
storingchildrenwithcancerinyourheart.”
“I would tell Him myself,” Augustus said, “but unfortunately I am
literallystuckinsideofHisheart,soHewon’tbeabletohearme.”Ilaughed.
Heshookhishead,justlookingatme.
“What?”Iasked.
“Nothing,”hesaid.
“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?”
Augustus half smiled. “Because you’re beautiful. I enjoy looking at
beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler
pleasures of existence.” A brief awkward silence ensued. Augustus plowed
through:“Imean,particularlygiventhat,asyousodeliciouslypointedout,all
ofthiswillendinoblivionandeverything.”
Ikindofscoffedorsighedorexhaledinawaythatwasvaguelycoughy
andthensaid,“I’mnotbeau—”
“You’re like a millennial Natalie Portman. Like V for VendettaNatalie
Portman.”
“Neverseenit,”Isaid.
“Really?” he asked. “Pixie-haired gorgeous girl dislikes authority and
can’thelpbutfallforaboysheknowsistrouble.It’syourautobiography,so
farasIcantell.”
His every syllable flirted. Honestly, he kind of turned me on. I didn’t
evenknowthatguyscouldturnmeon—not,like,inreallife.
Ayoungergirlwalkedpastus.“How’s it going, Alisa?”he asked.She
smiled and mumbled, “Hi, Augustus.” “Memorial people,” he explained.
Memorialwasthebigresearchhospital.“Wheredoyougo?”
“Children’s,” I said, my voice smaller than I expected it to be. He
nodded. The conversation seemed over. “Well,” I said, nodding vaguely
towardthestepsthatledusoutoftheLiteralHeartofJesus.Itiltedmycart
ontoitswheelsandstartedwalking.Helimpedbesideme.“So,seeyounext
time,maybe?”Iasked.
“Youshouldseeit,”hesaid.“VforVendetta,Imean.”
“Okay,”Isaid.“I’lllookitup.”
“No.Withme.Atmyhouse,”hesaid.“Now.”
Istoppedwalking.“Ihardlyknowyou,AugustusWaters.Youcouldbe
anaxmurderer.”
He nodded. “True enough, Hazel Grace.” He walked past me, his
shoulders filling out his green knit polo shirt, his back straight, his steps
liltingjustslightlytotherightashewalkedsteadyandconfidentonwhatI
haddeterminedwasaprostheticleg.Osteosarcomasometimestakesalimbto
checkyouout.Then,ifitlikesyou,ittakestherest.
I followed him upstairs, losing ground as I made my way up slowly,
stairsnotbeingafieldofexpertiseformylungs.
AndthenwewereoutofJesus’sheartandintheparkinglot,thespring
air just on the cold side of perfect, the late-afternoon light heavenly in its
hurtfulness.
Mom wasn’t there yet, which was unusual, because Mom was almost
alwayswaiting for me.I glanced aroundand saw thata tall, curvybrunette
girlhadIsaacpinnedagainstthestonewallofthechurch,kissinghimrather
aggressively.TheywerecloseenoughtomethatIcouldheartheweirdnoises
of their mouths together, and I could hear him saying, “Always,” and her
saying,“Always,”inreturn.
Suddenly standing next to me, Augustus half whispered, “They’re big
believersinPDA.”
“What’swiththe‘always’?”Theslurpingsoundsintensified.
“Always is their thing. They’ll always loveeach otherand whatever. I
would conservatively estimate they have texted each other the word always
fourmilliontimesinthelastyear.”
Acouplemorecarsdroveup,takingMichaelandAlisaaway.Itwasjust
Augustusandmenow,watchingIsaacandMonica,whoproceededapaceas
iftheywerenotleaningagainstaplaceofworship.Hishandreachedforher
boob over her shirt and pawed at it, his palm still while his fingers moved
around.Iwonderedifthatfeltgood.Didn’tseemlikeitwould,butIdecided
toforgiveIsaaconthegroundsthathewasgoingblind.Thesensesmustfeast
whilethereisyethungerandwhatever.
“Imaginetakingthatlastdrivetothehospital,”Isaidquietly.“Thelast
timeyou’lleverdriveacar.”
Without looking over at me, Augustus said, “You’re killing my vibe
here,HazelGrace.I’mtryingtoobserveyoungloveinitsmany-splendored
awkwardness.”
“Ithinkhe’shurtingherboob,”Isaid.
“Yes, it’s difficult to ascertain whether he is trying to arouse her or
perform a breast exam.” Then Augustus Waters reached into a pocket and
pulled out, of all things, a pack of cigarettes. He flipped it open and put a
cigarettebetweenhislips.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “You think that’s cool? Oh, my God, you
justruinedthewholething.”
“Which whole thing?” he asked, turning to me. The cigarette dangled
unlitfromtheunsmilingcornerofhismouth.
“Thewholethingwhereaboywhoisnotunattractiveorunintelligentor
seeminglyinanywayunacceptablestaresatmeandpointsoutincorrectuses
ofliteralityandcomparesmetoactressesandasksmetowatchamovieathis
house.Butofcoursethereisalwaysahamartiaandyoursisthatoh,myGod,
eventhoughyouHADFREAKINGCANCERyougivemoneytoacompany
inexchangeforthechancetoacquireYETMORECANCER.Oh,myGod.
Let me just assure you that not being able to breathe? SUCKS. Totally
disappointing.Totally.”
“Ahamartia?”heasked,thecigarettestillinhismouth.Ittightenedhis
jaw.Hehadahellofajawline,unfortunately.
“Afatalflaw,”Iexplained,turningawayfromhim.Isteppedtowardthe
curb,leavingAugustusWatersbehindme,andthenIheardacarstartdown
thestreet.ItwasMom.She’dbeenwaitingformeto,like,makefriendsor
whatever.
I felt this weird mix of disappointment and anger welling up inside of
me.Idon’tevenknowwhatthefeelingwas,really,justthattherewasalotof
it, and I wanted to smack Augustus Waters and also replace my lungs with
lungsthatdidn’tsuckatbeinglungs.IwasstandingwithmyChuckTaylors
ontheveryedgeofthecurb,theoxygentankball-and-chaininginthecartby
myside,andrightasmymompulledup,Ifeltahandgrabmine.
Iyankedmyhandfreebutturnedbacktohim.
“Theydon’tkillyouunlessyoulightthem,”hesaidasMomarrivedat
the curb. “And I’ve never lit one. It’s a metaphor, see: You put the killing
thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its
killing.”
“It’sametaphor,”Isaid,dubious.Momwasjustidling.
“It’sametaphor,”hesaid.
“Youchooseyourbehaviorsbasedontheirmetaphoricalresonances...”
Isaid.
“Oh,yes.”Hesmiled.Thebig,goofy,realsmile.“I’mabigbelieverin
metaphor,HazelGrace.”
Iturnedtothecar.Tappedthewindow.Itrolleddown.“I’mgoingtoa
moviewithAugustusWaters,”Isaid.“Pleaserecordthenextseveralepisodes
oftheANTMmarathonforme.”
CHAPTERTWO
AugustusWatersdrovehorrifically.Whetherstoppingorstarting,everything
happenedwithatremendousJOLT.IflewagainsttheseatbeltofhisToyota
SUVeachtimehebraked,andmynecksnappedbackwardeachtimehehit
thegas.Imighthavebeennervous—whatwithsittinginthecarofastrange
boy on the way to his house, keenly aware that my crap lungs complicate
effortstofendoffunwantedadvances—buthisdrivingwassoastonishingly
poorthatIcouldthinkofnothingelse.
We’d gone perhaps a mile in jagged silence before Augustus said, “I
failedthedrivingtestthreetimes.”
“Youdon’tsay.”
He laughed, nodding. “Well, I can’t feel pressure in old Prosty, and I
can’tgetthehangofdrivingleft-footed.Mydoctorssaymostamputeescan
drivewithnoproblem,but...yeah.Notme.Anyway,Igoinformyfourth
drivingtest,anditgoesaboutlikethisisgoing.”Ahalfmileinfrontofus,a
light turned red. Augustus slammed on the brakes, tossing me into the
triangularembraceoftheseatbelt.“Sorry.IsweartoGodIamtryingtobe
gentle. Right, so anyway, at the end of the test, I totally thought I’d failed
again, but the instructor was like, ‘Your driving is unpleasant, but it isn’t
technicallyunsafe.’”
“I’mnotsureIagree,”Isaid.“IsuspectCancerPerk.”CancerPerksare
thelittlethingscancerkidsgetthatregularkidsdon’t:basketballssignedby
sportsheroes,freepassesonlatehomework,unearneddriver’slicenses,etc.
“Yeah,” he said. The light turned green. I braced myself. Augustus
slammedthegas.
“You know they’ve got hand controls for people who can’t use their
legs,”Ipointedout.
“Yeah,” he said.“Maybe someday.”He sighedin a way that made me
wonder whether he was confident about the existence of someday. I knew
osteosarcomawashighlycurable,butstill.
Thereareanumberofwaystoestablishsomeone’sapproximatesurvival
expectations without actually asking. I used the classic: “So, are you in
school?”Generally,yourparentspullyououtofschoolatsomepointifthey
expectyoutobiteit.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m at North Central. A year behind, though: I’m a
sophomore.You?”
Iconsideredlying.Noonelikesacorpse,afterall.ButintheendItold
thetruth.“No,myparentswithdrewmethreeyearsago.”
“Threeyears?”heasked,astonished.
ItoldAugustus the broadoutlineof my miracle:diagnosedwithStage
IV thyroid cancer when I was thirteen. (I didn’t tell him that the diagnosis
camethreemonthsafterIgotmyfirstperiod.Like:Congratulations!You’rea
woman.Nowdie.)Itwas,weweretold,incurable.
Ihadasurgerycalledradicalneckdissection,whichisaboutaspleasant
asitsounds.Thenradiation.Thentheytriedsomechemoformylungtumors.
Thetumorsshrank, thengrew.Bythen,Iwas fourteen.Mylungsstartedto
fillupwithwater.Iwaslookingprettydead—myhandsandfeetballooned;
my skin cracked; my lips were perpetually blue. They’ve got this drug that
makes you not feel so completely terrified about the fact that you can’t
breathe,andIhadalotofitflowingintomethroughaPICCline,andmore
thanadozenotherdrugsbesides.Butevenso,there’sacertainunpleasantness
todrowning,particularlywhenitoccursoverthecourseofseveralmonths.I
finallyendedupintheICUwithpneumonia,andmymomkneltbytheside
ofmybedandsaid,“Areyouready,sweetie?”andItoldherIwasready,and
mydadjustkepttellingmehelovedmeinthisvoicethatwasnotbreakingso
much as already broken, and I kept telling him that I loved him, too, and
everyonewas holdinghands, and Icouldn’tcatchmy breath, andmy lungs
were acting desperate, gasping, pulling me out of the bed trying to find a
positionthatcouldgetthemair,andIwasembarrassedbytheirdesperation,
disgustedthattheywouldn’tjustletgo,andIremembermymomtellingmeit
wasokay,thatIwasokay,thatIwouldbeokay,andmyfatherwastryingso
hardnottosobthatwhenhedid,whichwasregularly,itwasanearthquake.
AndIrememberwantingnottobeawake.
EveryonefiguredIwasfinished,butmyCancerDoctorMariamanaged
togetsomeofthefluidoutofmylungs,andshortlythereaftertheantibiotics
they’dgivenmeforthepneumoniakickedin.
I woke up and soon got into one of those experimental trials that are
famous in the Republic of Cancervania for Not Working. The drug was
Phalanxifor, this molecule designed to attach itself to cancer cells and slow
theirgrowth.Itdidn’tworkinabout70percentofpeople. Butitworkedin
me.Thetumorsshrank.
And they stayed shrunk. Huzzah, Phalanxifor! In the past eighteen
months,mymetshavehardlygrown,leavingmewithlungsthatsuckatbeing
lungsbutcould,conceivably,strugglealongindefinitelywiththeassistanceof
drizzledoxygenanddailyPhalanxifor.
Admittedly,myCancerMiraclehadonlyresultedinabitofpurchased
time. (I did not yet know the size of the bit.) But when telling Augustus
Waters,Ipaintedtherosiestpossiblepicture,embellishingthemiraculousness
ofthemiracle.
“Sonowyougottagobacktoschool,”hesaid.
“Iactuallycan’t,”Iexplained,“becauseIalreadygotmyGED.SoI’m
takingclassesatMCC,”whichwasourcommunitycollege.
“A college girl,” he said, nodding. “That explains the aura of
sophistication.”Hesmirkedatme.Ishovedhisupperarmplayfully.Icould
feelthemusclerightbeneaththeskin,alltenseandamazing.
We made a wheels-screeching turn into a subdivision with eight-foot-
high stucco walls. His house was the first one on the left. A two-story
colonial.Wejerkedtoahaltinhisdriveway.
Ifollowedhiminside.Awoodenplaqueintheentrywaywasengravedin
cursive with the words Home Is Where the Heart Is, and the entire house
turnedout tobe festooned insuch observations. Good Friends Are Hard to
Findand ImpossibletoForget read an illustration above the coatrack. True
Love Is Born from Hard Times promised a needlepointed pillow in their
antique-furnished living room. Augustus saw me reading. “My parents call
themEncouragements,”heexplained.“They’reeverywhere.”
His mom and dad called him Gus. They were making enchiladas in the
kitchen(apieceofstainedglassbythesinkreadinbubblylettersFamilyIs
Forever). His mom was putting chicken into tortillas, which his dad then
rolled up and placed in a glass pan. They didn’t seem too surprised by my
arrival,whichmadesense:ThefactthatAugustusmademefeelspecialdid
notnecessarilyindicatethatIwasspecial.Maybehebroughthomeadifferent
girleverynighttoshowhermoviesandfeelherup.
“ThisisHazelGrace,”hesaid,bywayofintroduction.
“JustHazel,”Isaid.
“How’sitgoing,Hazel?”askedGus’sdad.Hewastall—almostastallas
Gus—andskinnyinawaythatparentallyagedpeopleusuallyaren’t.
“Okay,”Isaid.
“HowwasIsaac’sSupportGroup?”
“Itwasincredible,”Gussaid.
“You’re such a Debbie Downer,” his mom said. “Hazel, do you enjoy
it?”
I paused a second, trying to figure out if my response should be
calibrated to please Augustus or his parents. “Most of the people are really
nice,”Ifinallysaid.
“That’sexactlywhatwefoundwithfamiliesatMemorialwhenwewere
inthethickofitwithGus’streatment,”hisdadsaid.“Everybodywassokind.
Strong,too.Inthedarkestdays,theLordputsthebestpeopleintoyourlife.”
“Quick,givemeathrowpillowandsomethreadbecausethatneedsto
be an Encouragement,” Augustus said, and his dad looked a little annoyed,
butthenGuswrappedhislongarmaroundhisdad’sneckandsaid,“I’mjust
kidding, Dad. I like the freaking Encouragements. I really do. I just can’t
admititbecauseI’mateenager.”Hisdadrolledhiseyes.
“You’re joiningus fordinner,I hope?”asked his mom.She wassmall
andbrunetteandvaguelymousy.
“Iguess?”Isaid.“Ihavetobehomebyten.AlsoIdon’t,um,eatmeat?”
“Noproblem.We’llvegetarianizesome,”shesaid.
“Animalsarejusttoocute?”Gusasked.
“IwanttominimizethenumberofdeathsIamresponsiblefor,”Isaid.
Gusopenedhismouthtorespondbutthenstoppedhimself.
Hismomfilledthesilence.“Well,Ithinkthat’swonderful.”
They talked to me for a bit about how the enchiladas were Famous
Waters Enchiladas and Not to Be Missed and about how Gus’s curfew was
alsoten,andhowtheywereinherentlydistrustfulofanyonewhogavetheir
kidscurfewsotherthanten,andwasIinschool—“she’sacollegestudent,”
Augustus interjected—and how the weather was truly and absolutely
extraordinaryforMarch,andhowinspringallthingsarenew,andtheydidn’t
evenonce ask me about the oxygen or my diagnosis, which was weird and
wonderful, and then Augustus said, “Hazel and I are going to watch V for
Vendettasoshecanseeherfilmicdoppelgänger,mid-twothousandsNatalie
Portman.”
“ThelivingroomTVisyoursforthewatching,”hisdadsaidhappily.
“Ithinkwe’reactuallygonnawatchitinthebasement.”
Hisdadlaughed.“Goodtry.Livingroom.”
“ButIwanttoshowHazelGracethebasement,”Augustussaid.
“JustHazel,”Isaid.
“So show Just Hazel the basement,” said his dad. “And then come
upstairsandwatchyourmovieinthelivingroom.”
Augustus puffed out his cheeks, balanced on his leg, and twisted his
hips,throwingtheprostheticforward.“Fine,”hemumbled.
I followed him down carpeted stairs to a huge basement bedroom. A
shelfatmyeyelevelreachedallthewayaroundtheroom,anditwasstuffed
solidwithbasketballmemorabilia:dozensoftrophieswithgoldplasticmen
mid–jumpshotordribblingorreachingforalayuptowardanunseenbasket.
Therewerealsolotsofsignedballsandsneakers.
“Iusedtoplaybasketball,”heexplained.
“Youmust’vebeenprettygood.”
“Iwasn’tbad,butalltheshoesandballsareCancerPerks.”Hewalked
towardtheTV,whereahugepileofDVDsandvideogameswerearranged
into a vague pyramid shape. He bent at the waist and snatched up V for
Vendetta.“Iwas,like,theprototypicalwhiteHoosierkid,”hesaid.“Iwasall
aboutresurrectingthelostartofthemidrangejumper,butthenonedayIwas
shootingfreethrows—juststandingatthefoullineattheNorthCentralgym
shooting from a rack of balls. All at once, I couldn’t figure out why I was
methodically tossing a spherical object through a toroidal object. It seemed
likethestupidestthingIcouldpossiblybedoing.
“I started thinking about little kids putting a cylindrical peg through a
circularhole,andhowtheydoitoverandoveragainformonthswhenthey
figure it out, and how basketball was basically just a slightly more aerobic
version of that same exercise. Anyway, for the longest time, I just kept
sinkingfreethrows.Ihiteightyinarow,myall-timebest,butasIkeptgoing,
Ifeltmoreandmorelikeatwo-year-old.AndthenforsomereasonIstarted
tothinkabouthurdlers.Areyouokay?”
I’dtakenaseatonthecornerofhisunmadebed.Iwasn’t trying to be
suggestiveoranything;IjustgotkindoftiredwhenIhadtostandalot.I’d
stood in the living room and then there had been the stairs, and then more
standing,whichwasquitealotofstandingforme,andIdidn’twanttofaint
oranything.IwasabitofaVictorianLady,fainting-wise.“I’mfine,”Isaid.
“Justlistening.Hurdlers?”
“Yeah,hurdlers.Idon’tknowwhy.Istartedthinkingaboutthemrunning
their hurdle races, and jumping over these totally arbitrary objects that had
been set in their path. And I wondered if hurdlers ever thought, you know,
Thiswouldgofasterifwejustgotridofthehurdles.”
“Thiswasbeforeyourdiagnosis?”Iasked.
“Right,well,therewasthat,too.”Hesmiledwithhalfhismouth.“The
day of the existentially fraught free throws was coincidentally also my last
day of dual leggedness. I had a weekend between when they scheduled the
amputation and when it happened. My own little glimpse of what Isaac is
goingthrough.”
I nodded. I liked Augustus Waters. I really, really, really liked him. I
likedthewayhisstoryendedwithsomeoneelse.Ilikedhisvoice.Ilikedthat
he took existentially fraught free throws. I liked that he was a tenured
professor in the Department of Slightly Crooked Smiles with a dual
appointmentintheDepartmentofHavingaVoiceThatMadeMySkinFeel
MoreLikeSkin.AndIlikedthathehadtwonames.I’vealwayslikedpeople
withtwonames,becauseyougettomakeupyourmindwhatyoucallthem:
GusorAugustus?Me,IwasalwaysjustHazel,univalentHazel.
“Doyouhavesiblings?”Iasked.
“Huh?”heanswered,seemingalittledistracted.
“Yousaidthatthingaboutwatchingkidsplay.”
“Oh,yeah,no.Ihavenephews,frommyhalfsisters.Butthey’reolder.
They’relike—DAD,HOWOLDAREJULIEANDMARTHA?”
“Twenty-eight!”
“They’reliketwenty-eight.TheyliveinChicago.Theyarebothmarried
to very fancy lawyer dudes. Or banker dudes. I can’t remember. You have
siblings?”
Ishookmyheadno.“Sowhat’syourstory?”heasked,sittingdownnext
tomeatasafedistance.
“Ialreadytoldyoumystory.Iwasdiagnosedwhen—”
“No,notyourcancerstory.Yourstory.Interests,hobbies,passions,weird
fetishes,etcetera.”
“Um,”Isaid.
“Don’ttellmeyou’reoneofthosepeoplewhobecomestheirdisease.I
know so many people like that. It’s disheartening. Like, cancer is in the
growth business, right? The taking-people-over business. But surely you
haven’tletitsucceedprematurely.”
ItoccurredtomethatperhapsIhad.Istruggledwithhowtopitchmyself
to Augustus Waters, which enthusiasms to embrace, and in the silence that
followed it occurred to me that I wasn’t very interesting. “I am pretty
unextraordinary.”
“Ireject that outof hand. Thinkof something youlike. The firstthing
thatcomestomind.”
“Um.Reading?”
“Whatdoyouread?”
“Everything. From, like, hideous romance to pretentious fiction to
poetry.Whatever.”
“Doyouwritepoetry,too?”
“No.Idon’twrite.”
“There!” Augustus almost shouted. “Hazel Grace, you are the only
teenagerinAmericawhoprefersreadingpoetrytowritingit.Thistellsmeso
much.Youreadalotofcapital-Ggreatbooks,don’tyou?”
“Iguess?”
“What’syourfavorite?”
“Um,”Isaid.
My favorite book, by a wide margin, was An Imperial Affliction,but I
didn’tliketotellpeopleaboutit.Sometimes,youreadabookanditfillsyou
withthisweirdevangelicalzeal,andyoubecomeconvincedthattheshattered
worldwillneverbeputbacktogetherunlessanduntilalllivinghumansread
the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you
can’ttellpeopleabout,bookssospecialandrareandyours that advertising
youraffectionfeelslikeabetrayal.
Itwasn’teventhatthebookwassogoodoranything;itwasjustthatthe
author,PeterVanHouten,seemedtounderstandmeinweirdandimpossible
ways.AnImperialAfflictionwasmybook,inthewaymybodywasmybody
andmythoughtsweremythoughts.
Even so, I told Augustus. “My favorite book is probably An Imperial
Affliction,”Isaid.
“Doesitfeaturezombies?”heasked.
“No,”Isaid.
“Stormtroopers?”
Ishookmyhead.“It’snotthatkindofbook.”
Hesmiled.“Iamgoingtoreadthisterriblebookwiththeboringtitlethat
does not contain stormtroopers,” he promised, and I immediately felt like I
shouldn’thavetoldhimaboutit.Augustusspunaroundtoastackofbooks
beneathhisbedsidetable.Hegrabbedapaperbackandapen.Ashescribbled
aninscriptionontothetitlepage,hesaid,“AllIaskinexchangeisthatyou
readthisbrilliantandhauntingnovelizationofmyfavoritevideogame.”He
heldupthebook,whichwascalledThePriceofDawn.Ilaughedandtookit.
Ourhandskindofgotmuddledtogetherinthebookhandoff,andthenhewas
holdingmyhand.“Cold,”hesaid,pressingafingertomypalewrist.
“Notcoldsomuchasunderoxygenated,”Isaid.
“Iloveitwhenyoutalkmedicaltome,”hesaid.Hestood,andpulled
meupwithhim,anddidnotletgoofmyhanduntilwereachedthestairs.
***
We watched the movie with several inches of couch between us. I did the
totally middle-schooly thing wherein I put my hand on the couch about
halfwaybetweenustolethimknowthatitwasokaytoholdit,buthedidn’t
try. An hour into the movie, Augustus’s parents came in and served us the
enchiladas,whichweateonthecouch,andtheywereprettydelicious.
Themoviewasaboutthisheroicguyinamaskwhodiedheroicallyfor
NataliePortman,who’sprettybadassandveryhotanddoesnothaveanything
approachingmypuffysteroidface.
Asthecreditsrolled,hesaid,“Prettygreat,huh?”
“Prettygreat,”Iagreed,althoughitwasn’t,really.Itwaskindofaboy
movie.Idon’tknowwhyboysexpectustolikeboymovies.Wedon’texpect
themtolikegirlmovies.“Ishouldgethome.Classinthemorning,”Isaid.
I sat on the couch for a while as Augustus searched for his keys. His
momsatdownnexttomeandsaid,“Ijustlovethisone,don’tyou?”IguessI
hadbeenlookingtowardtheEncouragementabovetheTV,adrawingofan
angelwiththecaptionWithoutPain,HowCouldWeKnowJoy?
(ThisisanoldargumentinthefieldofThinkingAboutSuffering,andits
stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries, but
sufficeittosaythattheexistenceofbroccolidoesnotinanywayaffectthe
tasteofchocolate.)“Yes,”Isaid.“Alovelythought.”
Idrove Augustus’s car home with Augustus riding shotgun. He played
meacouplesongshelikedbyabandcalledTheHecticGlow,andtheywere
goodsongs,butbecauseIdidn’tknowthemalready,theyweren’tasgoodto
meastheyweretohim.Ikeptglancingoverathisleg,ortheplacewherehis
leghadbeen,tryingtoimaginewhatthefakeleglookedlike.Ididn’twantto
careabout it, butIdid alittle.He probably caredaboutmy oxygen.Illness
repulses.I’dlearnedthatalongtimeago,andIsuspectedAugustushad,too.
AsIpulledupoutsideofmyhouse,Augustusclickedtheradiooff.The
air thickened. He was probably thinking about kissing me, and I was
definitely thinking about kissing him. Wondering if I wanted to. I’d kissed
boys,butithadbeenawhile.Pre-Miracle.
Iputthecarinparkandlookedoverathim.Hereallywasbeautiful.I
knowboysaren’tsupposedtobe,buthewas.
“Hazel Grace,” he said, my name new and better in his voice. “It has
beenarealpleasuretomakeyouracquaintance.”
“Ditto,Mr.Waters,”Isaid.Ifeltshylookingathim.Icouldnotmatch
theintensityofhiswaterblueeyes.
“MayIseeyouagain?”heasked.Therewasanendearingnervousnessin
hisvoice.
Ismiled.“Sure.”
“Tomorrow?”heasked.
“Patience, grasshopper,” I counseled. “You don’t want to seem
overeager.”
“Right,that’s why I said tomorrow,” he said. “I want to see you again
tonight.ButI’mwillingtowaitallnightandmuchoftomorrow.”Irolledmy
eyes.“I’mserious,”hesaid.
“You don’teven knowme,”Isaid.Igrabbedthe bookfromthecenter
console.“HowaboutIcallyouwhenIfinishthis?”
“Butyoudon’tevenhavemyphonenumber,”hesaid.
“Istronglysuspectyouwroteitinthebook.”
Hebrokeoutintothatgoofysmile.“Andyousaywedon’tknoweach
other.”
CHAPTERTHREE
IstayedupprettylatethatnightreadingThePriceofDawn.(Spoileralert:
The price of dawn is blood.) It wasn’t An Imperial Affliction, but the
protagonist,StaffSergeantMaxMayhem,wasvaguelylikabledespitekilling,
bymycount,nofewerthan118individualsin284pages.
SoIgotuplatethenextmorning,aThursday.Mom’spolicywasnever
to wake me up, because one of the job requirements of Professional Sick
Personissleepingalot,soIwaskindofconfusedatfirstwhenIjoltedawake
withherhandsonmyshoulders.
“It’salmostten,”shesaid.
“Sleepfightscancer,”Isaid.“Iwasuplatereading.”
“Itmustbesomebook,”shesaidasshekneltdownnexttothebedand
unscrewedmefrommylarge,rectangularoxygenconcentrator,whichIcalled
Philip,becauseitjustkindoflookedlikeaPhilip.
MomhookedmeuptoaportabletankandthenremindedmeIhadclass.
“Didthatboygiveittoyou?”sheaskedoutofnowhere.
“Byit,doyoumeanherpes?”
“Youaretoomuch,”Momsaid.“Thebook,Hazel.Imeanthebook.”
“Yeah,hegavemethebook.”
“Icantellyoulikehim,”shesaid,eyebrowsraised,asifthisobservation
required some uniquely maternal instinct. I shrugged. “I told you Support
Groupwouldbeworthyourwhile.”
“Didyoujustwaitoutsidetheentiretime?”
“Yes. Ibroughtsome paperwork. Anyway,timetoface the day,young
lady.”
“Mom.Sleep.Cancer.Fighting.”
“Iknow,love,butthereisclasstoattend.Also,todayis...”Thegleein
Mom’svoicewasevident.
“Thursday?”
“Didyouseriouslyforget?”
“Maybe?”
“It’s Thursday, March twenty-ninth!” she basically screamed, a
dementedsmileplasteredtoherface.
“Youarereallyexcitedaboutknowingthedate!”Iyelledback.
“HAZEL!IT’SYOURTHIRTY-THIRDHALFBIRTHDAY!”
“Ohhhhhh,” I said. My mom was really super into celebration
maximization.IT’SARBORDAY!LET’SHUGTREESANDEATCAKE!
COLUMBUS BROUGHT SMALLPOX TO THE NATIVES; WE SHALL
RECALLTHEOCCASIONWITHAPICNIC!,etc.“Well,Happythirty-third
HalfBirthdaytome,”Isaid.
“Whatdoyouwanttodoonyourveryspecialday?”
“Comehomefromclassandsettheworldrecordfornumberofepisodes
ofTopChefwatchedconsecutively?”
MomreacheduptothisshelfabovemybedandgrabbedBluie,theblue
stuffed bear I’d had since I was, like, one—back when it was socially
acceptabletonameone’sfriendsaftertheirhue.
“You don’t want to go to a movie with Kaitlyn or Matt or someone?”
whoweremyfriends.
Thatwasanidea.“Sure,”Isaid.“I’lltextKaitlynandseeifshewantsto
gotothemallorsomethingafterschool.”
Momsmiled,huggingthebeartoherstomach.“Is itstillcooltogoto
themall?”sheasked.
“Itakequitealotofprideinnotknowingwhat’scool,”Ianswered.
***
I texted Kaitlyn, took a shower, got dressed, and then Mom drove me to
school.MyclasswasAmericanLiterature,alectureaboutFrederickDouglass
inamostlyemptyauditorium,anditwasincrediblydifficult to stay awake.
Fortyminutesintotheninety-minuteclass,Kaitlyntextedback.
Awesomesauce.HappyHalfBirthday.Castletonat3:32?
Kaitlynhadthekindofpackedsociallifethatneedstobescheduleddownto
theminute.Iresponded:
Soundsgood.I’llbeatthefoodcourt.
Mom drove me directly from school to the bookstore attached to the
mall,whereIpurchasedbothMidnightDawnsandRequiemforMayhem,the
firsttwosequelstoThePriceofDawn,andthenIwalkedover to the huge
foodcourtandboughtaDietCoke.Itwas3:21.
Iwatchedthesekidsplayinginthepirate-shipindoorplaygroundwhileI
read.Therewasthistunnelthatthesetwokidskeptcrawlingthroughoverand
overandtheyneverseemedtogettired,whichmademethinkofAugustus
Watersandtheexistentiallyfraughtfreethrows.
Mom was also in the food court, alone, sitting in a corner where she
thoughtIcouldn’tseeher,eatingacheesesteaksandwichandreadingthrough
somepapers.Medicalstuff,probably.Thepaperworkwasendless.
At 3:32 precisely, I noticed Kaitlyn striding confidently past the Wok
House.ShesawmethemomentIraisedmyhand,flashedherverywhiteand
newlystraightenedteethatme,andheadedover.
She wore a knee-length charcoal coat that fit perfectly and sunglasses
thatdominatedherface.Shepushedthemupontothetopofherheadasshe
leaneddowntohugme.
“Darling,”shesaid,vaguelyBritish.“Howareyou?”Peopledidn’tfind
the accent odd or off-putting. Kaitlyn just happened to be an extremely
sophisticated twenty-five-year-old British socialite stuck inside a sixteen-
year-oldbodyinIndianapolis.Everyoneacceptedit.
“I’mgood.Howareyou?”
“Idon’tevenknowanymore.Isthatdiet?”Inoddedandhandedittoher.
Shesippedthroughthestraw.“Idowishyouwereatschoolthesedays.Some
oftheboyshavebecomedownrightedible.”
“Oh,yeah?Likewho?”Iasked.Sheproceededtonamefiveguyswe’d
attended elementary and middle school with, but I couldn’t picture any of
them.
“I’vebeendatingDerekWellingtonforabit,”shesaid,“butIdon’tthink
it will last. He’s such a boy. But enough about me. What is new in the
Hazelverse?”
“Nothing,really,”Isaid.
“Healthisgood?”
“Thesame,Iguess?”
“Phalanxifor!” she enthused, smiling. “So you could just live forever,
right?”
“Probablynotforever,”Isaid.
“Butbasically,”shesaid.“Whatelseisnew?”
IthoughtoftellingherthatIwasseeingaboy,too, or at least thatI’d
watchedamoviewithone,justbecauseIknewitwouldsurpriseandamaze
her that anyone as disheveled and awkward and stunted as me could even
briefly win the affections of a boy. But I didn’t really have much to brag
about,soIjustshrugged.
“Whatinheavenisthat?”askedKaitlyn,gesturingtothebook.
“Oh,it’ssci-fi.I’vegottenkindaintoit.It’saseries.”
“Iamalarmed.Shallweshop?”
Wewenttothisshoestore.Aswewereshopping,Kaitlynkeptpickingoutall
these open-toed flats for me and saying, “These would look cute on you,”
whichreminded methat Kaitlyn neverwore open-toedshoes on accountof
howshehatedherfeetbecauseshefelthersecondtoesweretoolong,asif
thesecondtoewasawindowintothesoulorsomething.SowhenIpointed
out a pair of sandals that would suit her skin tone, she was like, “Yeah,
but . . .” the but being but they will expose my hideous second toes to the
public,andIsaid,“Kaitlyn,you’retheonlypersonI’veeverknowntohave
toe-specificdysmorphia,”andshesaid,“Whatisthat?”
“Youknow,likewhenyoulookinthemirrorandthethingyouseeisnot
thethingasitreallyis.”
“Oh.Oh,”shesaid.“Doyoulikethese?”Sheheldupapairofcutebut
unspectacular Mary Janes, and I nodded, and she found her size and tried
them on, pacing up and down the aisle, watching her feet in the knee-high
angledmirrors.Thenshegrabbedapairofstrappyhookershoesandsaid,“Is
it even possible to walk in these? I mean, I would just die—” and then
stopped short, looking at me as if tosay I’msorry, as if it were a crime to
mention death to the dying. “You should try them on,” Kaitlyn continued,
tryingtopaperovertheawkwardness.
“I’dsoonerdie,”Iassuredher.
I ended up just picking out some flip-flops so that I could have
somethingtobuy,andthenIsatdownononeofthebenchesoppositeabank
ofshoesandwatchedKaitlynsnakeherwaythroughtheaisles,shoppingwith
thekindof intensity andfocusthat one usuallyassociateswithprofessional
chess.IkindofwantedtotakeoutMidnightDawnsandreadforawhile,butI
knewthat’dberude,soIjustwatchedKaitlyn.Occasionallyshe’dcircleback
to me clutching some closed-toe prey and say, “This?” and I would try to
makeanintelligentcommentabouttheshoe,andthenfinallysheboughtthree
pairs and I bought my flip-flops and then as we exited she said,
“Anthropologie?”
“Ishouldheadhomeactually,”Isaid.“I’mkindatired.”
“Sure,ofcourse,”shesaid.“Ihavetoseeyoumoreoften,darling.”She
placed her hands on my shoulders,kissed meon both cheeks, and marched
off,hernarrowhipsswishing.
Ididn’tgohome,though.I’dtoldMomtopickmeupatsix,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.IlikedStaffSergeantMaxMayhem,eventhoughhe
didn’thavemuchinthewayofatechnicalpersonality,butmostlyIlikedthat
hisadventureskepthappening.Therewerealwaysmorebadguystokilland
more good guys to save. New wars started even before the old ones were
won.Ihadn’treadarealserieslikethatsinceIwasakid,anditwasexciting
toliveagaininaninfinitefiction.
Twenty pages from the end of MidnightDawns, things started to look
prettybleakforMayhemwhenhewasshotseventeentimeswhileattempting
torescuea(blond,American)hostagefromtheEnemy.Butasareader,Idid
not despair. The war effort would go on without him. There could—and
would—be sequels starring his cohorts: Specialist Manny Loco and Private
JasperJacksandtherest.
I was just about to the end when this little girl with barretted braids
appearedinfrontofmeandsaid,“What’sinyournose?”
AndIsaid,“Um,it’scalledacannula.Thesetubesgivemeoxygenand
helpmebreathe.”Hermotherswoopedinandsaid,“Jackie,”disapprovingly,
butIsaid,“Nono,it’sokay,”becauseittotallywas,andthenJackieasked,
“Wouldtheyhelpmebreathe,too?”
“Idunno.Let’stry.”ItookitoffandletJackiestickthecannulainher
noseandbreathe.“Tickles,”shesaid.
“Iknow,right?”
“IthinkI’mbreathingbetter,”shesaid.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,”Isaid,“IwishIcouldgiveyoumycannulabutIkindofreally
need the help.” I already felt the loss. I focused on my breathing as Jackie
handed the tubes back to me. I gave them a quick swipe with my T-shirt,
lacedthetubesbehindmyears,andputthenubbinsbackinplace.
“Thanksforlettingmetryit,”shesaid.
“Noproblem.”
“Jackie,”hermothersaidagain,andthistimeIlethergo.
Ireturnedtothebook,whereStaffSergeantMaxMayhemwasregretting
thathehadbutonelifetogiveforhiscountry,butIkeptthinkingaboutthat
littlekid,andhowmuchIlikedher.
TheotherthingaboutKaitlyn,Iguess,wasthatitcouldneveragainfeel
naturaltotalk to her.Anyattemptsto feign normalsocialinteractionswere
justdepressingbecauseitwassoglaringlyobviousthateveryoneIspoketo
for the rest of my life would feel awkward and self-conscious around me,
exceptmaybekidslikeJackiewhojustdidn’tknowanybetter.
Anyway,Ireallydidlikebeingalone.IlikedbeingalonewithpoorStaff
Sergeant MaxMayhem, who—oh, comeon,he’s notgoingto survivethese
seventeenbulletwounds,ishe?
(Spoileralert:Helives.)
CHAPTERFOUR
Iwenttobedalittleearlythatnight,changingintoboyboxersandaT-shirt
beforecrawlingunderthecoversofmybed,whichwasqueensizeandpillow
toppedandoneofmyfavoriteplacesintheworld.AndthenIstartedreading
AnImperialAfflictionforthemillionthtime.
AIAisaboutthisgirlnamedAnna(whonarratesthestory)andherone-
eyedmom,whoisaprofessionalgardenerobsessedwithtulips,andtheyhave
anormallower-middle-classlifeinalittlecentralCaliforniatownuntilAnna
getsthisrarebloodcancer.
Butit’snotacancerbook, becausecancer bookssuck. Like,in cancer
books, the cancer person starts a charity that raises money to fight cancer,
right? And this commitment to charity reminds the cancer person of the
essentialgoodnessofhumanityandmakeshim/herfeellovedandencouraged
becauses/hewillleaveacancer-curinglegacy.ButinAIA,Annadecidesthat
beingapersonwithcancerwhostartsacancercharityisabitnarcissistic,so
shestartsacharitycalledTheAnnaFoundationforPeoplewithCancerWho
WanttoCureCholera.
Also, Anna is honest about all of it in a way no one else really is:
Throughout the book, she refers to herself as the side effect, which is just
totally correct. Cancer kids are essentially side effects of the relentless
mutationthatmadethediversityoflifeonearthpossible.Soasthestorygoes
on,shegetssicker,thetreatmentsanddiseaseracingtokillher,andhermom
fallsinlovewiththisDutchtuliptraderAnnacallstheDutchTulipMan.The
Dutch Tulip Man has lots of money and very eccentric ideas about how to
treatcancer,butAnnathinksthisguymightbe aconmanandpossiblynot
evenDutch,andthenjustasthepossiblyDutchguyandhermomareaboutto
get married and Anna is about to start this crazy new treatment regimen
involving wheatgrass and low doses of arsenic, the book ends right in the
middleofa
Iknowit’saveryliterarydecisionandeverythingandprobablypartof
thereasonIlovethebooksomuch,butthereissomethingtorecommenda
story that ends. And if it can’t end, then it should at least continue into
perpetuityliketheadventuresofStaffSergeantMaxMayhem’splatoon.
IunderstoodthestoryendedbecauseAnnadiedorgottoosicktowrite
andthismidsentencethingwassupposedtoreflecthow lifereallyendsand
whatever, but there were characters other than Anna in the story, and it
seemedunfairthatIwouldneverfindoutwhathappenedtothem.I’dwritten,
care of his publisher, a dozen letters to Peter Van Houten, each asking for
some answers about what happens after the end of the story: whether the
Dutch Tulip Man is a con man, whether Anna’s mother ends up married to
him,whathappenstoAnna’sstupidhamster(whichhermomhates),whether
Anna’s friends graduate from high school—all that stuff. But he’d never
respondedtoanyofmyletters.
AIA was the only book Peter Van Houten had written, and all anyone
seemedtoknowabouthimwasthatafterthebookcameouthemovedfrom
theUnitedStatestotheNetherlandsandbecamekindofreclusive.Iimagined
thathewasworkingonasequelsetintheNetherlands—maybeAnna’smom
andtheDutchTulipManendupmovingthereandtryingtostartanewlife.
But it had been ten years since An Imperial Affliction came out, and Van
Houtenhadn’tpublishedsomuchasablogpost.Icouldn’twaitforever.
As I reread that night, I kept getting distracted imagining Augustus
Watersreadingthesamewords.Iwonderedifhe’dlikeit,orifhe’ddismissit
aspretentious.ThenIrememberedmypromisetocallhimafterreadingThe
PriceofDawn,soIfoundhisnumberonitstitlepageandtextedhim.
Price of Dawn review: Too many bodies. Not enough adjectives.
How’sAIA?
Herepliedaminutelater:
AsIrecall,youpromisedtoCALLwhenyoufinishedthebook,not
text.
SoIcalled.
“HazelGrace,”hesaiduponpickingup.
“Sohaveyoureadit?”
“Well,Ihaven’tfinishedit.It’ssixhundredfifty-onepageslongandI’ve
hadtwenty-fourhours.”
“Howfarareyou?”
“Fourfifty-three.”
“And?”
“I will withhold judgment until I finish. However, I will say that I’m
feelingabitembarrassedtohavegivenyouThePriceofDawn.”
“Don’tbe.I’malreadyonRequiemforMayhem.”
“A sparkling addition to the series. So, okay, is the tulip guy a crook?
I’mgettingabadvibefromhim.”
“Nospoilers,”Isaid.
“Ifheisanythingotherthanatotalgentleman,I’mgoingtogougehis
eyesout.”
“Soyou’reintoit.”
“Withholdingjudgment!WhencanIseeyou?”
“Certainlynotuntil you finishAnImperialAffliction.”I enjoyedbeing
coy.
“ThenI’dbetterhangupandstartreading.”
“You’dbetter,”Isaid,andthelineclickeddeadwithoutanotherword.
Flirtingwasnewtome,butIlikedit.
The next morning I had Twentieth-Century American Poetry at MCC. This
old woman gave a lecture wherein she managed to talk for ninety minutes
aboutSylviaPlathwithouteveroncequotingasinglewordofSylviaPlath.
When I got out of class, Mom was idling at the curb in front of the
building.
“Didyoujustwaitheretheentiretime?”Iaskedasshehurriedaroundto
helpmehaulmycartandtankintothecar.
“No,Ipickedupthedrycleaningandwenttothepostoffice.”
“Andthen?”
“Ihaveabooktoread,”shesaid.
“And I’m the one who needs to get a life.” I smiled, and she tried to
smile back, but there was something flimsy in it. After a second, I said,
“Wannagotoamovie?”
“Sure.Anythingyou’vebeenwantingtosee?”
“Let’sjustdothethingwherewegoandseewhateverstartsnext.”She
closedthedoorformeandwalkedaroundtothedriver’sside.Wedroveover
totheCastletontheaterandwatcheda3-Dmovieabouttalkinggerbils.Itwas
kindoffunny,actually.
WhenIgotoutofthemovie,IhadfourtextmessagesfromAugustus.
Tellmemycopyismissingthelasttwentypagesorsomething.
HazelGrace,tellmeIhavenotreachedtheendofthisbook.
OHMYGODDOTHEYGETMARRIEDORNOTOHMYGOD
WHATISTHIS
IguessAnnadiedandsoitjustends?CRUEL.Callmewhenyou
can.Hopeall’sokay.
SowhenIgothomeIwentoutintothebackyardandsatdownonthisrusting
latticedpatiochairandcalledhim.Itwasacloudyday,typicalIndiana:the
kindofweatherthatboxesyouin.Ourlittlebackyardwasdominatedbymy
childhoodswingset,whichwaslookingprettywaterloggedandpathetic.
Augustuspickeduponthethirdring.“HazelGrace,”hesaid.
“Sowelcome to thesweet tortureof reading AnImperial—” I stopped
whenIheardviolentsobbingontheotherendoftheline.“Areyouokay?”I
asked.
“I’mgrand,”Augustusanswered.“Iam,however,withIsaac,whoseems
to be decompensating.” More wailing. Like the death cries of some injured
animal.GusturnedhisattentiontoIsaac.“Dude.Dude.DoesSupportGroup
Hazelmakethisbetterorworse?Isaac.Focus.On.Me.”Afteraminute,Gus
saidtome,“Canyoumeetusatmyhousein,say,twentyminutes?”
“Sure,”Isaid,andhungup.
Ifyoucoulddriveinastraightline,itwouldonlytakelikefiveminutestoget
from my house to Augustus’s house, but you can’t drive in a straight line
becauseHollidayParkisbetweenus.
Eventhoughitwasageographicinconvenience,IreallylikedHolliday
Park.WhenIwasalittlekid,IwouldwadeintheWhiteRiverwithmydad
andtherewasalwaysthisgreatmomentwhenhewouldthrowmeupinthe
air,justtossmeawayfromhim,andIwouldreachoutmyarmsasIflewand
hewouldreachouthisarms,andthenwewouldbothseethatourarmswere
notgoingto touchandnoonewasgoingtocatchme,anditwouldkindof
scaretheshitoutofbothofusinthebestpossibleway,andthenIwouldlegs-
flailingly hit the water and then come up for air uninjured and the current
wouldbringmebacktohimasIsaidagain,Daddy,again.
I pulled into the driveway right next to an old black Toyota sedan I
figuredwasIsaac’scar.Cartingthetankbehindme,Iwalkeduptothedoor.I
knocked.Gus’sdadanswered.
“JustHazel,”hesaid.“Nicetoseeyou.”
“AugustussaidIcouldcomeover?”
“Yeah, he and Isaac are in the basement.” At which point there was a
wailfrombelow.“ThatwouldbeIsaac,”Gus’sdadsaid,andshookhishead
slowly. “Cindy had to go for a drive. The sound . . .” he said, drifting off.
“Anyway,Iguessyou’rewanteddownstairs.CanIcarryyour,uh,tank?”he
asked.
“Nah,I’mgood.Thanks,though,Mr.Waters.”
“Mark,”hesaid.
I was kind of scared to go down there. Listening to people howl in
miseryisnotamongmyfavoritepastimes.ButIwent.
“Hazel Grace,” Augustus said as he heard my footsteps. “Isaac, Hazel
fromSupportGroupiscomingdownstairs.Hazel,agentlereminder:Isaacis
inthemidstofapsychoticepisode.”
AugustusandIsaacweresittingontheflooringamingchairsshapedlike
lazyLs,staringupat a gargantuantelevision.The screen wassplitbetween
Isaac’s point of view on the left, and Augustus’s on the right. They were
soldiers fighting in a bombed-out modern city. I recognized the place from
The Price of Dawn. As I approached,I saw nothing unusual: just two guys
sittinginthelightwashofahugetelevisionpretendingtokillpeople.
OnlywhenIgotparalleltothemdidIseeIsaac’sface.Tearsstreamed
downhisreddenedcheeksinacontinualflow,hisfaceatautmaskofpain.He
stared at the screen, not even glancing at me, and howled, all the while
poundingawayathiscontroller.“Howareyou,Hazel?”askedAugustus.
“I’mokay,”Isaid.“Isaac?”Noresponse.Noteventheslightesthintthat
hewasawareofmyexistence.Justthetearsflowingdownhisfaceontohis
blackT-shirt.
Augustusglancedawayfromthescreeneversobriefly.“Youlooknice,”
he said. I was wearing this just-past-the-knees dress I’d had forever. “Girls
thinkthey’reonlyallowedtoweardressesonformaloccasions,butIlikea
woman who says, you know, I’m going over to see a boy who is having a
nervous breakdown, a boy whose connection to the sense of sight itself is
tenuous,andgoshdangit,Iamgoingtowearadressforhim.”
“And yet,” I said, “Isaac won’t so much as glance over at me. Too in
lovewithMonica,Isuppose,”whichresultedinacatastrophicsob.
“Bit of a touchy subject,” Augustus explained. “Isaac, I don’t know
aboutyou,butIhavethevaguesensethatwearebeingoutflanked.”Andthen
backtome,“IsaacandMonicaarenolongeragoingconcern,buthedoesn’t
wanttotalkaboutit.HejustwantstocryandplayCounterinsurgence2:The
PriceofDawn.”
“Fairenough,”Isaid.
“Isaac,Ifeel a growingconcernaboutour position. If youagree,head
overtothatpowerstation,andI’llcoveryou.”Isaacrantowardanondescript
building while Augustus fired a machine gun wildly in a series of quick
bursts,runningbehindhim.
“Anyway,”Augustussaid tome,“it doesn’thurt to talktohim.Ifyou
haveanysagewordsoffeminineadvice.”
“Iactuallythinkhisresponseisprobablyappropriate,”Isaidasaburst
ofgunfirefromIsaackilledanenemywho’dpeekedhisheadoutfrombehind
theburned-outhuskofapickuptruck.
Augustusnoddedatthescreen.“Paindemandstobefelt,”hesaid,which
was a line from An Imperial Affliction. “You’re sure there’s no one behind
us?”heaskedIsaac.Momentslater,tracerbulletsstartedwhizzingovertheir
heads.“Oh,goddamnit,Isaac,”Augustussaid.“Idon’tmeantocriticizeyou
inyourmomentofgreatweakness,butyou’veallowedustobeoutflanked,
and now there’s nothing between the terrorists and the school.” Isaac’s
character took off running toward the fire, zigging and zagging down a
narrowalleyway.
“You couldgooverthebridgeandcircleback,” Isaid,atacticI knew
aboutthankstoThePriceofDawn.
Augustus sighed. “Sadly, the bridge is already under insurgent control
duetoquestionablestrategizingbymybereftcohort.”
“Me?” Isaac said, his voice breathy. “Me?! You’re the one who
suggestedweholeupinthefreakingpowerstation.”
Gusturnedawayfromthescreenforasecondandflashedhiscrooked
smileatIsaac.“Iknewyoucouldtalk,buddy,”hesaid.“Nowlet’sgosave
somefictionalschoolchildren.”
Together, they ran down the alleyway, firing and hiding at the right
moments, until they reached this one-story, single-room schoolhouse. They
crouchedbehindawallacrossthestreetandpickedofftheenemyonebyone.
“Whydotheywanttogetintotheschool?”Iasked.
“They want the kids as hostages,” Augustus answered. His shoulders
rounded over his controller, slamming buttons, his forearms taut, veins
visible. Isaac leaned toward the screen, the controller dancing in his thin-
fingeredhands.“Getit get itgetit,”Augustussaid. The wavesofterrorists
continued, and they mowed down every one, their shooting astonishingly
precise,asithadtobe,lesttheyfireintotheschool.
“Grenade! Grenade!” Augustus shouted as something arced across the
screen, bounced in the doorway of the school, and then rolled against the
door.
Isaacdroppedhiscontrollerindisappointment.“Ifthebastardscan’ttake
hostages,theyjustkillthemandclaimwedidit.”
“Coverme!”Augustussaidashejumpedoutfrombehindthewalland
raced toward the school. Isaac fumbled for his controller and then started
firingwhilethebulletsraineddownonAugustus,whowasshotonceandthen
twicebutstillran,Augustusshouting,“YOUCAN’TKILLMAXMAYHEM!”
and with a final flurry of button combinations, he dove onto the grenade,
whichdetonatedbeneathhim.Hisdismemberedbodyexplodedlikeageyser
and the screen went red. A throaty voice said, “MISSION FAILURE,” but
Augustus seemed to think otherwise as he smiled at his remnants on the
screen. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and shoved it
betweenhisteeth.“Savedthekids,”hesaid.
“Temporarily,”Ipointedout.
“All salvation is temporary,” Augustus shot back. “I bought them a
minute. Maybe that’s the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour
thatbuysthemayear.Noone’sgonnabuythemforever,HazelGrace,butmy
lifeboughtthemaminute.Andthat’snotnothing.”
“Whoa,okay,”Isaid.“We’rejusttalkingaboutpixels.”
Heshrugged,asifhebelievedthegamemightbereallyreal.Isaacwas
wailing again. Augustus snapped his head back to him. “Another go at the
mission,corporal?”
Isaac shook his head no. He leaned over Augustus to look at me and
throughtightlystrungvocalcordssaid,“Shedidn’twanttodoitafter.”
“Shedidn’twanttodumpablindguy,”Isaid.Henodded,thetearsnot
liketearssomuchasaquietmetronome—steady,endless.
“She said she couldn’t handle it,” he told me. “I’m about to lose my
eyesightandshecan’thandleit.”
Iwasthinkingaboutthewordhandle,andalltheunholdablethingsthat
gethandled.“I’msorry,”Isaid.
Hewipedhissoppingfacewithasleeve.Behindhisglasses,Isaac’seyes
seemedsobigthateverythingelseonhisfacekindofdisappearedanditwas
justthesedisembodiedfloatingeyesstaringatme—onereal,oneglass.“It’s
unacceptable,”hetoldme.“It’stotallyunacceptable.”
“Well,tobefair,”Isaid,“Imean,sheprobablycan’thandleit.Neither
canyou,butshedoesn’thavetohandleit.Andyoudo.”
“Ikeptsaying‘always’tohertoday,‘alwaysalwaysalways,’andshejust
kepttalkingovermeandnotsayingitback.ItwaslikeIwasalreadygone,
youknow?‘Always’wasapromise!Howcanyoujustbreakthepromise?”
“Sometimespeopledon’tunderstandthepromisesthey’remakingwhen
theymakethem,”Isaid.
Isaac shot me a look. “Right, of course. But you keep the promise
anyway.That’swhatloveis.Loveiskeepingthepromiseanyway.Don’tyou
believeintruelove?”
Ididn’tanswer.Ididn’thaveananswer.ButIthoughtthatiftruelove
didexist,thatwasaprettygooddefinitionofit.
“Well, I believe in true love,” Isaac said. “And I love her. And she
promised.Shepromisedmealways.”Hestoodandtookasteptowardme.I
pushed myself up, thinking he wanted a hug or something, but then he just
spunaround,likehecouldn’trememberwhyhe’dstoodupinthefirstplace,
andthenAugustusandIbothsawthisragesettleintohisface.
“Isaac,”Gussaid.
“What?”
“Youlookalittle...Pardonthedoubleentendre,myfriend,butthere’s
somethingalittleworrisomeinyoureyes.”
SuddenlyIsaacstarted kicking thecrapoutof hisgamingchair,which
somersaulted back toward Gus’s bed. “Here we go,” said Augustus. Isaac
chasedafterthechairandkickeditagain.“Yes,”Augustussaid.“Getit.Kick
the shit out of that chair!” Isaac kicked the chair again, until it bounced
against Gus’s bed, and then he grabbed one of the pillows and started
slammingitagainstthewallbetweenthebedandthetrophyshelfabove.
Augustuslookedoveratme,cigarettestillinhismouth,andhalfsmiled.
“Ican’tstopthinkingaboutthatbook.”
“Iknow,right?”
“Heneversaidwhathappenstotheothercharacters?”
“No,”Itoldhim.Isaacwasstillthrottlingthewallwiththepillow.“He
moved to Amsterdam, which makes me think maybe he is writing a sequel
featuringtheDutchTulipMan,buthehasn’tpublishedanything.He’snever
interviewed.Hedoesn’tseemtobeonline.I’vewrittenhimabunchofletters
asking what happens to everyone, but he never responds. So . . . yeah.” I
stopped talking because Augustus didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, he
wassquintingatIsaac.
“Holdon,”hemumbledtome.HewalkedovertoIsaacandgrabbedhim
bytheshoulders.“Dude,pillowsdon’tbreak.Trysomethingthatbreaks.”
Isaacreachedfor a basketballtrophyfromtheshelf above thebedand
thenhelditoverhisheadasifwaitingforpermission.“Yes,”Augustussaid.
“Yes!” The trophy smashed against the floor, the plastic basketball player’s
armsplinteringoff,stillgraspingitsball.Isaacstompedonthetrophy.“Yes!”
Augustussaid.“Getit!”
Andthenbacktome,“I’vebeenlookingforawaytotellmyfatherthatI
actually sort of hate basketball, and I think we’ve found it.” The trophies
came down one after the other, and Isaac stomped on them and screamed
whileAugustusandIstoodafewfeetaway,bearingwitnesstothemadness.
The poor, mangled bodies of plastic basketballers littered the carpeted
ground:here,aballpalmedbyadisembodiedhand;there,twotorsolesslegs
caughtmidjump.Isaackeptattackingthetrophies,jumpingonthemwithboth
feet, screaming, breathless, sweaty, until finally he collapsed on top of the
jaggedtrophicremnants.
Augustussteppedtowardhimandlookeddown.“Feelbetter?”heasked.
“No,”Isaacmumbled,hischestheaving.
“That’sthe thing aboutpain,”Augustus said, andthenglancedback at
me.“Itdemandstobefelt.”
CHAPTERFIVE
IdidnotspeaktoAugustusagainforaboutaweek.Ihadcalledhimonthe
NightoftheBrokenTrophies,sopertraditionitwashisturntocall.Buthe
didn’t.Now,itwasn’tasifIheldmyphoneinmysweatyhandallday,staring
at it while wearing my Special Yellow Dress, patiently waiting for my
gentleman caller to live up to his sobriquet. I went about my life: I met
Kaitlynandher (cute butfranklynot Augustinian) boyfriend forcoffeeone
afternoon; I ingested my recommended daily allowance of Phalanxifor; I
attended classes three mornings that week at MCC; and every night, I sat
downtodinnerwithmymomanddad.
Sundaynight, wehad pizza withgreen peppersand broccoli.Wewere
seated around our little circular table in the kitchen when my phonestarted
singing,butIwasn’tallowedtocheckitbecausewehaveastrictno-phones-
during-dinnerrule.
SoIatealittlewhileMomandDadtalkedaboutthisearthquakethathad
justhappenedinPapuaNewGuinea.TheymetinthePeaceCorpsinPapua
New Guinea, and so whenever anything happened there, even something
terrible,itwaslikeallofasuddentheywerenotlargesedentarycreatures,but
theyoungandidealisticandself-sufficientandruggedpeopletheyhadonce
been,andtheirrapturewassuchthattheydidn’tevenglanceoveratmeasI
atefasterthanI’devereaten,transmittingitemsfrommyplateintomymouth
with a speed and ferocity that left me quite out of breath, which of course
mademeworrythatmylungswereagainswimminginarisingpooloffluid.
IbanishedthethoughtasbestIcould.IhadaPETscanscheduledinacouple
weeks. If something was wrong, I’d find out soon enough. Nothing to be
gainedbyworryingbetweennowandthen.
And yet still I worried. I liked being a person. I wanted to keep at it.
Worryisyetanothersideeffectofdying.
Finally I finished and said, “Can I be excused?” and they hardly even
paused from their conversation about the strengths and weaknesses of
Guinean infrastructure. I grabbed my phone from my purse on the kitchen
counterandcheckedmyrecentcalls.AugustusWaters.
Iwentoutthebackdoorintothetwilight.Icouldseetheswingset,andI
thought about walking out there and swinging while I talked to him, but it
seemedprettyfarawaygiventhateatingtiredme.
Instead,Ilaydowninthegrassonthepatio’sedge,lookedupatOrion,
theonlyconstellationIcouldrecognize,andcalledhim.
“HazelGrace,”hesaid.
“Hi,”Isaid.“Howareyou?”
“Grand,”hesaid.“Ihavebeenwantingtocallyouonanearlyminutely
basis,butIhavebeenwaitinguntilIcouldformacoherentthoughtinreAn
ImperialAffliction.”(Hesaid“inre.”Hereallydid.Thatboy.)
“And?”Isaid.
“Ithinkit’s,like.Readingit,Ijustkeptfeelinglike,like.”
“Like?”Iasked,teasinghim.
“Likeitwasagift?”hesaidaskingly.“Likeyou’dgivenmesomething
important.”
“Oh,”Isaidquietly.
“That’scheesy,”hesaid.“I’msorry.”
“No,”Isaid.“No.Don’tapologize.”
“Butitdoesn’tend.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.
“Torture.Itotallygetit,like,Igetthatshediedorwhatever.”
“Right,Iassumeso,”Isaid.
“And okay, fair enough, but there is this unwritten contract between
author and reader and I think not ending your book kind of violates that
contract.”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling defensive of Peter Van Houten. “That’s
partofwhatIlikeaboutthebookinsomeways.Itportraysdeathtruthfully.
Youdie in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence.But I do—
God,Idoreallywanttoknowwhathappenstoeveryoneelse.That’swhatI
askedhiminmyletters.Buthe,yeah,heneveranswers.”
“Right.Yousaidheisarecluse?”
“Correct.”
“Impossibletotrackdown.”
“Correct.”
“Utterlyunreachable,”Augustussaid.
“Unfortunatelyso,”Isaid.
“‘DearMr.Waters,’”heanswered.“‘Iamwritingtothankyouforyour
electroniccorrespondence,receivedviaMs.VliegenthartthissixthofApril,
fromtheUnitedStatesofAmerica,insofarasgeographycanbesaidtoexist
inourtriumphantlydigitizedcontemporaneity.’”
“Augustus,whatthehell?”
“Hehasanassistant,”Augustussaid.“LidewijVliegenthart.Ifoundher.
Iemailedher.Shegavehimtheemail.Herespondedviaheremailaccount.”
“Okay,okay.Keepreading.”
“‘My response is being written with ink and paper in the glorious
tradition of our ancestors and then transcribed by Ms. Vliegenthart into a
seriesof1sand0stotravelthroughtheinsipidwebwhichhaslatelyensnared
ourspecies,soIapologizeforanyerrorsoromissionsthatmayresult.
“‘Giventheentertainmentbacchanaliaatthedisposalofyoungmenand
womenofyourgeneration,Iamgratefultoanyoneanywherewhosetsaside
thehoursnecessarytoreadmylittlebook.ButIamparticularlyindebtedto
you,sir,bothforyourkindwordsaboutAnImperialAfflictionandfortaking
thetimetotellmethatthebook,andhereIquoteyoudirectly,“meantagreat
deal”toyou.
“‘Thiscomment, however, leadsme towonder: What do you meanby
meant?Giventhefinalfutilityofourstruggle,isthefleetingjoltofmeaning
that art gives us valuable? Or is the only value in passing the time as
comfortablyaspossible?Whatshouldastoryseektoemulate,Augustus?A
ringing alarm? A call to arms? A morphine drip? Of course, like all
interrogation of the universe, this line of inquiry inevitably reduces us to
askingwhatitmeanstobehumanandwhether—toborrowaphrasefromthe
angst-encumberedsixteen-year-oldsyounodoubtrevile—thereisapointtoit
all.
“‘I fear there is not, my friend, and that you would receive scant
encouragementfromfurtherencounterswithmywriting.Buttoansweryour
question:No, I have not writtenanything else,nor willI. I do not feel that
continuing to share my thoughts with readers would benefit either them or
me.Thankyouagainforyourgenerousemail.
“‘Yoursmostsincerely,PeterVanHouten,viaLidewijVliegenthart.’”
“Wow,”Isaid.“Areyoumakingthisup?”
“HazelGrace,couldI,withmymeagerintellectualcapacities,makeupa
letter from Peter Van Houten featuring phrases like ‘our triumphantly
digitizedcontemporaneity’?”
“Youcouldnot,”Iallowed.“CanI,canIhavetheemailaddress?”
“Ofcourse,”Augustussaid,likeitwasnotthebestgiftever.
IspentthenexttwohourswritinganemailtoPeterVanHouten.Itseemedto
getworseeachtimeIrewroteit,butIcouldn’tstopmyself.
DearMr.PeterVanHouten
(c/oLidewijVliegenthart),
My name is Hazel Grace Lancaster. My friend Augustus
Waters, who read An Imperial Affliction at my recommendation,
justreceivedanemailfromyouatthisaddress.Ihopeyouwillnot
mindthatAugustussharedthatemailwithme.
Mr. Van Houten, I understand from your email to Augustus
thatyouarenotplanningtopublishanymorebooks.Inaway,Iam
disappointed,butI’malsorelieved:Ineverhavetoworrywhether
your next book will live up to the magnificent perfection of the
original.Asathree-yearsurvivorofStageIVcancer,Icantellyou
thatyou got everythingrightin AnImperial Affliction.Or atleast
you got me right. Your book has a way of telling me what I’m
feelingbeforeIevenfeelit,andI’verereaditdozensoftimes.
I wonder, though, if you would mind answering a couple
questions I have about what happens after the end of the novel. I
understandthebookendsbecauseAnnadiesorbecomestooillto
continuewritingit,butIwouldreallyliketoknowwhathappensto
Anna’smom—whethershemarriedtheDutchTulipMan,whether
sheeverhasanotherchild,andwhethershestaysat917W.Temple,
etc. Also, is the Dutch Tulip Man a fraud or does he really love
them? What happens to Anna’s friends—particularly Claire and
Jake? Do they stay together? And lastly—I realize that this is the
kind of deep and thoughtful question you always hoped your
readerswouldask—whatbecomesofSisyphustheHamster?These
questionshavehauntedmeforyears—andIdon’tknowhowlongI
havelefttogetanswerstothem.
Iknowthesearenotimportantliteraryquestionsandthatyour
bookisfullofimportantliteraryquestions,butIwouldjustreally
liketoknow.
And of course, if you ever do decide to write anything else,
evenifyoudon’twanttopublishit,I’dlovetoreadit.Frankly,I’d
readyourgrocerylists.
Yourswithgreatadmiration,
HazelGraceLancaster
(age16)
AfterIsentit,IcalledAugustusback,andwestayeduplatetalkingaboutAn
Imperial Affliction, and I read him the Emily Dickinson poem that Van
Houtenhadusedforthetitle,andhesaidIhadagoodvoiceforreadingand
didn’tpausetoolongfor the linebreaks,andthenhetoldme that the sixth
PriceofDawnbook,TheBloodApproves,beginswithaquotefromapoem.
It took him a minute to find the book, but finally he read the quote to me.
“‘Sayyourlifebrokedown.Thelastgoodkiss/Youhadwasyearsago.’”
“Notbad,”Isaid.“Bitpretentious.IbelieveMaxMayhemwouldrefer
tothatas‘sissyshit.’”
“Yes,withhisteethgritted,nodoubt.God,Mayhemgritshisteethalot
in these books. He’s definitely going to get TMJ, if he survives all this
combat.”Andthenafterasecond,Gusasked,“Whenwasthelastgoodkiss
youhad?”
I thought about it. My kissing—all prediagnosis—had been
uncomfortableandslobbery,andonsomelevelitalwaysfeltlikekidsplaying
atbeinggrown.Butofcourseithadbeenawhile.“Yearsago,”Isaidfinally.
“You?”
“Ihadafewgoodkisseswithmyex-girlfriend,CarolineMathers.”
“Yearsago?”
“Thelastonewasjustlessthanayearago.”
“Whathappened?”
“Duringthekiss?”
“No,withyouandCaroline.”
“Oh,”hesaid.Andthenafterasecond,“Carolineisnolongersuffering
frompersonhood.”
“Oh,”Isaid.
“Yeah,”hesaid.
“I’msorry,”Isaid.I’dknownplentyofdeadpeople,ofcourse.ButI’d
neverdatedone.Icouldn’tevenimagineit,really.
“Notyourfault,HazelGrace.We’realljustsideeffects,right?”
“‘Barnacles on the container ship of consciousness,’” I said, quoting
AIA.
“Okay,”hesaid.“Igottagotosleep.It’salmostone.”
“Okay,”Isaid.
“Okay,”hesaid.
Igiggledandsaid,“Okay.”Andthenthelinewasquietbutnotdead.I
almostfeltlikehewasthereinmyroomwithme,butinawayitwasbetter,
likeIwasnotinmyroomandhewasnotinhis,butinsteadweweretogether
in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the
phone.
“Okay,”hesaidafterforever.“Maybeokaywillbeouralways.”
“Okay,”Isaid.
ItwasAugustuswhofinallyhungup.
PeterVanHoutenrepliedtoAugustus’semailfourhoursafterhesentit,but
twodayslater,VanHoutenstillhadn’trepliedtome.Augustusassuredmeit
was because my email was better and required a more thoughtful response,
thatVanHoutenwasbusywritinganswerstomyquestions,andthatbrilliant
prosetooktime.ButstillIworried.
OnWednesdayduring American Poetryfor Dummies 101, I gota text
fromAugustus:
Isaacoutofsurgery.Itwentwell.He’sofficiallyNEC.
NECmeant“noevidenceofcancer.”Asecondtextcameafewsecondslater.
Imean,he’sblind.Sothat’sunfortunate.
Thatafternoon,MomconsentedtoloanmethecarsoIcoulddrivedown
toMemorialtocheckinonIsaac.
Ifoundmywaytohisroomonthefifthfloor,knockingeventhoughthe
doorwasopen,andawoman’svoicesaid,“Comein.”Itwasanursewhowas
doingsomethingtothebandagesonIsaac’seyes.“Hey,Isaac,”Isaid.
Andhesaid,“Mon?”
“Oh,no.Sorry.No,it’s,um,Hazel.Um,SupportGroupHazel?Night-
of-the-broken-trophiesHazel?”
“Oh,”hesaid.“Yeah,peoplekeepsayingmyothersenseswillimprove
to compensate, but CLEARLY NOTYET. Hi, Support Group Hazel. Come
overheresoIcanexamineyourfacewithmyhandsandseedeeperintoyour
soulthanasightedpersonevercould.”
“He’skidding,”thenursesaid.
“Yes,”Isaid.“Irealize.”
Itookafewstepstowardthebed.Ipulledachairupandsatdown,took
hishand.“Hey,”Isaid.
“Hey,”hesaidback.Thennothingforawhile.
“Howyoufeeling?”Iasked.
“Okay,”hesaid.“Idon’tknow.”
“Youdon’tknowwhat?”Iasked.IlookedathishandbecauseIdidn’t
want to look at his face blindfolded by bandages. Isaac bit his nails, and I
couldseesomebloodonthecornersofacoupleofhiscuticles.
“Shehasn’tevenvisited,” hesaid. “I mean, we weretogether fourteen
months.Fourteenmonthsisalongtime.God,thathurts.”Isaacletgoofmy
handtofumbleforhispainpump,whichyouhittogiveyourselfawaveof
narcotics.
Thenurse,havingfinishedthebandagechange,steppedback.“It’sonly
been a day, Isaac,” she said, vaguely condescending. “You’ve gotta give
yourselftimetoheal.Andfourteenmonthsisn’tthatlong,notinthescheme
ofthings.You’rejustgettingstarted,buddy.You’llsee.”
Thenurseleft.“Isshegone?”
Inodded,thenrealizedhecouldn’tseemenod.“Yeah,”Isaid.
“I’llsee?Really?Didsheseriouslysaythat?”
“QualitiesofaGoodNurse:Go,”Isaid.
“1.Doesn’tpunonyourdisability,”Isaacsaid.
“2.Getsbloodonthefirsttry,”Isaid.
“Seriously,thatishuge.Imeanisthismyfreakingarmoradartboard?3.
Nocondescendingvoice.”
“Howareyoudoing,sweetie?”Iasked,cloying.“I’mgoingtostickyou
withaneedlenow.Theremightbealittleouchie.”
“Is my wittle fuffywump sickywicky?” he answered. And then after a
second, “Most of them are good, actually. I just want the hell out of this
place.”
“Thisplaceasinthehospital?”
“That, too,” he said. His mouth tightened. I could see the pain.
“Honestly, I think a hell of a lot more about Monica than my eye. Is that
crazy?That’scrazy.”
“It’salittlecrazy,”Iallowed.
“But I believe in true love, you know? I don’t believe that everybody
getstokeeptheireyesornotgetsickorwhatever,buteverybodyshouldhave
truelove,anditshouldlastatleastaslongasyourlifedoes.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.
“I just wish the whole thing hadn’t happened sometimes. The whole
cancerthing.”Hisspeechwasslowingdown.Themedicineworking.
“I’msorry,”Isaid.
“Gus was here earlier. He was here when I woke up. Took off school.
He...”Hisheadturnedtothesidealittle.“It’sbetter,”hesaidquietly.
“Thepain?”Iasked.Henoddedalittle.
“Good,” I said. And then, like the bitch I am: “You were saying
somethingaboutGus?”Buthewasgone.
Iwentdownstairstothetinywindowlessgiftshopandaskedthedecrepit
volunteersittingonastoolbehindacashregisterwhatkindofflowerssmell
thestrongest.
“Theyallsmellthesame.TheygetsprayedwithSuperScent,”shesaid.
“Really?”
“Yeah,theyjustsquirt’emwithit.”
I opened the cooler to her left and sniffed at a dozen roses, and then
leanedoversomecarnations.Samesmell,andlotsofit.Thecarnationswere
cheaper,soIgrabbedadozenyellowones.Theycostfourteendollars.Iwent
backintotheroom;hismomwasthere,holdinghishand.Shewasyoungand
reallypretty.
“Are you a friend?” she asked, which struck me as one of those
unintentionallybroadandunanswerablequestions.
“Um,yeah,”Isaid.“I’mfromSupportGroup.Theseareforhim.”
Shetookthemandplacedtheminherlap.“DoyouknowMonica?”she
asked.
Ishookmyheadno.
“Well,he’ssleeping,”shesaid.
“Yeah.Italkedtohimalittlebefore,whentheyweredoingthebandages
orwhatever.”
“IhatedleavinghimforthatbutIhadtopickupGrahamatschool,”she
said.
“He did okay,” I told her. She nodded. “I should let him sleep.” She
noddedagain.Ileft.
ThenextmorningIwokeupearlyandcheckedmyemailfirstthing.
[email protected]hadfinallyreplied.
DearMs.Lancaster,
I fear your faith has been misplaced—but then, faith usually is. I
cannot answer your questions, at least not in writing, because to
write out such answers would constitute a sequel to An Imperial
Affliction, which you might publish or otherwise share on the
networkthathasreplacedthebrainsofyourgeneration.Thereisthe
telephone, but then you might record the conversation. Not that I
don’ttrustyou,ofcourse,butIdon’ttrustyou.Alas,dearHazel,I
could never answer such questions except in person, and you are
there,whileIamhere.
Thatnoted,Imustconfessthattheunexpectedreceiptofyour
correspondence via Ms. Vliegenthart has delighted me: What a
wondrousthingtoknowthatImadesomethingusefultoyou—even
ifthatbookseemssodistantfrommethatIfeelitwaswrittenbya
differentmanaltogether.(Theauthorofthatnovelwasso thin,so
frail,socomparativelyoptimistic!)
Should you find yourself in Amsterdam, however, please do
payavisitatyourleisure.Iamusuallyhome.Iwouldevenallow
youapeekatmygrocerylists.
Yoursmostsincerely,
PeterVanHouten
c/oLidewijVliegenthart
“WHAT?!”Ishoutedaloud.“WHATISTHISLIFE?”
Momranin.“What’swrong?”
“Nothing,”Iassuredher.
Still nervous, Mom knelt down to check on Philip to ensure he was
condensing oxygen appropriately. I imagined sitting at a sun-drenched café
withPeterVanHoutenasheleanedacrossthetableonhiselbows,speaking
inasoftvoicesonooneelsewouldhearthetruthofwhathappenedtothe
charactersI’dspentyearsthinkingabout.He’dsaidhecouldn’ttellmeexcept
inperson,andtheninvited meto Amsterdam. I explained this to Mom, and
thensaid,“Ihavetogo.”
“Hazel,Iloveyou,andyouknowI’ddoanythingforyou,butwedon’t
—wedon’thavethemoneyforinternationaltravel,andtheexpenseofgetting
equipmentoverthere—love,it’sjustnot—”
“Yeah,”Isaid,cuttingheroff.IrealizedI’dbeensillyeventoconsider
it.“Don’tworryaboutit.”Butshelookedworried.
“It’sreallyimportanttoyou,yeah?”sheasked,sittingdown,ahandon
mycalf.
“Itwouldbeprettyamazing,”Isaid,“tobetheonlypersonwhoknows
whathappensbesideshim.”
“Thatwouldbeamazing,”shesaid.“I’lltalktoyourfather.”
“No,don’t,”Isaid.“Just,seriously,don’tspendanymoneyonitplease.
I’llthinkofsomething.”
Itoccurredtomethatthereasonmyparentshadnomoneywasme.I’d
sappedthefamilysavingswithPhalanxiforcopays,andMomcouldn’twork
because she had taken on the full-time profession of Hovering Over Me. I
didn’twanttoputthemevenfurtherintodebt.
ItoldMomIwantedtocallAugustustogetheroutoftheroom,because
Icouldn’thandleherI-can’t-make-my-daughter’s-dreams-come-truesadface.
AugustusWaters–style,Ireadhimtheletterinlieuofsayinghello.
“Wow,”hesaid.
“Iknow,right?”Isaid.“HowamIgoingtogettoAmsterdam?”
“Do you have a Wish?” he asked, referring to this organization, The
GenieFoundation,whichisinthebusinessofgrantingsickkidsonewish.
“No,”Isaid.“IusedmyWishpre-Miracle.”
“What’dyoudo?”
Isighedloudly.“Iwasthirteen,”Isaid.
“NotDisney,”hesaid.
Isaidnothing.
“YoudidnotgotoDisneyWorld.”
Isaidnothing.
“HazelGRACE!”heshouted.“YoudidnotuseyouronedyingWishto
gotoDisneyWorldwithyourparents.”
“AlsoEpcotCenter,”Imumbled.
“Oh,myGod,”Augustussaid.“Ican’tbelieveIhaveacrushonagirl
withsuchclichéwishes.”
“I was thirteen,” I said again, although of course I was only thinking
crush crush crush crush crush. I was flattered but changed the subject
immediately.“Shouldn’tyoubeinschoolorsomething?”
“I’mplayinghookytohangoutwithIsaac,buthe’ssleeping,soI’min
theatriumdoinggeometry.”
“How’shedoing?”Iasked.
“I can’t tell if he’s just not ready to confront the seriousness of his
disabilityorifhereallydoescaremoreaboutgettingdumpedbyMonica,but
hewon’ttalkaboutanythingelse.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Howlong’shegonnabeinthehospital?”
“Fewdays.Thenhegoestothisrehaborsomethingforawhile,buthe
getstosleepathome,Ithink.”
“Sucks,”Isaid.
“Iseehismom.Igottago.”
“Okay,”Isaid.
“Okay,”heanswered.Icouldhearhiscrookedsmile.
On Saturday, my parents and I went down to the farmers’ market in Broad
Ripple. It was sunny, a rarity for Indiana in April, and everyone at the
farmers’marketwaswearingshortsleeveseventhoughthetemperaturedidn’t
quitejustifyit.WeHoosiersareexcessivelyoptimisticaboutsummer.Mom
andIsatnexttoeachotheronabenchacrossfromagoat-soapmaker,aman
inoverallswhohadtoexplaintoeverysinglepersonwhowalkedbythatyes,
theywerehisgoats,andno,goatsoapdoesnotsmelllikegoats.
Myphonerang.“Whoisit?”MomaskedbeforeIcouldevencheck.
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.ItwasGus,though.
“Areyoucurrentlyatyourhouse?”heasked.
“Um,no,”Isaid.
“Thatwasatrickquestion.Iknewtheanswer,becauseIamcurrentlyat
yourhouse.”
“Oh.Um.Well,weareonourway,Iguess?”
“Awesome.Seeyousoon.”
AugustusWaterswassittingonthefrontstepaswepulledintothedriveway.
Hewasholdingabouquetofbrightorangetulipsjustbeginningtobloom,and
wearing an Indiana Pacers jersey under his fleece, a wardrobe choice that
seemedutterlyoutof character, although it didlookquitegood on him.He
pushedhimselfupoffthestoop,handedmethetulips,andasked,“Wannago
onapicnic?”Inodded,takingtheflowers.
MydadwalkedupbehindmeandshookGus’shand.
“IsthataRikSmitsjersey?”mydadasked.
“Indeeditis.”
“God,Ilovedthatguy,”Dadsaid,andimmediatelytheywereengrossed
inabasketballconversationIcouldnot(anddidnotwantto)join,soItook
mytulipsinside.
“Doyouwantmetoputthoseinavase?”MomaskedasIwalkedin,a
hugesmileonherface.
“No,it’sokay,”Itoldher.Ifwe’dputtheminavaseinthelivingroom,
theywouldhavebeeneveryone’sflowers.Iwantedthemtobemyflowers.
Iwenttomy room butdidn’t change.Ibrushedmyhair and teeth and
putonsomelipglossandthesmallestpossibledabofperfume.Ikeptlooking
attheflowers.Theywereaggressivelyorange,almosttooorangetobepretty.
I didn’t have a vase or anything, so I took my toothbrush out of my
toothbrushholderandfilledithalfwaywithwaterandlefttheflowerstherein
thebathroom.
WhenIreenteredmyroom,Icouldhearpeopletalking,soIsatonthe
edgeofmybedforawhileandlistenedthroughmyhollowbedroomdoor:
Dad:“SoyoumetHazelatSupportGroup.”
Augustus: “Yes, sir. This is a lovely house you’ve got. I like your
artwork.”
Mom:“Thankyou,Augustus.”
Dad:“You’reasurvivoryourself,then?”
Augustus: “I am. I didn’t cut this fella off for the sheer unadulterated
pleasure of it, although it is an excellent weight-loss strategy. Legs are
heavy!”
Dad:“Andhow’syourhealthnow?”
Augustus:“NECforfourteenmonths.”
Mom:“That’swonderful.Thetreatmentoptionsthesedays—itreallyis
remarkable.”
Augustus:“Iknow.I’mlucky.”
Dad:“YouhavetounderstandthatHazelisstillsick,Augustus,andwill
befortherestofherlife.She’llwanttokeepupwithyou,butherlungs—”
AtwhichpointIemerged,silencinghim.
“Sowhereareyougoing?”askedMom.Augustusstoodupandleaned
overtoher,whisperingtheanswer,andthenheldafingertohislips.“Shh,”
hetoldher.“It’sasecret.”
Mom smiled. “You’ve got your phone?” she asked me. I held it up as
evidence, tilted my oxygen cart onto its front wheels, and started walking.
Augustus hustled over, offering me his arm, which I took. My fingers
wrappedaroundhisbiceps.
Unfortunately, he insisted upon driving, so the surprise could be a
surprise. As we shuddered toward our destination, I said, “You nearly
charmedthepantsoffmymom.”
“Yeah, and your dadis a Smitsfan, which helps.You thinkthey liked
me?”
“Suretheydid.Whocares,though?They’rejustparents.”
“They’reyourparents,”hesaid,glancingoveratme.“Plus,Ilikebeing
liked.Isthatcrazy?”
“Well, you don’t have to rush to hold doors open or smother me in
complimentsformetolikeyou.”Heslammedthebrakes,andIflewforward
hardenoughthatmybreathingfeltweirdandtight.IthoughtofthePETscan.
Don’tworry.Worryisuseless.Iworriedanyway.
Weburnedrubber,roaringawayfromastopsignbeforeturningleftonto
the misnomered Grandview (there’s a view of a golf course, I guess, but
nothing grand). The only thing I could think of in this direction was the
cemetery.Augustusreachedintothecenterconsole,flippedopenafullpack
ofcigarettes,andremovedone.
“Doyoueverthrowthemaway?”Iaskedhim.
“Oneofthemanybenefitsofnotsmokingisthatpacksofcigaretteslast
forever,”heanswered.“I’vehadthisoneforalmostayear.Afewofthemare
broken near the filters, but I think this pack could easily get me to my
eighteenthbirthday.”Heheldthefilterbetweenhisfingers,thenputitinhis
mouth.“So,okay,”hesaid.“Okay.Namesomethingsthatyouneverseein
Indianapolis.”
“Um.Skinnyadults,”Isaid.
Helaughed.“Good.Keepgoing.”
“Mmm,beaches.Family-ownedrestaurants.Topography.”
“Allexcellentexamplesofthingswelack.Also,culture.”
“Yeah, we areabitshortonculture,”Isaid,finallyrealizingwhere he
wastakingme.“Arewegoingtothemuseum?”
“Inamannerofspeaking.”
“Oh,arewegoingtothatparkorwhatever?”
Guslookedabitdeflated.“Yes,wearegoingtothatparkorwhatever,”
hesaid.“You’vefigureditout,haven’tyou?”
“Um,figuredwhatout?”
“Nothing.”
Therewas thispark behindthe museumwhere abunch ofartists hadmade
big sculptures. I’d heard about it but had never visited. We drove past the
museumandparked right nexttothisbasketballcourt filled withhugeblue
andredsteelarcsthatimaginedthepathofabouncingball.
We walkeddownwhatpasses for ahillinIndianapolisto this clearing
wherekidswereclimbingalloverthishugeoversizeskeletonsculpture.The
boneswereeachaboutwaisthigh,andthethighbonewaslongerthanme.It
lookedlikeachild’sdrawingofaskeletonrisingupoutoftheground.
My shoulder hurt. I worried the cancer had spread from my lungs. I
imaginedthetumormetastasizingintomyownbones, boringholesintomy
skeleton,aslitheringeelofinsidiousintent.“FunkyBones,”Augustussaid.
“CreatedbyJoepVanLieshout.”
“SoundsDutch.”
“Heis,”Gussaid.“SoisRikSmits.Soaretulips.”Gusstoppedinthe
middle of the clearing with the bones right in front of us and slipped his
backpack off one shoulder, then the other. He unzipped it, producing an
orange blanket, a pint of orange juice, and some sandwiches wrapped in
plasticwrapwiththecrustscutoff.
“What’s with all the orange?” I asked, still not wanting to let myself
imaginethatallthiswouldleadtoAmsterdam.
“NationalcoloroftheNetherlands,ofcourse.YourememberWilliamof
Orangeandeverything?”
“Hewasn’tontheGEDtest.”Ismiled,tryingtocontainmyexcitement.
“Sandwich?”heasked.
“Letmeguess,”Isaid.
“Dutchcheese.Andtomato.ThetomatoesarefromMexico.Sorry.”
“You’realwayssuchadisappointment,Augustus.Couldn’tyouhaveat
leastgottenorangetomatoes?”
He laughed, and we ate our sandwiches in silence, watching the kids
playonthesculpture.Icouldn’tverywellaskhimaboutit,soIjustsatthere
surroundedbyDutchness,feelingawkwardandhopeful.
Inthedistance,soakedintheunblemishedsunlightsorareandprecious
in our hometown, a gaggle of kids made a skeleton into a playground,
jumpingbackandforthamongtheprostheticbones.
“TwothingsIloveaboutthissculpture,”Augustussaid.Hewasholding
theunlitcigarettebetweenhisfingers,flickingatitasiftogetridoftheash.
Heplaceditbackinhismouth.“First,thebonesarejustfarenoughapartthat
ifyou’reakid,youcannotresisttheurgetojumpbetweenthem.Like,you
just have to jump from rib cage to skull. Which means that, second, the
sculpture essentially forces children to play on bones. The symbolic
resonancesareendless,HazelGrace.”
“You do love symbols,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation back
towardthemanysymbolsoftheNetherlandsatourpicnic.
“Right,aboutthat.Youareprobablywonderingwhyyouareeatingabad
cheesesandwichanddrinkingorangejuiceandwhyIamwearingthejersey
ofaDutchmanwhoplayedasportIhavecometoloathe.”
“Ithascrossedmymind,”Isaid.
“Hazel Grace, like so many children before you—and I say this with
great affection—you spent your Wish hastily, with little care for the
consequences.TheGrimReaperwasstaringyouinthefaceandthefearof
dying with your Wish still in your proverbial pocket, ungranted, led you to
rushtowardthefirstWishyoucouldthinkof,andyou,likesomanyothers,
chosethecoldandartificialpleasuresofthethemepark.”
“Iactuallyhadagreattimeonthattrip.ImetGoofyandMinn—”
“Iaminthemidstofasoliloquy!Iwrotethisoutandmemorizeditand
if you interrupt me I will completely screw it up,” Augustus interrupted.
“Please to be eating your sandwich and listening.” (The sandwich was
inediblydry,butIsmiledandtookabiteanyway.)“Okay,wherewasI?”
“Theartificialpleasures.”
He returned the cigarette to its pack. “Right, the cold and artificial
pleasuresofthethemepark.ButletmesubmitthattherealheroesoftheWish
FactoryaretheyoungmenandwomenwhowaitlikeVladimirandEstragon
wait for Godot and good Christian girls wait for marriage. These young
heroeswaitstoicallyandwithoutcomplaintfortheironetrueWishtocome
along.Sure,itmaynevercomealong,butatleasttheycanresteasilyinthe
graveknowing thatthey’vedone theirlittlepart topreserve the integrityof
theWishasanidea.
“But then again, maybe it will come along: Maybe you’ll realize that
your one true Wish is to visit the brilliant Peter Van Houten in his
Amsterdamianexile,andyouwillbegladindeedtohavesavedyourWish.”
AugustusstoppedspeakinglongenoughthatIfiguredthesoliloquywas
over.“ButIdidn’tsavemyWish,”Isaid.
“Ah,”hesaid.Andthen,afterwhatfeltlikeapracticedpause,headded,
“ButIsavedmine.”
“Really?” I was surprised that Augustus was Wish-eligible, what with
beingstillinschoolandayearintoremission.Youhadtobeprettysickfor
theGeniestohookyouupwithaWish.
“Igotitinexchangefortheleg,”heexplained.Therewasallthislight
on his face; he had to squint to look at me, which made his nose crinkle
adorably.“Now,I’mnotgoingtogiveyoumyWishoranything.ButIalso
haveaninterestinmeetingPeterVanHouten,anditwouldn’tmakesenseto
meethimwithoutthegirlwhointroducedmetohisbook.”
“Itdefinitelywouldn’t,”Isaid.
“So I talked to the Genies, and they are in total agreement. They said
Amsterdam is lovely in the beginning of May. They proposed leaving May
thirdandreturningMayseventh.”
“Augustus,really?”
HereachedoverandtouchedmycheekandforamomentIthoughthe
mightkissme.Mybodytensed,andIthinkhesawit,becausehepulledhis
handaway.
“Augustus,”Isaid.“Really.Youdon’thavetodothis.”
“SureIdo,”hesaid.“IfoundmyWish.”
“God,you’rethebest,”Itoldhim.
“Ibetyousaythattoalltheboyswhofinanceyourinternationaltravel,”
heanswered.
CHAPTERSIX
Mom was folding my laundry while watching this TV show called The
View when I got home. I told her that the tulips and the Dutch artist and
everything were all because Augustus was using his Wish to take me to
Amsterdam.“That’stoomuch,”shesaid,shakingherhead.“Wecan’taccept
thatfromavirtualstranger.”
“He’snotastranger.He’seasilymysecondbestfriend.”
“BehindKaitlyn?”
“Behindyou,”Isaid.Itwastrue,butI’dmostlysaiditbecauseIwanted
togotoAmsterdam.
“I’llaskDr.Maria,”shesaidafteramoment.
***
Dr. Maria said I couldn’t go to Amsterdam without an adult intimately
familiar with my case, which more or less meant either Mom or Dr. Maria
herself. (My dad understood my cancer the way I did: in the vague and
incompletewaypeopleunderstandelectricalcircuitsandoceantides.Butmy
mom knew more about differentiated thyroid carcinoma in adolescents than
mostoncologists.)
“So you’ll come,” I said. “The Genies will pay for it. The Genies are
loaded.”
“But your father,” she said. “He would miss us. It wouldn’t be fair to
him,andhecan’tgettimeoffwork.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t think Dad would enjoy a few days of
watching TV shows that are not about aspiring models and ordering pizza
everynight,usingpapertowelsasplatessohedoesn’thavetodothedishes?”
Mom laughed. Finally, she started to get excited, typing tasks into her
phone: She’d have to call Gus’s parents and talk to the Genies about my
medicalneedsanddotheyhaveahotelyetandwhatarethebestguidebooks
andweshoulddoourresearchifweonlyhavethreedays,andsoon.Ikindof
hadaheadache,soIdownedacoupleAdvilanddecidedtotakeanap.
But I ended up just lying in bed and replaying the whole picnic with
Augustus.Icouldn’tstopthinkingaboutthelittlemomentwhenI’dtensedup
as he touched me. The gentle familiarity felt wrong, somehow. I thought
maybe it was how orchestrated the whole thing had been: Augustus was
amazing, but he’d overdone everything at the picnic, right down to the
sandwiches that were metaphorically resonant but tasted terrible and the
memorizedsoliloquythatpreventedconversation.ItallfeltRomantic,butnot
romantic.
ButthetruthisthatIhadneverwantedhimtokissme,notintheway
you are supposed to want these things. I mean, he was gorgeous. I was
attractedtohim.Ithoughtabouthiminthatway,toborrowaphrasefromthe
middleschoolvernacular.Buttheactualtouch,therealizedtouch...itwas
allwrong.
ThenIfoundmyselfworryingIwouldhavetomakeoutwithhimtoget
to Amsterdam, which is not the kind of thing you want to be thinking,
because (a) It shouldn’t’ve even been a question whether I wanted to kiss
him, and (b) Kissing someone so that you can get a free trip is perilously
close to full-on hooking, and I have to confess that while I did not fancy
myselfaparticularlygoodperson,Ineverthoughtmyfirstrealsexualaction
wouldbeprostitutional.
Butthen again, hehadn’ttriedtokiss me;he’donly touchedmy face,
whichisnotevensexual.Itwasnotamovedesignedtoelicitarousal,butit
wascertainlyadesignedmove,becauseAugustusWaterswasnoimproviser.
Sowhathadhebeentryingtoconvey?Andwhyhadn’tIwantedtoacceptit?
Atsomepoint,IrealizedIwasKaitlyningtheencounter,soIdecidedto
textKaitlynandaskforsomeadvice.Shecalledimmediately.
“Ihaveaboyproblem,”Isaid.
“DELICIOUS,”Kaitlynresponded.Itoldherallaboutit,completewith
the awkward face touching, leaving out only Amsterdam and Augustus’s
name.“You’resurehe’shot?”sheaskedwhenIwasfinished.
“Prettysure,”Isaid.
“Athletic?”
“Yeah,heusedtoplaybasketballforNorthCentral.”
“Wow.How’dyoumeethim?”
“ThishideousSupportGroup.”
“Huh,” Kaitlyn said. “Out of curiosity, how many legs does this guy
have?”
“Like,1.4,”Isaid,smiling.BasketballplayerswerefamousinIndiana,
andalthoughKaitlyndidn’tgotoNorthCentral,hersocialconnectivitywas
endless.
“AugustusWaters,”shesaid.
“Um,maybe?”
“Oh,myGod.I’veseenhimatparties.ThethingsIwoulddotothatboy.
I mean, not now that I know you’re interested in him. But, oh, sweet holy
Lord,Iwouldridethatone-leggedponyallthewayaroundthecorral.”
“Kaitlyn,”Isaid.
“Sorry.Doyouthinkyou’dhavetobeontop?”
“Kaitlyn,”Isaid.
“What were we talking about. Right, you and Augustus Waters.
Maybe...areyougay?”
“Idon’tthinkso?Imean,Idefinitelylikehim.”
“Does he have ugly hands? Sometimes beautiful people have ugly
hands.”
“No,hehaskindofamazinghands.”
“Hmm,”shesaid.
“Hmm,”Isaid.
Afterasecond,Kaitlynsaid,“RememberDerek?Hebrokeupwithme
last week because he’d decided there was something fundamentally
incompatible about us deep down and that we’d only get hurt more if we
played it out. He called it preemptive dumping. So maybe you have this
premonition that there is something fundamentally incompatible and you’re
preemptingthepreemption.”
“Hmm,”Isaid.
“I’mjustthinkingoutloudhere.”
“SorryaboutDerek.”
“Oh,Igotoverit,darling.IttookmeasleeveofGirlScoutThinMints
andfortyminutestogetoverthatboy.”
Ilaughed.“Well,thanks,Kaitlyn.”
“Intheeventyoudohookupwithhim,Iexpectlasciviousdetails.”
“But of course,” I said, and then Kaitlyn made a kissy sound into the
phoneandIsaid,“Bye,”andshehungup.
***
IrealizedwhilelisteningtoKaitlynthatIdidn’thaveapremonitionofhurting
him.Ihadapostmonition.
I pulled out my laptop and looked up Caroline Mathers. The physical
similarities were striking: same steroidally round face, same nose, same
approximate overall body shape. But her eyes were dark brown (mine are
green)andhercomplexionwasmuchdarker—Italianorsomething.
Thousands of people—literally thousands—had left condolence
messagesforher.Itwasanendlessscrollofpeoplewhomissedher,somany
thatittookmeanhourofclickingtogetpasttheI’msorryyou’redeadwall
posts to the I’m praying foryou wall posts. She’d died a year ago of brain
cancer.Iwasabletoclickthroughtosomeofherpictures.Augustuswasina
bunchoftheearlierones:pointingwithathumbs-uptothejaggedscaracross
her bald skull; arm in arm at Memorial Hospital’s playground, with their
backsfacingthecamera;kissingwhileCarolineheldthecameraout,soyou
couldonlyseetheirnosesandclosedeyes.
Themostrecentpictureswereallofherbefore, whenshewashealthy,
uploadedpostmortembyfriends:abeautifulgirl,wide-hippedandcurvy,with
long, straight deadblack hair falling over her face. My healthy self looked
verylittlelikeherhealthyself.Butourcancerselvesmight’vebeensisters.
Nowonderhe’dstaredatmethefirsttimehesawme.
Ikeptclickingbacktothisonewallpost,writtentwomonthsago,nine
monthsaftershedied,byoneofherfriends.Weallmissyousomuch.Itjust
neverends.Itfeelslikewewereallwoundedinyourbattle,Caroline.Imiss
you.Iloveyou.
After a while, Mom and Dad announced it was time for dinner. I shut
down the computer and got up, but I couldn’t get the wall post out of my
mind,andforsomereasonitmademenervousandunhungry.
I kept thinking about my shoulder, which hurt, and also I still had the
headache,butmaybeonlybecauseI’dbeenthinkingaboutagirlwho’ddied
ofbraincancer.Ikepttellingmyselftocompartmentalize,tobeherenowat
the circular table (arguably too large in diameter for three people and
definitelytoolargefortwo)withthissoggybroccoliandablack-beanburger
thatalltheketchupintheworldcouldnotadequatelymoisten.Itoldmyself
that imagining a met in my brain or my shoulder would not affect the
invisible reality going on inside of me, and that therefore all such thoughts
werewastedmomentsinalifecomposedofadefinitionallyfinitesetofsuch
moments.Ieventriedtotellmyselftolivemybestlifetoday.
ForthelongesttimeIcouldn’tfigureoutwhysomethingastrangerhad
writtenontheInternettoadifferent(anddeceased)strangerwasbotheringme
somuchandmakingmeworrythattherewassomethinginsidemybrain—
whichreallydidhurt,althoughIknewfromyearsofexperiencethatpainisa
bluntandnonspecificdiagnosticinstrument.
Because there had not been an earthquake in Papua New Guinea that
day, my parents were all hyperfocused on me, and so I could not hide this
flashfloodofanxiety.
“Iseverythingallright?”askedMomasIate.
“Uh-huh,” I said. I took a bite of burger. Swallowed. Tried to say
somethingthatanormalpersonwhosebrainwasnotdrowninginpanicwould
say.“Istherebroccoliintheburgers?”
“Alittle,”Dadsaid.“PrettyexcitingthatyoumightgotoAmsterdam.”
“Yeah,” I said. I tried not to think about the word wounded, which of
courseisawayofthinkingaboutit.
“Hazel,”Momsaid.“Whereareyourightnow?”
“Justthinking,Iguess,”Isaid.
“Twitterpated,”mydadsaid,smiling.
“Iamnotabunny,andIamnotinlovewithGusWatersoranyone,”I
answered,waytoodefensively.Wounded.LikeCarolineMathershadbeena
bomb and when she blew up everyone around her was left with embedded
shrapnel.
DadaskedmeifIwasworkingonanythingforschool.“I’vegotsome
veryadvancedAlgebrahomework,”Itoldhim.“SoadvancedthatIcouldn’t
possiblyexplainittoalayperson.”
“Andhow’syourfriendIsaac?”
“Blind,”Isaid.
“You’re being very teenagery today,” Mom said. She seemed annoyed
aboutit.
“Isn’tthiswhatyouwanted,Mom?Formetobeteenagery?”
“Well,notnecessarilythiskindateenagery,butofcourseyourfatherand
I are excited to see you become a young woman, making friends, going on
dates.”
“I’m not going on dates,” I said. “I don’t want to go on dates with
anyone.It’saterribleideaandahugewasteoftimeand—”
“Honey,”mymomsaid.“What’swrong?”
“I’m like. Like. I’m like a grenade, Mom. I’m a grenade and at some
point I’m going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties,
okay?”
Mydadtiltedhisheadalittletotheside,likeascoldedpuppy.
“I’magrenade,”Isaidagain.“Ijustwanttostayawayfrompeopleand
readbooksandthinkandbewithyouguysbecausethere’snothingIcando
about hurting you; you’re too invested, so just please let me do that, okay?
I’m not depressed. I don’t need to get out more. And I can’t be a regular
teenager,becauseI’magrenade.”
“Hazel,”Dadsaid,andthenchokedup.Hecriedalot,mydad.
“I’m going to go to my room and read for a while, okay? I’m fine. I
reallyamfine;Ijustwanttogoreadforawhile.”
IstartedouttryingtoreadthisnovelI’dbeenassigned,butwelivedina
tragically thin-walled home, so I could hear much of the whispered
conversationthatensued.Mydadsaying,“Itkillsme,”andmymomsaying,
“That’sexactlywhatshedoesn’tneedtohear,”andmydadsaying,“I’msorry
but—”andmymomsaying,“Areyounotgrateful?”Andhimsaying,“God,
ofcourseI’mgrateful.”IkepttryingtogetintothisstorybutIcouldn’tstop
hearingthem.
So I turned on my computer to listen to some music, and with
Augustus’sfavoriteband,TheHecticGlow,asmysoundtrack,Iwentbackto
CarolineMathers’stributepages,readingabouthowheroicherfightwas,and
howmuchshewasmissed,andhowshewasinabetterplace,andhowshe
would live forever in their memories, and how everyone who knew her—
everyone—waslaidlowbyherleaving.
MaybeI was supposedtohate Caroline Mathersorsomething because
she’dbeenwithAugustus,butIdidn’t.Icouldn’tseeherveryclearlyamidall
the tributes, but there didn’t seem to be much to hate—she seemed to be
mostlyaprofessionalsickperson,likeme,whichmademeworrythatwhenI
diedthey’dhavenothingtosayaboutmeexceptthatIfoughtheroically,asif
theonlythingI’deverdonewasHaveCancer.
Anyway, eventually I started reading Caroline Mathers’s little notes,
whichweremostlyactuallywrittenbyherparents,becauseIguessherbrain
cancer was of the variety that makes you not you before it makes you not
alive.
Soitwasalllike,Carolinecontinuestohavebehavioralproblems.She’s
strugglingalotwithangerandfrustrationovernotbeingabletospeak(we
are frustrated about these things, too, of course, but we have more socially
acceptable ways of dealing with our anger). Gus has taken to calling
Caroline HULK SMASH, which resonates with the doctors. There’snothing
easyaboutthisforanyofus,butyoutakeyourhumorwhereyoucangetit.
HopingtogohomeonThursday.We’llletyouknow...
Shedidn’tgohomeonThursday,needlesstosay.
SoofcourseItensedupwhenhetouchedme.Tobewithhimwastohurthim
—inevitably.Andthat’swhatI’dfeltashereachedforme:I’dfeltasthoughI
werecommittinganactofviolenceagainsthim,becauseIwas.
Idecidedtotexthim.Iwantedtoavoidawholeconversationaboutit.
Hi,sookay,Idon’tknowifyou’llunderstandthisbutIcan’tkiss
youoranything.Notthatyou’dnecessarilywantto,butIcan’t.
WhenItrytolookatyoulikethat,allIseeiswhatI’mgoingtoput
youthrough.Maybethatdoesn’tmakesensetoyou.
Anyway,sorry.
Herespondedafewminuteslater.
Okay.
Iwroteback.
Okay.
Heresponded:
Oh,myGod,stopflirtingwithme!
Ijustsaid:
Okay.
Myphonebuzzedmomentslater.
Iwaskidding,HazelGrace.Iunderstand.(Butwebothknowthat
okayisaveryflirtyword.OkayisBURSTINGwithsensuality.)
IwasverytemptedtorespondOkayagain,butIpicturedhimatmyfuneral,
andthathelpedmetextproperly.
Sorry.
***
Itriedtogotosleepwithmyheadphonesstillon,butthenafterawhilemy
momanddadcamein,andmymomgrabbedBluiefromtheshelfandhugged
him to her stomach, and my dad sat down in my desk chair, and without
cryinghesaid,“Youarenotagrenade,nottous.Thinkingaboutyoudying
makesussad,Hazel,butyouarenotagrenade.Youareamazing.Youcan’t
know, sweetie, because you’ve never had a baby become a brilliant young
readerwithasideinterestinhorribletelevisionshows,butthejoyyoubring
usissomuchgreaterthanthesadnesswefeelaboutyourillness.”
“Okay,”Isaid.
“Really,”mydadsaid.“Iwouldn’tbullshityouaboutthis.Ifyouwere
moretroublethanyou’reworth,we’djusttossyououtonthestreets.”
“We’renotsentimentalpeople,”Momadded,deadpan.“We’dleaveyou
atanorphanagewithanotepinnedtoyourpajamas.”
Ilaughed.
“Youdon’thavetogotoSupportGroup,”Momadded.“Youdon’thave
todoanything.Exceptgotoschool.”Shehandedmethebear.
“IthinkBluiecansleepontheshelftonight,”Isaid.“Letmeremindyou
thatIammorethanthirty-threehalfyearsold.”
“Keephimtonight,”shesaid.
“Mom,”Isaid.
“He’slonely,”shesaid.
“Oh,myGod,Mom,”Isaid.ButItookstupidBluieandkindofcuddled
withhimasIfellasleep.
I still had one arm draped over Bluie, in fact, when I awoke just after
four in the morning with an apocalyptic pain fingering out from the
unreachablecenterofmyhead.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Iscreamedtowakeupmyparents,andtheyburstintotheroom,butthere
wasnothingtheycoulddotodimthesupernovaeexplodinginsidemybrain,
an endless chain of intracranial firecrackers that made me think that I was
onceandforallgoing,andItoldmyself—asI’vetoldmyselfbefore—thatthe
bodyshutsdownwhenthepaingetstoobad,thatconsciousnessistemporary,
thatthiswillpass.Butjustlikealways,Ididn’tslipaway.Iwasleftonthe
shorewiththewaveswashingoverme,unabletodrown.
Daddrove,talkingonthephonewiththehospital,whileIlayintheback
with my head in Mom’s lap. There was nothing to do: Screaming made it
worse.Allstimulimadeitworse,actually.
Theonlysolutionwastotrytounmaketheworld,tomakeitblackand
silentanduninhabitedagain,toreturntothemomentbeforetheBigBang,in
thebeginningwhentherewastheWord,andtoliveinthatvacuousuncreated
spacealonewiththeWord.
Peopletalkaboutthecourageofcancerpatients,andIdonotdenythat
courage.Ihadbeenpokedandstabbedandpoisonedforyears,andstillItrod
on. But make no mistake: In that moment, I would have been very, very
happytodie.
IwokeupintheICU.IcouldtellIwasintheICUbecauseIdidn’thavemy
ownroom,andbecausetherewassomuchbeeping,andbecauseIwasalone:
They don’t let your family stay with you 24/7 in the ICU at Children’s
becauseit’saninfectionrisk.Therewaswailingdownthehall.Somebody’s
kidhaddied.Iwasalone.Ihittheredcallbutton.
Anursecameinsecondslater.“Hi,”Isaid.
“Hello,Hazel.I’mAlison,yournurse,”shesaid.
“Hi,AlisonMyNurse,”Isaid.
WhereuponIstartedtofeelprettytiredagain.ButIwokeupabitwhen
myparentscamein,cryingandkissingmyfacerepeatedly,andIreachedup
forthemandtriedtosqueeze,butmyeverythinghurtwhenIsqueezed,and
MomandDadtoldmethatIdidnothaveabraintumor,butthatmyheadache
wascausedbypooroxygenation,whichwascausedbymylungsswimming
influid,aliterandahalf(!!!!)ofwhichhadbeensuccessfullydrainedfrom
mychest,whichwaswhyImightfeelaslightdiscomfortinmyside,where
there was, hey look at that, a tube that went from my chest into a plastic
bladderhalffullofliquidthatforalltheworldresembledmydad’sfavorite
amber ale. Mom told me I was going to go home, that I really was, that I
wouldjusthavetogetthisdrainedeverynowandagainandgetbackonthe
BiPAP,thisnighttimemachinethatforcesairinandoutofmycraplungs.But
I’dhadatotalbodyPETscanonthefirstnightinthehospital,theytoldme,
andthenewswasgood:notumorgrowth.Nonewtumors.Myshoulderpain
hadbeenlack-of-oxygenpain.Heart-working-too-hardpain.
“Dr. Maria said this morning that she remains optimistic,” Dad said. I
likedDr.Maria,andshedidn’tbullshityou,sothatfeltgoodtohear.
“This is just a thing, Hazel,” my mom said. “It’s a thing we can live
with.”
Inodded,andthenAlisonMyNursekindofpolitelymadethemleave.
SheaskedmeifIwantedsomeicechips,andInodded,andthenshesatatthe
bedwithmeandspoonedthemintomymouth.
“Soyou’vebeengoneacoupledays,”Alisonsaid.“Hmm,what’dyou
miss . . . A celebrity did drugs. Politicians disagreed. A different celebrity
wore a bikini that revealed a bodily imperfection. A team won a sporting
event, but another team lost.” I smiled. “You can’t go disappearing on
everybodylikethis,Hazel.Youmisstoomuch.”
“More?”Iasked,noddingtowardthewhiteStyrofoamcupinherhand.
“I shouldn’t,”she said,“but I’ma rebel.” She gave meanother plastic
spoonfulofcrushedice.Imumbledathank-you.PraiseGodforgoodnurses.
“Gettingtired?”sheasked.Inodded.“Sleepforawhile,”shesaid.“I’lltryto
run interference and give you a couple hours before somebody comes in to
check vitals and the like.” I said Thanks again. You say thanks a lot in a
hospital. I tried to settle into the bed. “You’re not gonna ask about your
boyfriend?”sheasked.
“Don’thaveone,”Itoldher.
“Well,there’sakidwhohashardlyleftthewaitingroomsinceyougot
here,”shesaid.
“Hehasn’tseenmelikethis,hashe?”
“No.Familyonly.”
Inoddedandsankintoanaqueoussleep.
It would take me six days to get home, six undays of staring at acoustic
ceiling tile and watching television and sleeping and pain and wishing for
timetopass.IdidnotseeAugustusoranyoneotherthanmyparents.Myhair
lookedlikeabird’snest;myshufflinggaitlikeadementiapatient’s.Ifelta
little better each day, though: Each sleep ended to reveal a person who
seemedabitmorelikeme.Sleepfightscancer,RegularDr.Jimsaidforthe
thousandthtimeashehoveredovermeonemorningsurroundedbyacoterie
ofmedicalstudents.
“ThenIamacancer-fightingmachine,”Itoldhim.
“That you are, Hazel. Keep resting, and hopefully we’ll get you home
soon.”
On Tuesday, they told me I’d go homeon Wednesday. OnWednesday,two
minimally supervised medical students removed my chest tube, which felt
like getting stabbed in reverse and generally didn’t go very well, so they
decidedI’dhave tostayuntilThursday.IwasbeginningtothinkthatIwas
the subject of some existentialist experiment in permanently delayed
gratification when Dr. Maria showed up on Friday morning, sniffed around
meforaminute,andtoldmeIwasgoodtogo.
So Mom opened her oversize purse to reveal that she’d had my Go
HomeClotheswithherallalong.AnursecameinandtookoutmyIV.Ifelt
untetheredeventhoughIstillhadtheoxygentanktocarryaroundwithme.I
went into the bathroom, took my first shower in a week, got dressed, and
when I got out, I was so tired I had to lie down and get my breath. Mom
asked,“DoyouwanttoseeAugustus?”
“Iguess,”Isaidafteraminute.Istoodupandshuffledovertooneofthe
moldedplasticchairsagainstthewall,tuckingmy tankbeneaththechair.It
woremeout.
DadcamebackwithAugustusafewminuteslater.Hishairwasmessy,
sweeping down over his forehead. He lit up with a real Augustus Waters
Goofy Smile when he saw me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. He sat
downinthebluefaux-leatherreclinernexttomychair.Heleanedintoward
me,seeminglyincapableofstiflingthesmile.
MomandDadleftusalone,whichfeltawkward.Iworkedhardtomeet
hiseyes, even thoughtheywere the kindofpretty that’shardto look at.“I
missedyou,”Augustussaid.
MyvoicewassmallerthanIwantedittobe.“Thanksfornottryingto
seemewhenIlookedlikehell.”
“Tobefair,youstilllookprettybad.”
Ilaughed.“Imissedyou,too.Ijustdon’twantyoutosee...allthis.I
justwant,like...Itdoesn’tmatter.Youdon’talwaysgetwhatyouwant.”
“Is that so?” he asked. “I’d always thought the world was a wish-
grantingfactory.”
“Turnsoutthatisnotthecase,”Isaid.Hewassobeautiful.Hereached
formyhandbutIshookmyhead.“No,”Isaidquietly.“Ifwe’regonnahang
out,ithastobe,like,notthat.”
“Okay,” he said. “Well, I have good news and bad news on the wish-
grantingfront.”
“Okay?”Isaid.
“Thebadnewsisthatweobviouslycan’tgotoAmsterdamuntilyou’re
better.TheGenieswill,however,worktheirfamousmagicwhenyou’rewell
enough.”
“That’sthegoodnews?”
“No,thegoodnewsisthatwhileyouweresleeping,PeterVanHouten
sharedabitmoreofhisbrilliantbrainwithus.”
He reached for my hand again, but this time to slip into it a heavily
folded sheet of stationery on the letterhead of Peter Van Houten, Novelist
Emeritus.
Ididn’treadituntilIgothome,situatedinmyownhugeandemptybedwith
nochanceofmedicalinterruption.IttookmeforevertodecodeVanHouten’s
sloped,scratchyscript.
DearMr.Waters,
Iaminreceiptofyourelectronicmaildatedthe14thofApriland
duly impressed by the Shakespearean complexity of your tragedy.
Everyoneinthistalehasarock-solidhamartia:hers,thatsheisso
sick;yours,thatyouaresowell.Wereshebetteroryousicker,then
thestarswouldnotbesoterriblycrossed,butitisthenatureofstars
tocross,andneverwasShakespearemorewrongthanwhenhehad
Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in
ourselves.”Easyenoughtosaywhenyou’reaRomannobleman(or
Shakespeare!),butthereisnoshortageoffaulttobefoundamidour
stars.
While we’re on the topic of old Will’s insufficiencies, your
writing about young Hazel reminds me of the Bard’s Fifty-fifth
sonnet, which of course begins, “Not marble, nor the gilded
monuments / Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; / But
youshallshinemorebrightinthesecontents/Thanunsweptstone,
besmear’dwithsluttishtime.”(Offtopic,but:Whatasluttimeis.
Shescrewseverybody.)It’safinepoembutadeceitfulone:Wedo
indeed remember Shakespeare’s powerful rhyme, but what do we
remember about the person it commemorates? Nothing. We’re
prettysurehewasmale;everythingelseisguesswork.Shakespeare
told us precious little of the man whom he entombed in his
linguistic sarcophagus. (Witness also that when we talk about
literature, we do so in the present tense. When we speak of the
dead, we are not so kind.) You do not immortalize the lost by
writingabout them. Languageburies,but doesnotresurrect. (Full
disclosure: I am not the first to make this observation. cf, the
MacLeishpoem“NotMarble,NortheGildedMonuments,”which
contains the heroic line “I shall say you will die and none will
rememberyou.”)
Idigress,but here’stherub:The dead arevisibleonlyinthe
terriblelidlesseyeofmemory.Theliving,thankheaven,retainthe
ability to surprise and to disappoint. Your Hazel is alive, Waters,
and you mustn’t impose your will upon another’s decision,
particularlyadecisionarrivedatthoughtfully.She wishestospare
youpain,andyoushouldlether.YoumaynotfindyoungHazel’s
logic persuasive, but I have trod through this vale of tears longer
thanyou,andfromwhereI’msitting,she’snotthelunatic.
Yourstruly,
PeterVanHouten
Itwasreallywrittenbyhim.Ilickedmyfingeranddabbedthepaperandthe
inkbledalittle,soIknewitwasreallyreal.
“Mom,” I said. I did not say it loudly, but I didn’t have to. She was
alwayswaiting.Shepeekedherheadaroundthedoor.
“Youokay,sweetie?”
“CanwecallDr.Mariaandaskifinternationaltravelwouldkillme?”
CHAPTEREIGHT
WehadabigCancerTeamMeetingacoupledayslater.Everysooften,a
bunchofdoctorsandsocialworkersandphysicaltherapistsandwhoeverelse
got together around a big table in a conference room and discussed my
situation.(NottheAugustusWaterssituationortheAmsterdamsituation.The
cancersituation.)
Dr.Marialedthemeeting.ShehuggedmewhenIgotthere.Shewasa
hugger.
Ifeltalittlebetter,Iguess.SleepingwiththeBiPAPallnightmademy
lungsfeelalmostnormal,although,thenagain,Ididnotreallyrememberlung
normality.
Everyonegotthereandmadeabigshowofturningofftheirpagersand
everythingsoitwouldbeallaboutme,andthenDr.Mariasaid,“Sothegreat
news is that Phalanxifor continues to control your tumor growth, but
obviouslywe’restillseeingseriousproblemswithfluidaccumulation.Sothe
questionis,howshouldweproceed?”
And then she just looked at me, like she was waiting for an answer.
“Um,”Isaid, “IfeellikeIamnotthemostqualifiedpersonintheroomto
answerthatquestion?”
Shesmiled.“Right,IwaswaitingforDr.Simons.Dr.Simons?”Hewas
anothercancerdoctorofsomekind.
“Well,weknowfromotherpatientsthatmosttumorseventuallyevolvea
waytogrowinspiteofPhalanxifor,butifthatwerethecase,we’dseetumor
growthonthescans,whichwedon’tsee.Soit’snotthatyet.”
Yet,Ithought.
Dr.Simonstappedatthetablewithhisforefinger.“Thethoughtaround
here is that it’s possible the Phalanxifor is worsening the edema, but we’d
facefarmoreseriousproblemsifwediscontinueditsuse.”
Dr. Maria added, “We don’t really understand the long-term effects of
Phalanxifor.Veryfewpeoplehavebeenonitaslongasyouhave.”
“Sowe’regonnadonothing?”
“We’regoingtostaythecourse,”Dr.Mariasaid,“butwe’llneedtodo
more to keep that edema from building up.” I felt kind of sick for some
reason, like I was going to throw up. I hated Cancer Team Meetings in
general, but I hated this one in particular. “Your cancer is not going away,
Hazel.Butwe’veseenpeoplelivewithyourleveloftumorpenetrationfora
longtime.”(Ididnotaskwhatconstitutedalongtime.I’dmadethatmistake
before.)“IknowthatcomingoutoftheICU,itdoesn’tfeelthisway,butthis
fluidis,atleastforthetimebeing,manageable.”
“Can’tIjustgetlikealungtransplantorsomething?”Iasked.
Dr.Maria’slipsshrankintohermouth.“Youwouldnotbeconsidereda
strong candidate for a transplant,unfortunately,” she said. I understood: No
usewastinggoodlungsonahopelesscase.Inodded,tryingnottolooklike
that comment hurt me. My dad started crying a little. I didn’t look over at
him,butno onesaidanythingforalongtime,sohishiccupingcrywasthe
onlysoundintheroom.
I hated hurting him. Most of the time, I could forget about it, but the
inexorabletruthisthis:Theymightbegladtohavemearound,butIwasthe
alphaandtheomegaofmyparents’suffering.
JustbeforetheMiracle,whenIwasintheICUanditlookedlikeIwasgoing
todieandMomwastellingmeitwasokaytoletgo,andIwastryingtoletgo
butmylungskeptsearchingforair,MomsobbedsomethingintoDad’schest
thatIwishIhadn’theard,andthatIhopesheneverfindsoutthatIdidhear.
Shesaid,“Iwon’tbeamomanymore.”Itguttedmeprettybadly.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that during the whole Cancer Team
Meeting. I couldn’tget it out of my head, how she sounded when she said
that,likeshewouldneverbeokayagain,whichprobablyshewouldn’t.
Anyway, eventually we decided to keep things the same only with more
frequentfluiddrainings.Attheend,IaskedifIcouldtraveltoAmsterdam,
andDr.Simonsactuallyandliterallylaughed,butthenDr.Mariasaid,“Why
not?”AndSimonssaid,dubiously,“Whynot?”AndDr.Mariasaid,“Yeah,I
don’tseewhynot.They’vegotoxygenontheplanes,afterall.”Dr.Simons
said,“Aretheyjustgoingtogate-checkaBiPAP?”AndMariasaid,“Yeah,or
haveonewaitingforher.”
“Placingapatient—oneofthemostpromisingPhalanxiforsurvivors,no
less—an eight-hour flight from the only physicians intimately familiar with
hercase?That’sarecipefordisaster.”
Dr.Mariashrugged.“Itwouldincreasesomerisks,”sheacknowledged,
butthenturnedtomeandsaid,“Butit’syourlife.”
Exceptnotreally.Onthecarridehome,myparentsagreed: I would not be
going to Amsterdam unless and until there was medical agreement that it
wouldbesafe.
***
Augustuscalledthatnightafterdinner.Iwasalreadyinbed—afterdinnerhad
becomemybedtimeforthemoment—proppedupwithagajillionpillowsand
alsoBluie,withmycomputeronmylap.
Ipickedup,saying,“Badnews,”andhesaid,“Shit,what?”
“Ican’tgotoAmsterdam.Oneofmydoctorsthinksit’sabadidea.”
Hewasquietforasecond.“God,”hesaid.“Ishould’vejustpaidforit
myself. Should’ve just taken you straight from the Funky Bones to
Amsterdam.”
“ButthenI would’vehadaprobablyfatalepisodeofdeoxygenationin
Amsterdam,andmybodywouldhavebeenshippedhomeinthecargoholdof
anairplane,”Isaid.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “But before that, my grand romantic gesture
wouldhavetotallygottenmelaid.”
Ilaughed pretty hard,hard enough thatI felt wherethe chest tubehad
been.
“Youlaughbecauseit’strue,”hesaid.
Ilaughedagain.
“It’strue,isn’tit!”
“Probably not,” I said, and then after a moment added, “although you
neverknow.”
Hemoanedinmisery.“I’mgonnadieavirgin,”hesaid.
“You’reavirgin?”Iasked,surprised.
“HazelGrace,”hesaid,“doyouhaveapenandapieceofpaper?”Isaid
Idid.“Okay,pleasedrawacircle.”Idid.“Nowdrawasmallercirclewithin
that circle.” I did. “The larger circle is virgins. The smaller circle is
seventeen-year-oldguyswithoneleg.”
I laughed again, and told him that having most of your social
engagements occur at a children’s hospital also did not encourage
promiscuity,andthenwetalkedaboutPeterVanHouten’samazinglybrilliant
commentaboutthesluttinessof time, and eventhoughIwasin bed andhe
wasin hisbasement, itreally felt likewe wereback inthat uncreated third
space,whichwasaplaceIreallylikedvisitingwithhim.
ThenIgotoffthephoneandmymomanddadcameintomyroom,and
eventhoughitwasreallynotbigenoughforallthreeofus,theylayoneither
side of the bed with me and we all watched ANTM on the little TV in my
room. This girl I didn’t like, Selena, got kicked off, which made me really
happyforsomereason.ThenMomhookedmeuptotheBiPAPandtucked
me in, and Dad kissed me on the forehead, the kiss all stubble, and then I
closedmyeyes.
The BiPAP essentially took control of my breathing away from me,
whichwasintenselyannoying,butthegreatthingaboutitwasthatitmadeall
this noise, rumbling with each inhalation and whirring as I exhaled. I kept
thinkingthatit soundedlikea dragon breathingin time withme,like I had
thispetdragonwhowascuddledupnexttomeandcaredenoughaboutmeto
timehisbreathstomine.IwasthinkingaboutthatasIsankintosleep.
Igotuplatethenextmorning.IwatchedTV in bed and checked my email
and then after a while started crafting an email to Peter Van Houten about
howIcouldn’tcometoAmsterdambutIsworeuponthelifeofmymother
that I would never share any information about the characters with anyone,
thatIdidn’tevenwanttoshareit,becauseIwasaterriblyselfishperson,and
couldhepleasejusttellmeiftheDutchTulipManisforrealandifAnna’s
mommarrieshimandalsoaboutSisyphustheHamster.
ButIdidn’tsendit.Itwastoopatheticevenforme.
Around three, when Ifigured Augustus would be home from school, I
wentintothebackyardandcalledhim.Asthephonerang,Isatdownonthe
grass,whichwasallovergrownanddandeliony.Thatswingsetwasstillback
there,weeds growing outof thelittle ditch I’dcreated from kickingmyself
higherasalittlekid.IrememberedDadbringinghomethekitfromToys“R”
Usandbuildingitinthebackyardwithaneighbor.He’dinsistedonswinging
onitfirsttotestit,andthethingdamnnearbroke.
Theskywasgrayandlowandfullofrainbutnotyetraining.Ihungup
when I got Augustus’s voice mail and then put the phone down in the dirt
besidemeandkeptlookingattheswingset,thinkingthatIwouldgiveupall
the sick days I had left for a few healthy ones. I tried to tell myself that it
could be worse, that the world was not a wish-granting factory, that I was
livingwithcancernotdyingofit,thatI mustn’tletitkillmebeforeitkills
me,andthenIjuststartedmutteringstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid
over and over again until the sound unhinged from its meaning. I was still
sayingitwhenhecalledback.
“Hi,”Isaid.
“HazelGrace,”hesaid.
“Hi,”Isaidagain.
“Areyoucrying,HazelGrace?”
“Kindof?”
“Why?”heasked.
“’CauseI’mjust—IwanttogotoAmsterdam,andIwanthimtotellme
whathappensafterthebookisover,andIjustdon’twantmyparticularlife,
andalsotheskyisdepressingme,andthereisthisoldswingsetoutherethat
mydadmadeformewhenIwasakid.”
“Imustseethisoldswingsetoftearsimmediately,”hesaid.“I’llbeover
intwentyminutes.”
I stayed in the backyard because Mom was always really smothery and
concernedwhenIwascrying,becauseIdidnotcryoften,andIknewshe’d
want to talk and discuss whether I shouldn’t consider adjusting my
medication, and the thought of that whole conversation made me want to
throwup.
It’s not like I had some utterly poignant, well-lit memory of a healthy
father pushing a healthy child and the child saying higher higher higher or
some other metaphorically resonant moment. The swing set was just sitting
there, abandoned, the two little swings hanging still and sad from a grayed
plankofwood,theoutlineoftheseatslikeakid’sdrawingofasmile.
Behindme,Iheardthesliding-glassdooropen.Iturnedaround.Itwas
Augustus,wearingkhakipantsandashort-sleeveplaidbutton-down.Iwiped
myfacewithmysleeveandsmiled.“Hi,”Isaid.
It took him a second to sit down on the ground next to me, and he
grimacedashelandedratherungracefullyonhisass.“Hi,”hesaidfinally.I
lookedoverathim.Hewaslookingpastme,intothebackyard.“Iseeyour
point,” he said as he put an arm around my shoulder. “That is one sad
goddamnedswingset.”
Inudgedmyheadintohisshoulder.“Thanksforofferingtocomeover.”
“You realize that trying to keep your distance from me will not lessen
myaffectionforyou,”hesaid.
“Iguess?”Isaid.
“Alleffortstosavemefromyouwillfail,”hesaid.
“Why?Whywouldyouevenlikeme?Haven’tyouputyourselfthrough
enoughofthis?”Iasked,thinkingofCarolineMathers.
Gusdidn’tanswer.Hejustheldontome,hisfingersstrongagainstmy
leftarm.“Wegottadosomethingaboutthisfriggingswingset,”hesaid.“I’m
tellingyou,it’sninetypercentoftheproblem.”
OnceI’drecovered,wewentinsideandsatdownonthecouchrightnextto
eachother,thelaptophalfonhis(fake)kneeandhalfonmine.“Hot,”Isaid
ofthelaptop’sbase.
“Is it now?” He smiled. Gus loaded this giveaway site called Free No
Catchandtogetherwewroteanad.
“Headline?”heasked.
“‘SwingSetNeedsHome,’”Isaid.
“‘DesperatelyLonelySwingSetNeedsLovingHome,’”hesaid.
“‘Lonely,VaguelyPedophilicSwingSetSeekstheButtsofChildren,’”I
said.
Helaughed.“That’swhy.”
“What?”
“That’swhyIlikeyou.Doyourealizehowrareitistocomeacrossahot
girlwhocreatesanadjectivalversionofthewordpedophile?Youaresobusy
beingyouthatyouhavenoideahowutterlyunprecedentedyouare.”
Itookadeepbreaththroughmynose.Therewasneverenoughairinthe
world,buttheshortagewasparticularlyacuteinthatmoment.
Wewrotetheadtogether,editingeachotheraswewent.Intheend,we
settleduponthis:
DesperatelyLonelySwingSetNeedsLovingHome
Oneswingset,wellwornbutstructurallysound,seeksnewhome.
Makememorieswithyourkidorkidssothatsomedayheorsheor
theywilllookintothebackyardandfeeltheacheofsentimentality
as desperately as I did this afternoon. It’s all fragile and fleeting,
dear reader, but with this swing set, your child(ren) will be
introduced to the ups and downs of human life gently and safely,
andmayalsolearnthemostimportantlessonofall:Nomatterhow
hardyoukick,nomatterhowhighyouget,youcan’tgoalltheway
around.
Swingsetcurrentlyresidesnear83rdandSpringMill.
After that, we turned on the TV for a little while, but we couldn’t find
anythingtowatch, so IgrabbedAnImperialAffliction off the bedside table
and brought it back into the living room and Augustus Waters read to me
whileMom,makinglunch,listenedin.
“‘Mother’sglasseyeturnedinward,’”Augustusbegan.Asheread,Ifell
inlovethewayyoufallasleep:slowly,andthenallatonce.
When I checked my email an hour later, I learned that we had plenty of
swing-setsuitorstochoosefrom.Intheend,wepickedaguynamedDaniel
Alvarezwho’dincludedapictureofhisthreekidsplayingvideogameswith
thesubjectlineIjustwantthemtogo outside.Iemailedhimbackand told
himtopickitupathisleisure.
AugustusaskedifIwantedtogowithhimtoSupportGroup,butIwas
reallytiredfrommybusydayofHavingCancer,soIpassed.Weweresitting
thereonthecouchtogether,andhepushedhimselfuptogobutthenfellback
downontothecouchandsneakedakissontomycheek.
“Augustus!”Isaid.
“Friendly,” he said. He pushed himself up again and really stood this
time,thentooktwostepsovertomymomandsaid,“Alwaysapleasuretosee
you,”andmymomopenedherarmstohughim,whereuponAugustusleaned
inandkissedmymomonthecheek.Heturnedbacktome.“See?”heasked.
I went to bed right after dinner, the BiPAP drowning out the world
beyondmyroom.
Ineversawtheswingsetagain.
***
Isleptforalongtime,tenhours,possiblybecauseoftheslowrecoveryand
possibly because sleep fights cancer and possibly because I was a teenager
with no particular wake-up time. I wasn’t strong enough yet to go back to
classes at MCC. When I finally felt like getting up, I removed the BiPAP
snout from my nose, put my oxygen nubbins in, turned them on, and then
grabbed my laptop from beneath my bed, where I’d stashed it the night
before.
IhadanemailfromLidewijVliegenthart.
DearHazel,
IhavereceivedwordviatheGeniesthatyouwillbevisitinguswith
AugustusWatersandyourmotherbeginningon4thofMay.Onlya
weekaway!PeterandIaredelightedandcannotwaittomakeyour
acquaintance.Yourhotel,theFilosoof,isjustonestreetawayfrom
Peter’shome.Perhapsweshouldgiveyouonedayforthejetlag,
yes? So if convenient, we will meet you at Peter’s home on the
morningof5thMayatperhapsteno’clockforacupofcoffeeand
for him to answer questions you have about his book. And then
perhapsafterwardwecantouramuseumortheAnneFrankHouse?
Withallbestwishes,
LidewijVliegenthart
ExecutiveAssistanttoMr.PeterVanHouten,authorofAnImperialAffliction
***
“Mom,” I said. She didn’t answer. “MOM!” I shouted. Nothing. Again,
louder,“MOM!”
Sheraninwearingathreadbarepinktowelunderherarmpits,dripping,
vaguelypanicked.“What’swrong?”
“Nothing.Sorry,Ididn’tknowyouwereintheshower,”Isaid.
“Bath,” she said. “I was just . . .” She closed her eyes. “Just trying to
takeabathforfiveseconds.Sorry.What’sgoingon?”
“CanyoucalltheGeniesandtellthemthetripisoff?Ijustgotanemail
fromPeterVanHouten’sassistant.Shethinkswe’recoming.”
Shepursedherlipsandsquintedpastme.
“What?”Iasked.
“I’mnotsupposedtotellyouuntilyourfathergetshome.”
“What?”Iaskedagain.
“Trip’son,”shesaidfinally.“Dr.Mariacalleduslastnightandmadea
convincingcasethatyouneedtoliveyour—”
“MOM,ILOVEYOUSOMUCH!”Ishouted,andshecametothebed
andletmehugher.
ItextedAugustusbecauseIknewhewasinschool:
StillfreeMaythree?:-)
Hetextedbackimmediately.
Everything’scomingupWaters.
IfIcouldjuststayaliveforaweek,I’dknowtheunwrittensecretsofAnna’s
momandtheDutchTulipGuy.Ilookeddownmyblouseatmychest.
“Keepyourshittogether,”Iwhisperedtomylungs.
CHAPTERNINE
ThedaybeforeweleftforAmsterdam,IwentbacktoSupportGroupforthe
firsttimesincemeetingAugustus.Thecasthadrotatedabitdownthereinthe
Literal Heart of Jesus. I arrived early, enough time for perennially strong
appendicealcancersurvivorLidatobringmeup-to-dateoneveryoneasIate
agrocery-storechocolatechipcookiewhileleaningagainstthedesserttable.
Twelve-year-oldleukemicMichaelhadpassedaway.He’dfoughthard,
Lidatold me, asifthere were anotherway to fight.Everyoneelse wasstill
around.KenwasNECafterradiation.Lucashadrelapsed,andshesaiditwith
a sad smile and a little shrug, the way you might say an alcoholic had
relapsed.
A cute, chubby girl walked over to the table and said hi to Lida, then
introducedherselftomeasSusan.Ididn’tknowwhatwaswrongwithher,
butshehadascarextendingfromthesideofhernosedownherlipandacross
hercheek.Shehadputmakeupoverthescar,whichonlyservedtoemphasize
it. I was feeling a little out of breath from all the standing, so I said, “I’m
gonnagosit,”andthentheelevatoropened,revealingIsaacandhismom.He
wore sunglasses and clung to his mom’s arm with one hand, a cane in the
other.
“Support Group Hazel not Monica,” I said when he got close enough,
andhesmiledandsaid,“Hey,Hazel.How’sitgoing?”
“Good.I’vegottenreallyhotsinceyouwentblind.”
“Ibet,”hesaid.Hismomledhimtoachair,kissedthetopofhishead,
andshuffledbacktowardtheelevator.Hefeltaround beneathhimandthen
sat.Isatdowninthechairnexttohim.“Sohow’sitgoing?”
“Okay.Gladtobehome,Iguess.GustoldmeyouwereintheICU?”
“Yeah,”Isaid.
“Sucks,”hesaid.
“I’malotbetternow,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtoAmsterdamtomorrowwith
Gus.”
“I know. I’m pretty well up-to-date on your life, because Gus never.
Talks.About.Anything.Else.”
Ismiled.Patrickclearedhisthroatandsaid,“Ifwecouldalltakeaseat?”
Hecaughtmyeye.“Hazel!”hesaid.“I’msogladtoseeyou!”
Everyone sat and Patrick began his retelling of his ball-lessness, and I
fell into the routine of Support Group: communicating through sighs with
Isaac,feelingsorryforeveryoneintheroomandalsoeveryoneoutsideofit,
zoningoutoftheconversationtofocusonmybreathlessnessandtheaching.
Theworldwenton,asitdoes,withoutmyfullparticipation,andIonlywoke
upfromthereveriewhensomeonesaidmyname.
It was Lida the Strong. Lida in remission. Blond, healthy, stout Lida,
whoswamonherhighschoolswimteam.Lida,missingonlyherappendix,
saying my name, saying, “Hazel is such an inspiration to me; she really is.
Shejustkeepsfightingthebattle,wakingupeverymorningandgoingtowar
withoutcomplaint.She’ssostrong.She’ssomuchstrongerthanIam.Ijust
wishIhadherstrength.”
“Hazel?”Patrickasked.“Howdoesthatmakeyoufeel?”
IshruggedandlookedoveratLida.“I’llgiveyoumystrengthifIcan
haveyourremission.”IfeltguiltyassoonasIsaidit.
“Idon’tthinkthat’swhatLidameant,”Patricksaid.“Ithinkshe...”But
I’dstoppedlistening.
Aftertheprayersforthelivingandtheendlesslitanyofthedead(with
Michaeltackedontotheend),weheldhandsandsaid,“Livingourbestlife
today!”
Lidaimmediatelyrusheduptomefullofapologyandexplanation,andI
said,“No,no,it’s reallyfine,”wavingheroff,and IsaidtoIsaac,“Careto
accompanymeupstairs?”
Hetookmyarm,andIwalkedwithhimtotheelevator,gratefultohave
anexcuse toavoid the stairs.I’d almostmade it allthe wayto the elevator
whenIsawhismomstandinginacorneroftheLiteralHeart.“I’mhere,”she
saidtoIsaac,andheswitchedfrommyarmtohersbeforeasking,“Youwant
tocomeover?”
“Sure,” I said. I felt bad for him. Even though I hated the sympathy
peoplefelttowardme,Icouldn’thelpbutfeelittowardhim.
IsaaclivedinasmallranchhouseinMeridianHillsnexttothisfancyprivate
school.Wesatdowninthelivingroomwhilehismomwentofftothekitchen
tomakedinner,andthenheaskedifIwantedtoplayagame.
“Sure,”Isaid.Soheaskedfortheremote.Igaveittohim,andheturned
ontheTVandthenacomputerattachedtoit.TheTVscreenstayedblack,but
afterafewsecondsadeepvoicespokefromit.
“Deception,”thevoicesaid.“Oneplayerortwo?”
“Two,”Isaacsaid.“Pause.”Heturnedtome.“IplaythisgamewithGus
all the time, but it’s infuriating because he is a completely suicidal video-
game player. He’s, like, way too aggressive about saving civilians and
whatnot.”
“Yeah,”Isaid,rememberingthenightofthebrokentrophies.
“Unpause,”Isaacsaid.
“Playerone,identifyyourself.”
“Thisisplayerone’ssexysexyvoice,”Isaacsaid.
“Playertwo,identifyyourself.”
“Iwouldbeplayertwo,Iguess,”Isaid.
StaffSergeantMaxMayhemandPrivateJasperJacksawakeinadark,
emptyroomapproximatelytwelvefeetsquare.
IsaacpointedtowardtheTV,likeIshouldtalktoitorsomething.“Um,”
Isaid.“Istherealightswitch?”
No.
“Isthereadoor?”
PrivateJackslocatesthedoor.Itislocked.
Isaacjumpedin.“There’sakeyabovethedoorframe.”
Yes,thereis.
“Mayhemopensthedoor.”
Thedarknessisstillcomplete.
“Takeoutknife,”Isaacsaid.
“Takeoutknife,”Iadded.
Akid—Isaac’sbrother,Iassume—dartedoutfromthekitchen.Hewas
maybeten,wiryandoverenergetic,andhekindofskippedacrosstheliving
room before shouting in a really good imitation of Isaac’s voice, “KILL
MYSELF.”
SergeantMayhemplaceshisknifetohisneck.Areyousureyou—
“No,” Isaac said. “Pause. Graham, don’t make me kick your ass.”
Grahamlaughedgiddilyandskippedoffdownahallway.
As Mayhem and Jacks, Isaac and I feltour way forwardin the cavern
untilwebumpedintoaguywhomwestabbedaftergettinghimtotellusthat
wewereinaUkrainianprisoncave,morethanamilebeneaththeground.As
wecontinued,soundeffects—aragingundergroundriver,voicesspeakingin
Ukrainian and accented English—led you through the cave, but there was
nothingtoseeinthisgame.Afterplayingforanhour,webegantohearthe
criesofadesperateprisoner,pleading,“God,helpme.God,helpme.”
“Pause,” Isaac said. “This is when Gus always insists on finding the
prisoner, even though that keeps you from winning the game, and the only
waytoactuallyfreetheprisoneristowinthegame.”
“Yeah, he takes video games too seriously,” I said. “He’s a bit too
enamoredwithmetaphor.”
“Doyoulikehim?”Isaacasked.
“OfcourseIlikehim.He’sgreat.”
“Butyoudon’twanttohookupwithhim?”
Ishrugged.“It’scomplicated.”
“Iknowwhatyou’retryingtodo.Youdon’twanttogivehimsomething
hecan’thandle.Youdon’twanthimtoMonicayou,”hesaid.
“Kinda,”Isaid.Butitwasn’tthat.Thetruthwas,Ididn’twanttoIsaac
him. “To be fair to Monica,” I said, “what you did to her wasn’t very nice
either.”
“What’dIdotoher?”heasked,defensive.
“Youknow,goingblindandeverything.”
“Butthat’snotmyfault,”Isaacsaid.
“I’mnotsayingitwasyourfault.I’msayingitwasn’tnice.”
CHAPTERTEN
We could only take one suitcase. I couldn’tcarry one, and Mom insisted
that she couldn’t carry two, so we had to jockey for space in this black
suitcase my parents had gotten as a wedding present a million years ago, a
suitcase that was supposed to spend its life in exotic locales but ended up
mostly going back and forth to Dayton, where Morris Property, Inc., had a
satelliteofficethatDadoftenvisited.
I argued with Mom that I should have slightly more than half of the
suitcase,sincewithoutmeandmycancer,we’dneverbegoingtoAmsterdam
inthefirstplace.Momcounteredthatsinceshewastwiceaslargeasmeand
thereforerequiredmorephysicalfabrictopreservehermodesty,shedeserved
atleasttwo-thirdsofthesuitcase.
Intheend,webothlost.Soitgoes.
Ourflightdidn’t leave until noon, but Mom woke meupatfivethirty,
turning on the light and shouting, “AMSTERDAM!” She ran around all
morning making sure we had international plug adapters and quadruple-
checkingthatwehadtherightnumberofoxygentankstogetthereandthat
they were all full, etc., while I just rolled out of bed, put on my Travel to
Amsterdam Outfit (jeans, a pink tank top, and a black cardigan in case the
planewascold).
Thecarwaspackedbysixfifteen,whereuponMominsistedthatweeat
breakfastwithDad,althoughIhadamoraloppositiontoeatingbeforedawn
onthegroundsthatIwasnotanineteenth-centuryRussianpeasantfortifying
myselfforadayinthefields.Butanyway,Itriedtostomachdownsomeeggs
while Mom and Dad enjoyed these homemade versions of Egg McMuffins
theyliked.
“Why are breakfast foods breakfast foods?” I asked them. “Like, why
don’twehavecurryforbreakfast?”
“Hazel,eat.”
“But why?” I asked. “I mean, seriously: How did scrambled eggs get
stuckwith breakfastexclusivity?You can put bacon ona sandwichwithout
anyonefreakingout.Butthemomentyoursandwichhasanegg,boom,it’sa
breakfastsandwich.”
Dad answered with his mouth full. “When you come back, we’ll have
breakfastfordinner.Deal?”
“Idon’twanttohave‘breakfastfordinner,’”Ianswered,crossingknife
andforkovermymostlyfullplate.“Iwanttohavescrambledeggsfordinner
without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg–inclusive meal is
breakfastevenwhenitoccursatdinnertime.”
“You’ve gotta pick your battles in this world, Hazel,” my mom said.
“Butifthisistheissueyouwanttochampion,wewillstandbehindyou.”
“Quiteabitbehindyou,”mydadadded,andMomlaughed.
Anyway,Iknewitwasstupid,butIfeltkindofbadforscrambledeggs.
Aftertheyfinishedeating,Daddidthedishesandwalkedustothecar.
Of course, he started crying, and he kissed my cheek with his wet stubbly
face.Hepressedhisnoseagainstmycheekboneandwhispered,“Iloveyou.
I’msoproudofyou.”(Forwhat,Iwondered.)
“Thanks,Dad.”
“I’llseeyouinafewdays,okay,sweetie?Iloveyousomuch.”
“Iloveyou,too,Dad.”Ismiled.“Andit’sonlythreedays.”
Aswebackedoutofthedriveway,Ikeptwavingathim.Hewaswaving
back,and crying. Itoccurred to methat he wasprobably thinking hemight
neverseeme again,whichheprobablythoughteverysinglemorningofhis
entireweekdaylifeasheleftforwork,whichprobablysucked.
MomandIdroveovertoAugustus’shouse,andwhenwegotthere,she
wantedmetostayinthecartorest,butIwenttothedoorwithheranyway.
As we approached the house, I could hear someone crying inside. I didn’t
thinkitwasGusatfirst,becauseitdidn’tsoundanythinglikethelowrumble
ofhisspeaking,butthenIheardavoicethatwasdefinitelyatwistedversion
ofhissay,“BECAUSEITISMYLIFE,MOM.ITBELONGSTOME.”And
quicklymymomputherarmaroundmyshouldersandspunmebacktoward
thecar,walkingquickly,andIwaslike,“Mom,what’swrong?”
Andshesaid,“Wecan’teavesdrop,Hazel.”
We got back into the car and I texted Augustus that we were outside
wheneverhewasready.
Westaredatthehouseforawhile.Theweirdthingabouthousesisthat
they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even
thoughtheycontainmostofourlives.Iwonderedifthatwassortofthepoint
ofarchitecture.
“Well,”Momsaidafterawhile,“weareprettyearly,Iguess.”
“AlmostasifIdidn’thavetogetupatfivethirty,”Isaid.Momreached
downtotheconsolebetweenus,grabbedhercoffeemug,andtookasip.My
phonebuzzed.AtextfromAugustus.
JustCAN’Tdecidewhattowear.Doyoulikemebetterinapoloor
abutton-down?
Ireplied:
Button-down.
Thirtysecondslater,thefrontdooropened,andasmilingAugustusappeared,
arollerbagbehindhim.Heworeapressedsky-bluebutton-downtuckedinto
hisjeans.ACamelLightdangledfromhislips.Mymomgotouttosayhito
him.Hetookthecigaretteoutmomentarilyandspokeintheconfidentvoice
towhichIwasaccustomed.“Alwaysapleasuretoseeyou,ma’am.”
IwatchedthemthroughtherearviewmirroruntilMomopenedthetrunk.
Moments later, Augustus opened a door behind me and engaged in the
complicatedbusinessofenteringthebackseatofacarwithoneleg.
“Doyouwantshotgun?”Iasked.
“Absolutelynot,”hesaid.“Andhello,HazelGrace.”
“Hi,”Isaid.“Okay?”Iasked.
“Okay,”hesaid.
“Okay,”Isaid.
Mymom gotin and closedthe car door. “Next stop,Amsterdam,” she
announced.
Whichwasnotquitetrue.Thenextstopwastheairportparkinglot,andthen
abustookustotheterminal,andthenanopen-airelectriccartookustothe
securityline.TheTSAguyatthefrontofthelinewasshoutingabouthowour
bags had better not contain explosives or firearms or anything liquid over
threeounces,andIsaidtoAugustus,“Observation:Standinginlineisaform
ofoppression,”andhesaid,“Seriously.”
Rather than be searched by hand, I chose to walk through the metal
detectorwithoutmycartormytankoreventheplasticnubbinsinmynose.
Walking through the X-ray machine marked the first time I’d taken a step
without oxygen in some months, and it felt pretty amazing to walk
unencumbered like that, stepping across the Rubicon, the machine’s silence
acknowledgingthatIwas,howeverbriefly,anonmetallicizedcreature.
IfeltabodilysovereigntythatIcan’treallydescribeexcepttosaythat
when I was a kid I used to have a really heavy backpack that I carried
everywherewithallmybooksinit,andifIwalkedaroundwiththebackpack
forlongenough,whenItookitoffIfeltlikeIwasfloating.
After about ten seconds, my lungs felt like they were folding in upon
themselves like flowers at dusk. I sat down on a gray bench just past the
machineandtriedtocatchmybreath,mycougharattlingdrizzle,andIfelt
prettymiserableuntilIgotthecannulabackintoplace.
Even then, it hurt. The pain was always there, pulling me inside of
myself, demanding to be felt. It always felt like I was waking up from the
pain when something in the world outside of me suddenly required my
comment or attention. Mom was looking at me, concerned. She’d just said
something. What had she just said? Then I remembered. She’d asked what
waswrong.
“Nothing,”Isaid.
“Amsterdam!”shehalfshouted.
Ismiled.“Amsterdam,”Ianswered.Shereachedherhand downtome
andpulledmeup.
We got to the gate an hour before our scheduled boarding time. “Mrs.
Lancaster,youareanimpressivelypunctualperson,”Augustussaidashesat
downnexttomeinthemostlyemptygatearea.
“Well,ithelpsthatIamnottechnicallyverybusy,”shesaid.
“You’replentybusy,”Itoldher,althoughitoccurredtomethatMom’s
businesswasmostlyme.Therewasalsothebusinessofbeingmarriedtomy
dad—he was kind of clueless about, like, banking and hiring plumbers and
cookinganddoingthingsotherthanworkingforMorrisProperty,Inc.—butit
was mostly me. Her primary reason for living and my primary reason for
livingwereawfullyentangled.
Astheseatsaroundthegatestartedtofill,Augustussaid,“I’mgonnaget
ahamburgerbeforeweleave.CanIgetyouanything?”
“No,”Isaid,“butIreallyappreciateyourrefusaltogiveintobreakfasty
socialconventions.”
Hetiltedhisheadatme,confused.“Hazelhasdevelopedanissuewith
theghettoizationofscrambledeggs,”Momsaid.
“It’s embarrassing that we all just walk through life blindly accepting
thatscrambledeggsarefundamentallyassociatedwithmornings.”
“Iwanttotalkaboutthismore,”Augustussaid.“ButIamstarving.I’ll
berightback.”
WhenAugustushadn’tshowedupaftertwentyminutes,IaskedMomifshe
thoughtsomethingwaswrong,andshelookedupfromherawfulmagazine
only long enough to say, “He probably just went to the bathroom or
something.”
Agateagentcameoverandswitchedmyoxygencontaineroutwithone
providedbytheairline.Iwasembarrassedtohavethisladykneelinginfront
ofmewhileeveryonewatched,soItextedAugustuswhileshedidit.
He didn’t reply. Mom seemed unconcerned, but I was imagining all
kindsofAmsterdamtrip–ruiningfates(arrest,injury,mentalbreakdown)and
I felt like there was something noncancery wrong with my chest as the
minutestickedaway.
Andjustwhentheladybehindtheticketcounterannouncedtheywere
going to start preboarding people who might need a bit of extra time and
every single person in the gate area turned squarely to me, I saw Augustus
fast-limping toward us with a McDonald’s bag in one hand, his backpack
slungoverhisshoulder.
“Wherewereyou?”Iasked.
“Linegotsuperlong,sorry,”hesaid,offeringmeahandup.Itookit,and
wewalkedsidebysidetothegatetopreboard.
Icouldfeeleverybodywatchingus,wonderingwhatwaswrongwithus,
and whether it would kill us, and how heroic my mom must be, and
everythingelse.Thatwastheworstpartabouthavingcancer,sometimes:The
physical evidence of disease separates you from other people. We were
irreconcilablyother,andneverwasitmoreobviousthanwhenthethreeofus
walkedthroughtheemptyplane,thestewardessnoddingsympatheticallyand
gesturing us toward our row in the distant back. I sat in the middle of our
three-personrowwithAugustusinthewindowseatandMomintheaisle.I
feltalittlehemmedinbyMom,soofcourseIscootedovertowardAugustus.
Wewererightbehindtheplane’swing.Heopeneduphisbagandunwrapped
hisburger.
“Thethingabout eggs,though,”he said, “isthatbreakfastizationgives
thescrambledeggacertainsacrality,right?Youcangetyourselfsomebacon
orCheddarcheeseanywhereanytime,fromtacostobreakfastsandwichesto
grilledcheese,butscrambledeggs—they’reimportant.”
“Ludicrous,”Isaid.Thepeoplewerestartingtofileintotheplanenow.I
didn’twanttolookatthem,soIlookedaway,andtolookawaywastolookat
Augustus.
“I’mjustsaying:Maybescrambledeggsareghettoized,butthey’realso
special.Theyhaveaplaceandatime,likechurchdoes.”
“You couldn’t bemorewrong,”I said.“You arebuyingintothe cross-
stitched sentiments of your parents’ throw pillows. You’re arguing that the
fragile,rarethingisbeautifulsimplybecauseitisfragileandrare.Butthat’sa
lie,andyouknowit.”
“You’reahardpersontocomfort,”Augustussaid.
“Easy comfort isn’t comforting,” I said. “You were a rare and fragile
floweronce.Youremember.”
Foramoment,hesaidnothing.“Youdoknowhowtoshutmeup,Hazel
Grace.”
“It’smyprivilegeandmyresponsibility,”Ianswered.
BeforeIbrokeeyecontactwithhim,hesaid,“Listen,sorryIavoidedthe
gatearea.TheMcDonald’slinewasn’treallythatlong;Ijust...Ijustdidn’t
wanttosittherewithallthosepeoplelookingatusorwhatever.”
“Atme,mostly,”Isaid.YoucouldglanceatGusandneverknowhe’d
beensick,butIcarriedmydiseasewithmeontheoutside,whichispartof
why I’d become a homebody in the first place. “Augustus Waters, noted
charismatist,isembarrassedtositnexttoagirlwithanoxygentank.”
“Not embarrassed,” he said. “They just piss me off sometimes. And I
don’twanttobepissedofftoday.”Afteraminute,hedugintohispocketand
flippedopenhispackofsmokes.
Aboutninesecondslater,ablondstewardessrushedovertoourrowand
said,“Sir,youcan’tsmokeonthisplane.Oranyplane.”
“Idon’tsmoke,”heexplained,thecigarettedancinginhismouthashe
spoke.
“But—”
“It’sametaphor,”Iexplained.“Heputsthekillingthinginhismouthbut
doesn’tgiveitthepowertokillhim.”
Thestewardesswasflummoxedforonlyamoment.“Well,thatmetaphor
is prohibited on today’s flight,” she said. Gus nodded and rejoined the
cigarettetoitspack.
We finally taxied out to the runway and the pilot said, Flight attendants,
preparefordeparture,andthentwotremendousjetenginesroaredtolifeand
webegantoaccelerate.“Thisiswhatitfeelsliketodriveinacarwithyou,”I
said,andhesmiled,butkepthisjawclenchedtightandIsaid,“Okay?”
WewerepickingupspeedandsuddenlyGus’shandgrabbedthearmrest,
hiseyeswide,andIputmyhandontopofhisandsaid,“Okay?”Hedidn’t
say anything, just stared at me wide-eyed, and I said, “Are you scared of
flying?”
“I’lltellyouinaminute,”hesaid.Thenoseoftheplaneroseupandwe
werealoft.Gusstaredoutthewindow,watchingtheplanetshrinkbeneathus,
andthenIfelthishandrelaxbeneathmine.Heglancedatmeandthenback
outthewindow.“Weareflying,”heannounced.
“You’veneverbeenonaplanebefore?”
Heshookhishead.“LOOK!”hehalfshouted,pointingatthewindow.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Yeah,Iseeit.Itlookslikewe’reinanairplane.”
“NOTHING HAS EVER LOOKED LIKE THAT EVER IN ALL OF
HUMANHISTORY,”hesaid.Hisenthusiasmwasadorable.Icouldn’tresist
leaningovertokisshimonthecheek.
“Justsoyouknow,I’mrighthere,”Momsaid.“Sittingnexttoyou.Your
mother.Whoheldyourhandasyoutookyourfirstinfantilesteps.”
“It’sfriendly,”Iremindedher,turningtokissheronthecheek.
“Didn’tfeeltoofriendly,”Gusmumbledjustloudenoughformetohear.
WhensurprisedandexcitedandinnocentGusemergedfromGrandGesture
MetaphoricallyInclinedAugustus,Iliterallycouldnotresist.
It was a quick flight to Detroit, where the little electric car met us as we
disembarkedanddroveustothegateforAmsterdam.ThatplanehadTVsin
the back of each seat, and once we were above the clouds, Augustus and I
timeditsothat we startedwatchingthesameromanticcomedy at thesame
time on our respective screens. But even though we were perfectly
synchronized in our pressing of the play button, his movie started a couple
secondsbeforemine,soateveryfunnymoment,he’dlaughjustasIstartedto
hearwhateverthejokewas.
***
Momhadthisbigplanthatwewouldsleepforthelastseveralhoursofthe
flight, so when we landed at eight A.M., we’d hit the city ready to suck the
marrow out of life or whatever. So after the movie was over, Mom and
AugustusandIalltooksleepingpills.Momconkedoutwithinseconds,but
AugustusandIstayeduptolookoutthewindowforawhile.Itwasaclear
day, and although we couldn’t see the sun setting, we could see the sky’s
response.
“God,thatisbeautiful,”Isaidmostlytomyself.
“‘Therisensun toobrightinherlosingeyes,’”hesaid,alinefromAn
ImperialAffliction.
“Butit’snotrising,”Isaid.
“It’s rising somewhere,” he answered, and then after a moment said,
“Observation:Itwouldbe awesome toflyina superfast airplanethatcould
chasethesunrisearoundtheworldforawhile.”
“AlsoI’dlivelonger.”Helookedatmeaskew.“Youknow,becauseof
relativity or whatever.” He still looked confused. “We age slower when we
movequicklyversusstandingstill.Sorightnowtimeispassingslowerforus
thanforpeopleontheground.”
“Collegechicks,”hesaid.“They’resosmart.”
Irolledmyeyes.Hehithis(real)kneewithmykneeandIhithisknee
backwithmine.“Areyousleepy?”Iaskedhim.
“Notatall,”heanswered.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Meneither.”Sleepingmedsandnarcoticsdidn’tdofor
mewhattheydidfornormalpeople.
“Want to watch another movie?” he asked. “They’ve got a Portman
moviefromherHazelEra.”
“Iwanttowatchsomethingyouhaven’tseen.”
Intheendwewatched300,awarmovieabout300Spartanswhoprotect
Sparta from an invading army of like a billion Persians. Augustus’s movie
startedbeforemineagain,andafterafewminutesofhearinghimgo,“Dang!”
or “Fatality!” every time someone was killed in some badass way, I leaned
overthe armrest andputmy head onhisshoulder so Icould see hisscreen
andwecouldactuallywatchthemovietogether.
300 featured a sizable collection of shirtless and well-oiled strapping
younglads,soitwasnotparticularlydifficultontheeyes,butitwasmostlya
lot of sword wielding to no real effect. The bodies of the Persians and the
Spartans piled up, and I couldn’tquite figureout why thePersians were so
evil or the Spartans so awesome. “Contemporaneity,” to quote AIA,
“specializesinthekindofbattleswhereinnoonelosesanythingofanyvalue,
exceptarguablytheirlives.”Andsoitwaswiththesetitansclashing.
Towardtheendofthemovie,almosteveryoneisdead,andthereisthis
insanemomentwhentheSpartansstartstackingthebodiesofthedeadupto
form a wall of corpses. The dead become this massive roadblock standing
betweenthePersiansandtheroadtoSparta.Ifoundthegoreabitgratuitous,
soIlookedawayforasecond,askingAugustus,“Howmanydeadpeopledo
youthinkthereare?”
Hedismissedmewithawave.“Shh.Shh.Thisisgettingawesome.”
WhenthePersiansattacked,theyhadtoclimbupthewallofdeath,and
theSpartanswereabletooccupythehighgroundatopthecorpsemountain,
and as the bodies piled up, the wall of martyrs only became higher and
thereforehardertoclimb,andeverybodyswungswords/shotarrows,andthe
riversofbloodpoureddownMountDeath,etc.
I took my head offhis shoulder for a moment to get a break from the
goreandwatchedAugustuswatchthemovie.Hecouldn’tcontainhisgoofy
grin.Iwatchedmyownscreenthroughsquintedeyesasthemountaingrew
withthebodiesofPersiansandSpartans.WhenthePersiansfinallyoverran
theSpartans,IlookedoveratAugustusagain.Eventhoughthegoodguyshad
justlost,Augustus seemeddownrightjoyful.Inuzzled up tohimagain,but
keptmyeyescloseduntilthebattlewasfinished.
Asthecreditsrolled,hetookoffhisheadphonesandsaid,“Sorry,Iwas
awashinthenobilityofsacrifice.Whatwereyousaying?”
“Howmanydeadpeopledoyouthinkthereare?”
“Like, how many fictional people died in that fictional movie? Not
enough,”hejoked.
“No,Imean,like,ever.Like,howmanypeopledoyouthinkhaveever
died?”
“I happen to know the answer to that question,” he said. “There are
sevenbillionlivingpeople,andaboutninety-eightbilliondeadpeople.”
“Oh,”Isaid.I’dthoughtthatmaybesincepopulationgrowthhadbeenso
fast,thereweremorepeoplealivethanallthedeadcombined.
“Thereareaboutfourteendeadpeopleforeverylivingperson,”hesaid.
Thecreditscontinuedrolling.Ittookalongtimetoidentifyallthosecorpses,
I guess. My head was still on his shoulder. “I did some research on this a
coupleyearsago,”Augustuscontinued.“Iwaswonderingifeverybodycould
beremembered.Like,ifwegotorganized,andassignedacertainnumberof
corpses to each living person, would there be enough living people to
rememberallthedeadpeople?”
“Andarethere?”
“Sure, anyone can name fourteen dead people. But we’re disorganized
mourners, so a lot of people end up remembering Shakespeare, and no one
endsuprememberingthepersonhewroteSonnetFifty-fiveabout.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.
It was quiet for a minute, and then he asked, “You want to read or
something?”Isaidsure.IwasreadingthislongpoemcalledHowlbyAllen
Ginsbergformypoetryclass,andGuswasrereadingAnImperialAffliction.
Afterawhilehesaid,“Isitanygood?”
“Thepoem?”Iasked.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,it’sgreat.TheguysinthispoemtakeevenmoredrugsthanIdo.
How’sAIA?”
“Stillperfect,”hesaid.“Readtome.”
“Thisisn’treallyapoemtoreadaloudwhenyouaresittingnexttoyour
sleepingmother.Ithas,like,sodomyandangeldustinit,”Isaid.
“Youjustnamedtwoofmyfavoritepastimes,”hesaid.“Okay,readme
somethingelsethen?”
“Um,”Isaid.“Idon’thaveanythingelse?”
“That’stoobad.Iamsointhemoodforpoetry.Doyouhaveanything
memorized?”
“‘Letusgothen,youandI,’”Istartednervously,“‘Whentheeveningis
spreadoutagainstthesky/Likeapatientetherizeduponatable.’”
“Slower,”hesaid.
Ifeltbashful,likeIhadwhenI’dfirsttoldhimofAnImperialAffliction.
“Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, / The
mutteringretreats/Ofrestlessnightsinone-nightcheaphotels/Andsawdust
restaurantswithoyster-shells:/ Streetsthatfollowlike a tediousargument/
Ofinsidiousintent/Toleadyoutoanoverwhelmingquestion.../Oh,donot
ask,“Whatisit?”/Letusgoandmakeourvisit.’”
“I’minlovewithyou,”hesaidquietly.
“Augustus,”Isaid.
“Iam,”hesaid.Hewasstaringatme,andIcouldseethecornersofhis
eyescrinkling.“I’minlovewithyou,andI’mnotinthebusinessofdenying
myselfthesimplepleasureofsayingtruethings.I’minlovewithyou,andI
knowthatloveisjustashoutintothevoid,andthatoblivionisinevitable,and
thatwe’realldoomedandthattherewillcomeadaywhenallourlaborhas
beenreturnedtodust,andIknowthesunwillswallowtheonlyearthwe’ll
everhave,andIaminlovewithyou.”
“Augustus,” I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like
everythingwasrisingup in me,likeIwasdrowning in thisweirdlypainful
joy,butIcouldn’tsayitback.Icouldn’tsayanythingback.Ijustlookedat
him and let him look at me until he nodded, lips pursed, and turned away,
placingthesideofhisheadagainstthewindow.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Ithinkhemusthavefallenasleep.Idid,eventually,andwoketothelanding
gearcomingdown.Mymouthtastedhorrible,andItriedtokeepitshutfor
fearofpoisoningtheairplane.
IlookedoveratAugustus,whowasstaringoutthewindow,andaswe
dipped below the low-hung clouds, I straightened my back to see the
Netherlands.Thelandseemedsunkintotheocean,littlerectanglesofgreen
surroundedonallsidesbycanals.Welanded,infact,paralleltoacanal,like
thereweretworunways:oneforusandoneforwaterfowl.
After getting our bags and clearing customs, we all piled into a taxi
driven by this doughy bald guy who spoke perfect English—like better
EnglishthanIdo.“TheHotelFilosoof?”Isaid.
Andhesaid,“YouareAmericans?”
“Yes,”Momsaid.“We’refromIndiana.”
“Indiana,”hesaid.“TheystealthelandfromtheIndiansandleavethe
name,yes?”
“Somethinglikethat,”Momsaid.Thecabbiepulledoutintotrafficand
weheadedtowardahighwaywithlotsofbluesignsfeaturingdoublevowels:
Oosthuizen,Haarlem.Besidethehighway,flatemptylandstretchedformiles,
interruptedbytheoccasionalhugecorporateheadquarters.Inshort,Holland
looked like Indianapolis, only with smaller cars. “This is Amsterdam?” I
askedthecabdriver.
“Yesandno,”heanswered.“Amsterdamisliketheringsofatree:Itgets
olderasyougetclosertothecenter.”
Ithappenedallatonce:Weexitedthehighwayandthereweretherow
houses of my imagination leaning precariously toward canals, ubiquitous
bicycles,andcoffeeshopsadvertisingLARGESMOKINGROOM.Wedrove
over a canal and from atop the bridge I could see dozens of houseboats
mooredalongthewater.ItlookednothinglikeAmerica.Itlookedlikeanold
painting, but real—everything achingly idyllic in the morning light—and I
thoughtabouthowwonderfullystrangeitwouldbetoliveinaplacewhere
almosteverythinghadbeenbuiltbythedead.
“Arethesehousesveryold?”askedmymom.
“Many of the canalhouses date from the Golden Age, the seventeenth
century,”hesaid.“Ourcityhasarichhistory,eventhoughmanytouristsare
onlywantingtoseetheRedLightDistrict.”Hepaused.“Sometouriststhink
Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in
freedom,mostpeoplefindsin.”
AlltheroomsintheHotelFilosoofwerenamedafterfilosoofers:MomandI
were staying on the ground floor in the Kierkegaard; Augustus was on the
flooraboveus,intheHeidegger.Ourroomwassmall:adoublebedpressed
againstawallwithmyBiPAPmachine,anoxygenconcentrator,andadozen
refillableoxygentanksatthefootofthebed.Pasttheequipment,therewasa
dustyoldpaisleychairwithasaggingseat,adesk,andabookshelfabovethe
bed containing the collected works of Søren Kierkegaard. On the desk we
found a wicker basket full of presents from the Genies: wooden shoes, an
orangeHollandT-shirt,chocolates,andvariousothergoodies.
The Filosoof was right next to the Vondelpark, Amsterdam’s most
famouspark.Momwantedtogoonawalk,butIwassupertired,soshegot
theBiPAPworkingandplaceditssnoutonme.Ihatedtalkingwiththatthing
on,butIsaid,“JustgototheparkandI’llcallyouwhenIwakeup.”
“Okay,”shesaid.“Sleeptight,honey.”
ButwhenIwokeupsomehourslater,shewassittingintheancientlittlechair
inthecorner,readingaguidebook.
“Morning,”Isaid.
“Actuallylateafternoon,”sheanswered,pushingherselfoutofthechair
withasigh.Shecametothebed,placedatankinthecart,andconnecteditto
the tube while I took off the BiPAP snout and placed the nubbins into my
nose.Shesetitfor2.5litersaminute—sixhoursbeforeI’dneedachange—
andthenIgotup.“Howareyoufeeling?”sheasked.
“Good,”Isaid.“Great.HowwastheVondelpark?”
“Iskippedit,”shesaid.“Readallaboutitintheguidebook,though.”
“Mom,”Isaid,“youdidn’thavetostayhere.”
Sheshrugged.“Iknow.Iwantedto.Ilikewatchingyousleep.”
“Saidthecreeper.”Shelaughed,butIstillfeltbad.“Ijustwantyouto
havefunorwhatever,youknow?”
“Okay.I’llhavefuntonight,okay?I’llgodocrazymomstuffwhileyou
andAugustusgotodinner.”
“Withoutyou?”Iasked.
“Yes without me. In fact, you have reservations at a place called
Oranjee,” she said. “Mr. Van Houten’s assistant set it up. It’s in this
neighborhood called the Jordaan. Very fancy, according to the guidebook.
There’satramstationrightaroundthecorner.Augustushasdirections.You
caneatoutside,watchtheboatsgoby.It’llbelovely.Veryromantic.”
“Mom.”
“I’m just saying,” she said. “You should get dressed. The sundress,
maybe?”
One might marvel at the insanity of the situation: A mother sends her
sixteen-year-old daughter alone with a seventeen-year-old boy out into a
foreigncityfamousforitspermissiveness.Butthis,too,wasasideeffectof
dying:Icouldnotrunordanceoreatfoodsrichinnitrogen,butinthecityof
freedom,Iwasamongthemostliberatedofitsresidents.
I did indeed wear the sundress—this blue print, flowey knee-length
Forever21thing—withtightsandMaryJanesbecauseIlikedbeingquitea
lotshorterthanhim.Iwentintothehilariouslytinybathroomandbattledmy
bedhead for a while until everything looked suitably mid-2000s Natalie
Portman.AtsixP.M.onthedot(noonbackhome),therewasaknock.
“Hello?” I said through the door. There was no peephole at the Hotel
Filosoof.
“Okay,” Augustus answered. I could hear the cigarette in his mouth. I
lookeddownatmyself.Thesundressofferedthemostinthewayofmyrib
cage and collarbone thatAugustus had seen. It wasn’t obscene or anything,
but it was as close as I ever got to showing some skin. (My mother had a
mottoonthisfrontthatIagreedwith:“Lancastersdon’tbaremidriffs.”)
I pulled the door open. Augustus wore a black suit, narrow lapels,
perfectlytailored,overalightbluedressshirtandathinblacktie.Acigarette
dangledfromtheunsmilingcornerofhismouth.“HazelGrace,”hesaid,“you
lookgorgeous.”
“I,”I said. Ikept thinking therest of mysentence would emerge from
theairpassingthroughmyvocalcords,butnothinghappened.Thenfinally,I
said,“Ifeelunderdressed.”
“Ah,thisoldthing?”hesaid,smilingdownatme.
“Augustus,”mymomsaidbehindme,“youlookextremelyhandsome.”
“Thankyou,ma’am,”hesaid.Heofferedmehisarm.Itookit,glancing
backtoMom.
“Seeyoubyeleven,”shesaid.
Waitingforthenumberonetramonawidestreetbusywithtraffic,Isaidto
Augustus,“Thesuityouweartofunerals,Iassume?”
“Actually,no,”hesaid.“Thatsuitisn’tnearlythisnice.”
Theblue-and-whitetramarrived,andAugustushandedourcardstothe
driver,whoexplainedthatweneededtowavethematthiscircularsensor.As
wewalkedthroughthe crowded tram, anoldmanstoodup to giveusseats
together, and I tried to tell him to sit, but he gestured toward the seat
insistently.Werodethetramforthreestops,meleaningoverGussowecould
lookoutthewindowtogether.
Augustuspointedupatthetreesandasked,“Doyouseethat?”
Idid.Therewereelmtreeseverywherealongthecanals,andtheseseeds
wereblowingoutofthem.Buttheydidn’tlooklikeseeds.Theylookedforall
the world like miniaturized rose petals drained of their color. These pale
petalsweregatheringinthewindlikeflockingbirds—thousandsofthem,like
aspringsnowstorm.
The old man who’d given up his seat saw us noticing and said, in
English, “Amsterdam’s spring snow. The iepen throw confetti to greet the
spring.”
Weswitchedtrams,andafterfourmorestopswearrivedatastreetsplit
by a beautiful canal, the reflections of the ancient bridge and picturesque
canalhousesripplinginwater.
Oranjeewasjuststepsfromthetram.Therestaurantwasononesideof
thestreet;theoutdoorseatingontheother,onaconcreteoutcroppingrightat
the edge of the canal. The hostess’s eyes lit up as Augustus and I walked
towardher.“Mr.andMrs.Waters?”
“Iguess?”Isaid.
“Your table,” she said, gesturing across the street to a narrow table
inchesfromthecanal.“Thechampagneisourgift.”
GusandIglancedateachother,smiling.Oncewe’dcrossedthestreet,
hepulledoutaseatformeandhelpedmescootitbackin.Therewereindeed
twoflutesofchampagneatourwhite-tableclothedtable.Theslightchillinthe
air was balanced magnificently by the sunshine; on one side of us, cyclists
pedaledpast—well-dressedmenandwomenontheirwayhome fromwork,
improbablyattractiveblondgirls riding sidesaddleonthe back ofafriend’s
bike, tiny helmetless kids bouncing around in plastic seats behind their
parents.Andonourotherside,thecanalwaterwaschokedwithmillionsof
the confetti seeds. Little boats were moored at the brick banks, half full of
rainwater,some ofthem near sinking. Abit fartherdown thecanal, Icould
seehouseboatsfloatingonpontoons,andinthemiddleofthecanal,anopen-
air,flat-bottomedboatdeckedoutwithlawnchairsandaportablestereoidled
towardus.Augustustookhisfluteofchampagneandraisedit.Itookmine,
eventhoughI’dneverhadadrinkasidefromsipsofmydad’sbeer.
“Okay,”hesaid.
“Okay,” I said, and we clinked glasses. I took a sip. The tiny bubbles
melted in my mouth and journeyed northward into my brain. Sweet. Crisp.
Delicious.“Thatisreallygood,”Isaid.“I’veneverdrunkchampagne.”
A sturdy young waiter with wavy blond hair appeared. He was maybe
even taller than Augustus. “Do you know,” he asked in a delicious accent,
“whatDomPérignonsaidafterinventingchampagne?”
“No?”Isaid.
“He called out to his fellow monks, ‘Come quickly: I am tasting the
stars.’ Welcome to Amsterdam. Would you like to see a menu, or will you
havethechef’schoice?”
IlookedatAugustusandheatme.“Thechef’schoicesoundslovely,but
Hazelisavegetarian.”I’dmentionedthistoAugustuspreciselyonce,onthe
firstdaywemet.
“Thisisnotaproblem,”thewaitersaid.
“Awesome.Andcanwegetmoreofthis?”Gusasked,ofthechampagne.
“Ofcourse,”saidourwaiter.“Wehavebottledallthestarsthisevening,
myyoungfriends.Gah,theconfetti!”hesaid,andlightlybrushedaseedfrom
mybareshoulder.“Ithasn’tbeensobadinmanyyears.It’severywhere.Very
annoying.”
Thewaiterdisappeared.Wewatchedtheconfettifallfromthesky,skip
acrossthegroundinthebreeze,andtumbleintothecanal.“Kindofhardto
believeanyonecouldeverfindthatannoying,”Augustussaidafterawhile.
“Peoplealwaysgetusedtobeauty,though.”
“I haven’t gotten used to you just yet,” he answered, smiling. I felt
myselfblushing.“ThankyouforcomingtoAmsterdam,”hesaid.
“Thankyouforlettingmehijackyourwish,”Isaid.
“Thankyouforwearingthatdresswhichislikewhoa,”hesaid.Ishook
myhead,tryingnottosmileathim.Ididn’twanttobeagrenade.Butthen
again,he knew whathe was doing,didn’the? Itwas his choice,too. “Hey,
how’sthatpoemend?”heasked.
“Huh?”
“Theoneyourecitedtomeontheplane.”
“Oh,‘Prufrock’?Itends,‘Wehavelingeredinthechambersofthesea/
Bysea-girlswreathedwithseaweedredandbrown/Tillhumanvoiceswake
us,andwedrown.’”
Augustus pulled out a cigarette and tapped the filter against the table.
“Stupidhumanvoicesalwaysruiningeverything.”
The waiter arrived with two more glasses of champagne and what he
called“Belgianwhiteasparaguswithalavenderinfusion.”
“I’veneverhadchampagneeither,”Gussaidafterheleft.“Incaseyou
werewonderingorwhatever.Also,I’veneverhadwhiteasparagus.”
Iwaschewingmyfirstbite.“It’samazing,”Ipromised.
He took a bite, swallowed. “God. If asparagus tasted like that all the
time, I’d be a vegetarian, too.” Some people in a lacquered wooden boat
approacheduson the canal below.Oneofthem,a woman withcurlyblond
hair, maybe thirty, drank from a beer then raised her glass toward us and
shoutedsomething.
“Wedon’tspeakDutch,”Gusshoutedback.
One of the others shouted a translation: “The beautiful couple is
beautiful.”
The food was so good that with each passing course, our conversation
devolved further into fragmented celebrations of its deliciousness: “I want
thisdragoncarrotrisottotobecomeapersonsoIcantakeittoLasVegasand
marry it.” “Sweet-pea sorbet, you are so unexpectedly magnificent.” I wish
I’dbeenhungrier.
After green garlic gnocchi with red mustard leaves, the waiter said,
“Dessertnext.More starsfirst?”Ishookmyhead.Twoglasseswasenough
for me. Champagne was no exception to my high tolerance for depressants
and pain relievers; I felt warm but not intoxicated. But Ididn’twant toget
drunk. Nights like this one didn’t come along often, and I wanted to
rememberit.
“Mmmm,”Isaidafterthewaiterleft,andAugustussmiledcrookedlyas
hestareddownthecanalwhileIstaredupit.Wehadplentytolookat,sothe
silence didn’t feel awkward really, but I wanted everythingto be perfect. It
wasperfect,Iguess,butitfeltlikesomeonehadtriedtostagetheAmsterdam
ofmyimagination,whichmadeithardtoforgetthatthisdinner,likethetrip
itself, was a cancer perk. I just wanted us to be talking and joking
comfortably,likewewereonthecouchtogetherbackhome,butsometension
underlayeverything.
“It’snotmyfuneralsuit,”hesaidafterawhile.“WhenIfirstfoundoutI
wassick—I mean,they toldme Ihad likean eighty-fivepercent chanceof
cure. I know those are great odds, but I kept thinking it was a game of
Russian roulette. I mean, I was going to have to go through hell for six
monthsorayearandlosemylegandthenattheend,itstillmightnotwork,
youknow?”
“Iknow,”Isaid,althoughIdidn’t,notreally.I’dneverbeenanythingbut
terminal;allmytreatmenthadbeeninpursuitofextendingmylife,notcuring
mycancer.Phalanxiforhadintroducedameasureofambiguitytomycancer
story,butIwasdifferentfromAugustus:Myfinalchapterwaswrittenupon
diagnosis.Gus,likemostcancersurvivors,livedwithuncertainty.
“Right,”hesaid.“SoIwentthroughthiswholethingaboutwantingto
beready.WeboughtaplotinCrownHill,andIwalkedaroundwithmydad
onedayandpickedoutaspot.AndIhadmywholefuneralplannedoutand
everything, and then right before the surgery, I asked my parents if I could
buyasuit,likeareallynicesuit,justincaseIbitit.Anyway,I’veneverhad
occasiontowearit.Untiltonight.”
“Soit’syourdeathsuit.”
“Correct.Don’tyouhaveadeathoutfit?”
“Yeah,”Isaid.“It’sadressIboughtformyfifteenthbirthdayparty.ButI
don’twearitondates.”
Hiseyeslitup.“We’reonadate?”heasked.
Ilookeddown,feelingbashful.“Don’tpushit.”
Wewerebothreallyfull,butdessert—asucculentlyrichcrémeuxsurrounded
by passion fruit—was too good not to at least nibble, so we lingered for a
while over dessert, trying to get hungry again. The sun was a toddler
insistentlyrefusingtogotobed:Itwaspasteightthirtyandstilllight.
Outofnowhere,Augustusasked,“Doyoubelieveinanafterlife?”
“Ithinkforeverisanincorrectconcept,”Ianswered.
Hesmirked.“You’reanincorrectconcept.”
“Iknow.That’swhyI’mbeingtakenoutoftherotation.”
“That’snotfunny,”hesaid,lookingatthestreet.Twogirlspassedona
bike,oneridingsidesaddleoverthebackwheel.
“Comeon,”Isaid.“Thatwasajoke.”
“The thought of you being removed from the rotation is not funny to
me,”hesaid.“Seriously,though:afterlife?”
“No,”Isaid,andthenrevised.“Well,maybeIwouldn’tgosofarasno.
You?”
“Yes,”hesaid,hisvoicefullofconfidence.“Yes,absolutely.Notlikea
heavenwhereyourideunicorns,playharps,andliveinamansionmadeof
clouds.Butyes.IbelieveinSomethingwithacapitalS.Alwayshave.”
“Really?”Iasked.Iwassurprised.I’dalwaysassociatedbeliefinheaven
with,frankly,akindofintellectualdisengagement.ButGuswasn’tdumb.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I believe in that line from An Imperial
Affliction.‘Therisensuntoobrightinherlosingeyes.’ That’sGod,Ithink,
the rising sun, and the light is too bright and her eyes are losing but they
aren’t lost. I don’t believe we return to haunt or comfort the living or
anything,butIthinksomethingbecomesofus.”
“Butyoufearoblivion.”
“Sure,Ifearearthlyoblivion.But,Imean,nottosoundlikemyparents,
butIbelievehumanshavesouls,andIbelieveintheconservationofsouls.
Theoblivionfearissomethingelse,fearthatIwon’tbeabletogiveanything
inexchangeformylife.Ifyoudon’tlivealifeinserviceofagreatergood,
you’vegottaatleastdieadeathinserviceofagreatergood,youknow?AndI
fearthatIwon’tgeteitheralifeoradeaththatmeansanything.”
Ijustshookmyhead.
“What?”heasked.
“Yourobsessionwith,like,dyingforsomethingorleavingbehindsome
greatsignofyourheroismorwhatever.It’sjustweird.”
“Everyonewantstoleadanextraordinarylife.”
“Noteveryone,”Isaid,unabletodisguisemyannoyance.
“Areyoumad?”
“It’s just,” I said, and then couldn’t finish my sentence. “Just,” I said
again.Betweenusflickeredthecandle.“It’sreallymeanofyoutosaythatthe
only lives that matter are the ones that are lived for something or die for
something.That’sareallymeanthingtosaytome.”
Ifeltlikealittlekidforsomereason,andItookabiteofdesserttomake
itappearlikeitwasnotthatbig of a deal to me. “Sorry,”hesaid.“Ididn’t
meanitlikethat.Iwasjustthinkingaboutmyself.”
“Yeah,youwere,”Isaid.Iwastoofulltofinish.IworriedImightpuke,
actually, because I often puked after eating. (Not bulimia, just cancer.) I
pushedmydessertplatetowardGus,butheshookhishead.
“I’msorry,”he saidagain,reaching acrossthetable formyhand. Ilet
himtakeit.“Icouldbeworse,youknow.”
“How?”Iasked,teasing.
“Imean,Ihaveaworkofcalligraphyovermytoiletthatreads,‘Bathe
Yourself Daily in the Comfort of God’s Words,’ Hazel. I could be way
worse.”
“Soundsunsanitary,”Isaid.
“Icouldbeworse.”
“You couldbeworse.”Ismiled.Hereallydid like me. Maybe I was a
narcissist or something, but when I realized it there in that moment at
Oranjee,itmademelikehimevenmore.
Whenourwaiterappearedtotakedessertaway,hesaid,“Yourmealhas
beenpaidforbyMr.PeterVanHouten.”
Augustussmiled.“ThisPeterVanHoutenfellowain’thalfbad.”
We walked along the canal as it got dark. A block up from Oranjee, we
stoppedataparkbenchsurroundedbyoldrustybicycleslockedtobikeracks
andtoeachother.Wesatdownhiptohipfacingthecanal,andheputhisarm
aroundme.
Icouldsee the halo oflightcomingfromthe Red LightDistrict.Even
thoughitwastheRedLightDistrict,theglowcomingfromuptherewasan
eeriesortofgreen.Iimaginedthousandsoftouristsgettingdrunkandstoned
andpinballingaroundthenarrowstreets.
“I can’t believe he’s going to tell us tomorrow,” I said. “Peter Van
Houtenisgoingtotellusthefamouslyunwrittenendofthebestbookever.”
“Plushepaidforourdinner,”Augustussaid.
“I keep imagining that he is going to search us for recording devices
beforehetellsus.Andthenhewillsitdownbetweenusonthecouchinhis
livingroomandwhisperwhetherAnna’smommarriedtheDutchTulipMan.”
“Don’tforgetSisyphustheHamster,”Augustusadded.
“Right, and also of course what fate awaited Sisyphus the Hamster.” I
leanedforward,toseeintothecanal.Thereweresomanyofthosepaleelm
petalsinthecanals,itwasridiculous.“Asequelthatwillexistjustforus,”I
said.
“Sowhat’syourguess?”heasked.
“I really don’t know. I’ve gone back and forth like a thousand times
aboutitall.EachtimeIrereadit,Ithinksomethingdifferent,youknow?”He
nodded.“Youhaveatheory?”
“Yeah.Idon’tthinktheDutchTulipManisaconman,buthe’salsonot
richlikeheleadsthemtobelieve.AndIthinkafterAnnadies,Anna’smom
goestoHollandwithhimandthinkstheywilllivethereforever,butitdoesn’t
workout,becauseshewantstobenearwhereherdaughterwas.”
Ihadn’trealizedhe’dthoughtaboutthebooksomuch,thatAnImperial
AfflictionmatteredtoGusindependentlyofmematteringtohim.
Thewaterlappedquietlyatthestonecanalwallsbeneathus;agroupof
friendsbikedpastinaclump,shoutingovereachotherinrapid-fire,guttural
Dutch;thetinyboats,notmuchlongerthanme,halfdrownedinthecanal;the
smellofwaterthathadstoodtoostillfortoolong;hisarmpullingmein;his
real leg against my real leg all the way from hip to foot. I leaned in to his
bodyalittle.Hewinced.“Sorry,youokay?”
Hebreathedoutayeahinobviouspain.
“Sorry,”Isaid.“Bonyshoulder.”
“It’sokay,”hesaid.“Nice,actually.”
Wesatthereforalongtime.Eventuallyhishandabandonedmyshoulder
andrestedagainstthebackoftheparkbench.Mostlywejuststaredintothe
canal.Iwasthinkingalotabouthowthey’dmadethisplaceexisteventhough
it should’ve been underwater, and how I was for Dr. Maria a kind of
Amsterdam, a half-drowned anomaly, and that made me think about dying.
“CanIaskyouaboutCarolineMathers?”
“Andyousaythere’snoafterlife,”heansweredwithoutlookingatme.
“Butyeah,ofcourse.Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
IwantedtoknowthathewouldbeokayifIdied.Iwantedtonotbea
grenade,tonotbeamalevolentforceinthelivesofpeopleIloved.“Just,like,
whathappened.”
Hesighed,exhalingforsolongthattomycraplungsitseemedlikehe
was bragging. He popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth. “You know how
there is famously no place less played in than a hospital playground?” I
nodded.“Well,IwasatMemorialforacoupleweekswhentheytookoffthe
leg and everything. I was up on the fifth floor and I had a view of the
playground,whichwasalwaysofcourseutterlydesolate.Iwasallawashin
themetaphoricalresonanceoftheemptyplaygroundinthehospitalcourtyard.
But then this girl started showing up alone at the playground, every day,
swinging on a swing completely alone, like you’d see in a movie or
something.SoI askedoneof my nicernursesto gettheskinny on thegirl,
and the nurse brought her up to visit, and it was Caroline, and I used my
immense charisma to win her over.” He paused, so I decided to say
something.
“You’re notthat charismatic,” Isaid.He scoffed, disbelieving.“You’re
mostlyjusthot,”Iexplained.
He laughed it off. “The thing about dead people,” he said, and then
stopped himself. “The thing is you sound like a bastard if you don’t
romanticize them, but the truth is . . . complicated, I guess. Like, you are
familiar with the trope of the stoic and determined cancer victim who
heroically fights her cancer with inhuman strength and never complains or
stopssmilingevenattheveryend,etcetera?”
“Indeed,”Isaid.“Theyarekindheartedandgeneroussoulswhoseevery
breathisanInspirationtoUsAll.They’resostrong!Weadmirethemso!”
“Right,but really,I mean aside from us obviously, cancer kids are not
statistically more likely to be awesome or compassionate or perseverant or
whatever. Caroline was always moody and miserable, but I liked it. I liked
feelingasifshehadchosenmeastheonlypersonintheworldnottohate,
andsowe spent allthistimetogetherjustragging on everyone,youknow?
Raggingonthenursesandtheotherkidsandourfamiliesandwhateverelse.
ButIdon’tknowifthatwasherorthetumor.Imean,oneofhernursestold
meoncethatthekindoftumorCarolinehadisknownamongmedicaltypes
astheAssholeTumor,becauseitjustturnsyouintoamonster.Sohere’sthis
girl missing a fifth of her brain who’s just had a recurrence of the Asshole
Tumor, and so she was not, you know, the paragon of stoic cancer-kid
heroism.Shewas...Imean,tobehonest,shewasabitch.Butyoucan’tsay
that,becauseshehadthistumor,andalsoshe’s,Imean,she’sdead.Andshe
hadplentyofreasontobeunpleasant,youknow?”
Iknew.
“You know that part in An Imperial Affliction when Anna’s walking
acrossthefootballfieldtogotoPEorwhateverandshefallsandgoesface-
firstintothegrassandthat’swhensheknowsthatthecancerisbackandin
hernervoussystemandshecan’tgetupandherfaceislikeaninchfromthe
football-field grass and she’s just stuck there looking at this grass up close,
noticingthe waythe lighthits it and . . . I don’tremember theline but it’s
somethinglikeAnnahavingtheWhitmanesquerevelationthatthedefinition
of humanness is the opportunity to marvel at the majesty of creation or
whatever.Youknowthatpart?”
“Iknowthatpart,”Isaid.
“So afterward, while I was getting eviscerated by chemo, for some
reasonIdecidedtofeelreallyhopeful.Notaboutsurvivalspecifically,butI
feltlikeAnnadoesinthebook,thatfeelingofexcitementandgratitudeabout
justbeingabletomarvelatitall.
“But meanwhile Caroline got worse every day. She went home after a
whileandthereweremomentswhereIthoughtwecouldhave,like,aregular
relationship, but we couldn’t, really, because she had no filter between her
thoughts and her speech, which was sad and unpleasant and frequently
hurtful. But, I mean, you can’t dump a girl with a brain tumor. And her
parents liked me, and she has this little brother who is a really cool kid. I
mean,howcanyoudumpher?She’sdying.
“Ittookforever.Ittookalmostayear,anditwasayearofmehanging
outwiththisgirlwhowould,like,juststartlaughingoutofnowhereandpoint
atmyprostheticandcallmeStumpy.”
“No,”Isaid.
“Yeah.Imean,itwasthetumor.Itateherbrain,youknow?Oritwasn’t
thetumor.Ihavenowayofknowing,becausetheywereinseparable,sheand
thetumor.Butasshegotsicker,Imean,she’djustrepeatthesamestoriesand
laugh at her own comments even if she’d already said the same thing a
hundredtimesthatday.Like,shemadethesamejokeoverandoveragainfor
weeks:‘Gushasgreatlegs.Imeanleg.’Andthenshewouldjustlaughlikea
maniac.”
“Oh, Gus,” I said. “That’s . . .” I didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t
looking at me, and it felt invasive of me to look at him. I felt him scoot
forward. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at it, rolling it
betweenhisthumbandforefinger,thenputitback.
“Well,”hesaid,“tobefair,Idohavegreatleg.”
“I’msorry,”Isaid.“I’mreallysorry.”
“It’s all good, Hazel Grace. But just to be clear, when I thought I saw
CarolineMathers’s ghost inSupportGroup,I was notentirelyhappy.Iwas
staring,butIwasn’tyearning,ifyouknowwhatImean.”Hepulledthepack
outofhispocketandplacedthecigarettebackinit.
“I’msorry,”Isaidagain.
“Metoo,”hesaid.
“Idon’teverwanttodothattoyou,”Itoldhim.
“Oh,Iwouldn’tmind,HazelGrace.Itwouldbeaprivilegetohavemy
heartbrokenbyyou.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
IwokeupatfourintheDutchmorningreadyfortheday.Allattemptstogo
back to sleep failed, so I lay there with the BiPAP pumping the air in and
urging it out, enjoying the dragon sounds but wishing I could choose my
breaths.
I reread An Imperial Affliction until Mom woke up and rolled over
towardmearoundsix.Shenuzzledherheadagainstmyshoulder,whichfelt
uncomfortableandvaguelyAugustinian.
The hotel brought a breakfast to our room that, much to my delight,
featured deli meat among many other denials of American breakfast
constructions.The dress I’dplanned towear to meetPeter VanHouten had
beenmovedupintherotationfortheOranjeedinner,soafterIshoweredand
gotmyhairtoliehalfwayflat,IspentlikethirtyminutesdebatingwithMom
thevariousbenefitsanddrawbacksoftheavailableoutfitsbeforedecidingto
dress as much like Anna in AIA as possible: Chuck Taylors and dark jeans
likeshealwayswore,andalightblueT-shirt.
The shirt was a screen print of a famous Surrealist artwork by René
MagritteinwhichhedrewapipeandthenbeneathitwroteincursiveCeci
n’estpasunepipe.(“Thisisnotapipe.”)
“Ijustdon’tgetthatshirt,”Momsaid.
“Peter Van Houten will get it, trust me. There are like seven thousand
MagrittereferencesinAnImperialAffliction.”
“Butitisapipe.”
“No,it’snot,”Isaid.“It’sadrawingofapipe.Getit?Allrepresentations
ofathingareinherentlyabstract.It’sveryclever.”
“Howdidyougetsogrownupthatyouunderstandthingsthatconfuse
your ancient mother?” Mom asked. “It seems like just yesterday that I was
telling seven-year-old Hazel why the sky was blue. You thought I was a
geniusbackthen.”
“Whyistheskyblue?”Iasked.
“Cuz,”sheanswered.Ilaughed.
As itgot closer to ten, I grew more and more nervous: nervous to see
Augustus;nervoustomeetPeterVanHouten;nervousthatmyoutfitwasnot
a good outfit; nervous that we wouldn’t find the right house since all the
houses in Amsterdam lookedpretty similar;nervous that we would get lost
andnevermakeitbacktotheFilosoof;nervousnervousnervous.Momkept
tryingtotalktome,butIcouldn’treallylisten.Iwasabouttoaskhertogo
upstairsandmakesureAugustuswasupwhenheknocked.
Iopenedthedoor.Helookeddownattheshirtandsmiled.“Funny,”he
said.
“Don’tcallmyboobsfunny,”Ianswered.
“Righthere,”Momsaidbehindus.ButI’dmadeAugustusblushandput
himenoughoffhisgamethatIcouldfinallybeartolookupathim.
“Yousureyoudon’twanttocome?”IaskedMom.
“I’m going to the Rijksmuseum and the Vondelpark today,” she said.
“Plus,I just don’t gethis book. Nooffense.Thankhimand Lidewij forus,
okay?”
“Okay,”Isaid.I hugged Mom,andshekissed my head justabovemy
ear.
Peter Van Houten’s white row house was just around the corner from the
hotel,ontheVondelstraat,facingthepark.Number158.Augustustookmeby
onearmandgrabbed the oxygencartwiththeother,andwe walked upthe
three steps to the lacquered blue-black front door. My heart pounded. One
closeddoorawayfromtheanswersI’ddreamedofeversinceIfirstreadthat
lastunfinishedpage.
Inside, I could hear a bass beat thumping loud enough to rattle the
windowsills.IwonderedwhetherPeterVanHoutenhadakidwholikedrap
music.
Igrabbedthelion’s-headdoorknockerandknockedtentatively.Thebeat
continued. “Maybe he can’t hear over the music?” Augustus asked. He
grabbedthelion’sheadandknockedmuchlouder.
Themusicdisappeared,replacedbyshuffledfootsteps.Adeadboltslid.
Another. The door creaked open. A potbellied man with thin hair, sagging
jowls, and a week-old beard squinted into the sunlight. He wore baby-blue
manpajamaslikeguysinoldmovies.Hisfaceandbellyweresoround,and
hisarmssoskinny,thathelookedlikeadoughballwithfoursticksstuckinto
it.“Mr.VanHouten?”Augustusasked,hisvoicesqueakingabit.
The door slammed shut. Behind it, I heard a stammering, reedy voice
shout,“LEEE-DUH-VIGH!”(Untilthen,I’dpronouncedhisassistant’sname
likelid-uh-widge.)
We could hear everything through the door. “Are they here, Peter?” a
womanasked.
“There are—Lidewij, there are two adolescent apparitions outside the
door.”
“Apparitions?”sheaskedwithapleasantDutchlilt.
Van Houten answered in a rush. “Phantasms specters ghouls visitants
post-terrestrials apparitions, Lidewij. How can someone pursuing a
postgraduatedegreeinAmericanliteraturedisplaysuchabominableEnglish-
languageskills?”
“Peter,thosearenotpost-terrestrials.TheyareAugustusandHazel,the
youngfanswithwhomyouhavebeencorresponding.”
“Theyare—what?They—IthoughttheywereinAmerica!”
“Yes,butyouinvitedthemhere,youwillremember.”
“DoyouknowwhyIleftAmerica,Lidewij?SothatIwouldneveragain
havetoencounterAmericans.”
“ButyouareanAmerican.”
“Incurablyso,itseems.ButastotheseAmericans,youmusttellthemto
leave at once, that there has been a terrible mistake, that the blessed Van
Houten was making a rhetorical offer to meet, not an actual one, that such
offersmustbereadsymbolically.”
IthoughtImightthrowup.IlookedoveratAugustus,whowasstaring
intentlyatthedoor,andsawhisshouldersslacken.
“Iwillnotdothis,Peter,”answeredLidewij.“Youmustmeetthem.You
must.Youneedtoseethem.Youneedtoseehowyourworkmatters.”
“Lidewij,didyouknowinglydeceivemetoarrangethis?”
Alongsilenceensued,andthenfinallythedooropenedagain.Heturned
hisheadmetronomicallyfromAugustustome,stillsquinting.“Whichofyou
is Augustus Waters?” he asked. Augustus raised his hand tentatively. Van
Houtennoddedandsaid,“Didyouclosethedealwiththatchickyet?”
WhereuponIencounteredforthefirstandonlytimeatrulyspeechless
AugustusWaters.“I,”hestarted,“um,I,Hazel,um.Well.”
“Thisboyappearstohavesomekindofdevelopmentaldelay,”PeterVan
HoutensaidtoLidewij.
“Peter,”shescolded.
“Well,” PeterVan Houten said, extending his hand to me. “It is at any
rateapleasuretomeetsuchontologicallyimprobablecreatures.”Ishookhis
swollenhand,andthenheshookhandswithAugustus.Iwaswonderingwhat
ontologicallymeant. Regardless, I liked it.Augustus and I were together in
theImprobableCreaturesClub:usandduck-billedplatypuses.
Of course, I had hoped that Peter Van Houten would be sane, but the
world is not a wish-granting factory. The important thing was that the door
wasopenandIwascrossingthethresholdtolearnwhathappensaftertheend
of An Imperial Affliction. That was enough. We followed him and Lidewij
inside,pastahugeoakdiningroomtablewithonlytwochairs,intoacreepily
sterilelivingroom.Itlookedlikeamuseum,excepttherewasnoartonthe
emptywhitewalls.Asidefromonecouchandoneloungechair,bothamixof
steel and black leather, the room seemed empty. Then I noticed two large
blackgarbagebags,fullandtwist-tied,behindthecouch.
“Trash?”ImumbledtoAugustussoftenoughthatIthoughtnooneelse
wouldhear.
“Fan mail,” Van Houten answered as he sat down in the lounge chair.
“Eighteen years’ worth of it. Can’t open it. Terrifying. Yours are the first
missivestowhichIhavereplied,andlookwherethatgotme.Ifranklyfind
therealityofreaderswhollyunappetizing.”
That explained why he’d never replied to my letters: He’d never read
them. I wondered why he kept them at all, letalone in an otherwiseempty
formal living room. Van Houten kicked his feet up onto the ottoman and
crossedhisslippers.Hemotionedtowardthecouch.AugustusandIsatdown
nexttoeachother,butnottoonext.
“Wouldyoucareforsomebreakfast?”askedLidewij.
Istartedtosaythatwe’dalreadyeatenwhenPeterinterrupted.“Itisfar
tooearlyforbreakfast,Lidewij.”
“Well,theyarefromAmerica,Peter,soitispastnoonintheirbodies.”
“Thenit’stoolateforbreakfast,”hesaid.“However,itbeingafternoon
inthebodyandwhatnot,weshouldenjoyacocktail.DoyoudrinkScotch?”
heaskedme.
“DoI—um,no,I’mfine,”Isaid.
“AugustusWaters?”VanHoutenasked,noddingtowardGus.
“Uh,I’mgood.”
“Just me, then, Lidewij. Scotch and water, please.” Peter turned his
attentiontoGus,asking,“YouknowhowwemakeaScotchandwaterinthis
home?”
“No,sir,”Gussaid.
“We pour Scotch into a glass and then call to mind thoughts of water,
andthenwemixtheactualScotchwiththeabstractedideaofwater.”
Lidewijsaid,“Perhapsabitofbreakfastfirst,Peter.”
Helookedtowardusandstage-whispered,“ShethinksIhaveadrinking
problem.”
“AndIthinkthatthesunhasrisen,”Lidewijresponded.Nonetheless,she
turned to the bar inthe living room,reached up for a bottle of Scotch, and
pouredaglasshalffull.Shecarriedittohim.PeterVanHoutentookasip,
then sat up straight in his chair. “A drink this good deserves one’s best
posture,”hesaid.
Ibecameconsciousofmyownpostureandsatupalittleonthecouch.I
rearrangedmycannula.Dadalwaystoldmethatyoucanjudgepeoplebythe
waytheytreatwaitersandassistants.Bythismeasure,PeterVanHoutenwas
possibly the world’s douchiest douche. “So you like my book,” he said to
Augustusafteranothersip.
“Yeah,”Isaid,speakinguponAugustus’sbehalf.“Andyes,we—well,
Augustus,hemademeetingyouhisWishsothatwecouldcomehere,sothat
youcouldtelluswhathappensaftertheendofAnImperialAffliction.”
VanHoutensaidnothing,justtookalongpullonhisdrink.
After a minute, Augustus said, “Your book is sort of the thing that
broughtustogether.”
“Butyouaren’ttogether,”heobservedwithoutlookingatme.
“Thethingthatbroughtusnearlytogether,”Isaid.
Nowheturnedtome.“Didyoudresslikeheronpurpose?”
“Anna?”Iasked.
Hejustkeptstaringatme.
“Kindof,”Isaid.
Hetookalongdrink,thengrimaced.“Idonothaveadrinkingproblem,”
heannounced,hisvoiceneedlesslyloud.“IhaveaChurchillianrelationship
withalcohol:IcancrackjokesandgovernEnglandanddoanythingIwantto
do. Except not drink.” He glanced over at Lidewij and nodded toward his
glass. She took it, then walked back to the bar. “Just the idea of water,
Lidewij,”heinstructed.
“Yah,gotit,”shesaid,theaccentalmostAmerican.
The second drink arrived. Van Houten’s spine stiffened again out of
respect. He kicked off his slippers. He had really ugly feet. He was rather
ruiningthewholebusinessofauthorialgeniusforme.Buthehadtheanswers.
“Well, um,” I said, “first, we do want to say thank you for dinner last
nightand—”
“Weboughtthemdinnerlastnight?”VanHoutenaskedLidewij.
“Yes,atOranjee.”
“Ah,yes.Well,believemewhenIsaythatyoudonothavemetothank
butratherLidewij,whoisexceptionallytalentedinthefieldofspendingmy
money.”
“Itwasourpleasure,”Lidewijsaid.
“Well,thanks,atanyrate,”Augustussaid.Icouldhearannoyanceinhis
voice.
“So here I am,” Van Houten said after a moment. “What are your
questions?”
“Um,”Augustussaid.
“He seemed so intelligent in print,” Van Houten said to Lidewij
regardingAugustus. “Perhapsthe cancerhas establisheda beachheadin his
brain.”
“Peter,”Lidewijsaid,dulyhorrified.
I was horrified, too, but there was something pleasant about a guy so
despicable that he wouldn’t treat us deferentially. “We do have some
questions,actually,”Isaid.“Italkedabouttheminmyemail.Idon’tknowif
youremember.”
“Idonot.”
“Hismemoryiscompromised,”Lidewijsaid.
“Ifonlymymemorywouldcompromise,”VanHoutenresponded.
“So,ourquestions,”Irepeated.
“Sheusestheroyalwe,”Petersaidtonooneinparticular.Anothersip.I
didn’tknowwhatScotchtastedlike,butifittastedanythinglikechampagne,
I couldn’timagine how he could drinkso much, so quickly, soearly in the
morning.“AreyoufamiliarwithZeno’stortoiseparadox?”heaskedme.
“Wehavequestionsaboutwhathappenstothecharactersaftertheendof
thebook,specificallyAnna’s—”
“You wrongly assume that I need to hear your question in order to
answer it. You are familiar with the philosopher Zeno?” I shook my head
vaguely. “Alas. Zeno was a pre-Socratic philosopher who is said to have
discoveredfortyparadoxeswithintheworldviewputforthbyParmenides—
surelyyouknowParmenides,”hesaid,andInoddedthatIknewParmenides,
althoughIdidnot.“ThankGod,”hesaid.“Zenoprofessionallyspecializedin
revealing the inaccuracies and oversimplifications of Parmenides, which
wasn’t difficult, since Parmenides was spectacularly wrong everywhere and
always.Parmenidesisvaluableinpreciselythewaythatitisvaluabletohave
anacquaintancewhoreliablypicksthewronghorseeachandeverytimeyou
takehimtotheracetrack.ButZeno’smostimportant—wait,givemeasense
ofyourfamiliaritywithSwedishhip-hop.”
I could not tell if Peter Van Houten was kidding. After a moment,
Augustusansweredforme.“Limited,”hesaid.
“Okay, but presumably you know Afasi och Filthy’s seminal album
Fläcken.”
“Wedonot,”Isaidforthebothofus.
“Lidewij,play‘Bomfalleralla’immediately.”Lidewijwalkedovertoan
MP3player,spunthewheelabit,thenhitabutton.Arapsongboomedfrom
every direction. It sounded like a fairly regular rap song, except the words
wereinSwedish.
After it was over, Peter Van Houten looked at us expectantly, his little
eyesaswideastheycouldget.“Yeah?”heasked.“Yeah?”
Isaid,“I’msorry,sir,butwedon’tspeakSwedish.”
“Well,ofcourseyoudon’t.NeitherdoI.WhothehellspeaksSwedish?
Theimportantthingisnotwhatevernonsensethevoicesaresaying,butwhat
thevoicesarefeeling.Surelyyouknowthatthereareonlytwoemotions,love
and fear, and that Afasi och Filthy navigate between them with the kind of
facility that one simply does not find in hip-hop music outside of Sweden.
ShallIplayitforyouagain?”
“Areyoujoking?”Gussaid.
“Pardon?”
“Isthissomekindofperformance?”HelookedupatLidewijandasked,
“Isit?”
“I’mafraidnot,”Lidewijanswered.“He’snotalways—thisisunusually
—”
“Oh,shutup,Lidewij.RudolfOttosaidthatifyouhadnotencountered
thenuminous,if youhavenotexperiencedanonrationalencounterwiththe
mysterium tremendum, then his work was not for you. And I say to you,
youngfriends,thatifyoucannothearAfasiochFilthy’sbravadicresponseto
fear,thenmyworkisnotforyou.”
I cannot emphasize this enough: It was a completely normal rap song,
except in Swedish. “Um,” I said. “So about An Imperial Affliction. Anna’s
mom,whenthebookends,isaboutto—”
VanHouteninterruptedme,tappinghisglassashetalkeduntilLidewij
refilled it again. “So Zeno is most famous for his tortoise paradox. Let us
imaginethatyouareinaracewithatortoise.Thetortoisehasaten-yardhead
start. In the time it takes you to run that ten yards, the tortoise has maybe
movedoneyard.Andtheninthetimeittakesyoutomakeupthatdistance,
the tortoise goes a bit farther, and so on forever. You are faster than the
tortoisebutyoucannevercatchhim;youcanonlydecreasehislead.
“Of course, you just run past the tortoise without contemplating the
mechanicsinvolved,butthequestionofhowyouareabletodothisturnsout
tobeincrediblycomplicated,andnoonereallysolvedituntilCantorshowed
usthatsomeinfinitiesarebiggerthanotherinfinities.”
“Um,”Isaid.
“Iassumethatanswersyourquestion,”hesaidconfidently,thensipped
generouslyfromhisglass.
“Notreally,”Isaid.“Wewerewondering,aftertheend ofAnImperial
Affliction—”
“Idisavoweverythinginthatputridnovel,”VanHoutensaid,cuttingme
off.
“No,”Isaid.
“Excuseme?”
“No, that is not acceptable,” I said. “I understand that the story ends
midnarrativebecauseAnnadiesorbecomestoosicktocontinue,butyousaid
youwouldtelluswhathappenstoeverybody,andthat’swhywe’rehere,and
we,Ineedyoutotellme.”
Van Houten sighed. After another drink, he said, “Very well. Whose
storydoyouseek?”
“Anna’smom,theDutchTulipMan,SisyphustheHamster,Imean,just
—whathappenstoeveryone.”
Van Houten closed his eyes and puffed his cheeks as he exhaled, then
looked up at the exposed wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. “The
hamster,” he said after a while. “The hamster gets adopted by Christine”—
whowasoneofAnna’spresicknessfriends.Thatmadesense.Christineand
AnnaplayedwithSisyphusinafewscenes.“HeisadoptedbyChristineand
livesforacoupleyearsaftertheendofthenovelanddiespeacefullyinhis
hamstersleep.”
Nowweweregettingsomewhere.“Great,”Isaid.“Great.Okay,sothe
DutchTulipMan.Isheaconman?DoheandAnna’smomgetmarried?”
VanHoutenwasstillstaringattheceilingbeams.Hetookadrink.The
glass was almost empty again. “Lidewij, I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t.” He
leveledhisgazetome.“NothinghappenstotheDutchTulipMan.Heisn’ta
con man or not a con man; he’s God. He’s an obvious and unambiguous
metaphoricalrepresentationofGod,andaskingwhatbecomesofhimisthe
intellectualequivalentofaskingwhatbecomesofthedisembodiedeyesofDr.
T. J. Eckleburg in Gatsby. Do he and Anna’s mom get married? We are
speakingofanovel,dearchild,notsomehistoricalenterprise.”
“Right,butsurelyyoumusthavethoughtaboutwhathappenstothem,I
mean as characters, I mean independent of their metaphorical meanings or
whatever.”
“They’refictions,”hesaid,tappinghisglassagain.“Nothinghappensto
them.”
“Yousaidyou’dtellme,”Iinsisted.Iremindedmyselftobeassertive.I
neededtokeephisaddledattentiononmyquestions.
“Perhaps, but I was under the misguided impression that you were
incapable of transatlantic travel. I was trying . . . to provide you some
comfort, I suppose, which I should know better than to attempt. But to be
perfectlyfrank,thischildishideathattheauthorofanovelhassomespecial
insight into the characters in the novel . . . it’s ridiculous. That novel was
composedofscratches onapage,dear.Thecharactersinhabitingithaveno
life outside of those scratches. What happened to them? They all ceased to
existthemomentthenovelended.”
“No,”Isaid.Ipushedmyselfupoffthecouch.“No,Iunderstandthat,
but it’s impossible not to imagine a future for them. You are the most
qualified person to imagine that future. Something happened to Anna’s
mother. Sheeither gotmarried ordidn’t.She eithermoved toHolland with
theDutchTulipManordidn’t.Sheeitherhadmorekidsordidn’t.Ineedto
knowwhathappenstoher.”
VanHoutenpursedhislips.“IregretthatIcannotindulgeyourchildish
whims, but I refuse to pity you in the manner to which you are well
accustomed.”
“Idon’twantyourpity,”Isaid.
“Likeallsickchildren,”heanswereddispassionately,“yousayyoudon’t
wantpity,butyourveryexistencedependsuponit.”
“Peter,” Lidewij said, but he continued as he reclined there, his words
getting rounder in his drunken mouth. “Sick children inevitably become
arrested: You are fated to live out your days as the child you were when
diagnosed,thechildwhobelievesthereislifeafteranovelends.Andwe,as
adults,wepitythis,sowepayforyourtreatments,foryouroxygenmachines.
Wegiveyoufoodandwaterthoughyouareunlikelytolivelongenough—”
“PETER!”Lidewijshouted.
“You are a side effect,” Van Houten continued, “of an evolutionary
process that cares little for individual lives. You are a failed experiment in
mutation.”
“IRESIGN!”Lidewijshouted.Thereweretearsinhereyes.ButIwasn’t
angry.Hewaslookingforthemosthurtfulwaytotellthetruth,butofcourse
Ialreadyknewthetruth.I’dhadyearsofstaringatceilingsfrommybedroom
totheICU,andsoI’dlongagofoundthemosthurtfulwaystoimaginemy
ownillness.Isteppedtowardhim.“Listen,douchepants,”Isaid,“you’renot
goingtotellmeanythingaboutdiseaseIdon’talreadyknow.Ineedoneand
only one thing from you before I walk out of your life forever: WHAT
HAPPENSTOANNA’SMOTHER?”
He raised his flabby chins vaguely toward me and shrugged his
shoulders. “I can no more tell you what happens to her than I can tell you
what becomes of Proust’s Narrator or Holden Caulfield’s sister or
HuckleberryFinnafterhelightsoutfortheterritories.”
“BULLSHIT!That’sbullshit.Justtellme!Makesomethingup!”
“No,andI’llthankyounottocurseinmyhouse.Itisn’tbecomingofa
lady.”
Istillwasn’tangry,exactly,butIwasveryfocusedongettingthething
I’dbeenpromised.SomethinginsidemewelledupandIreacheddownand
smackedtheswollenhandthatheldtheglassofScotch.Whatremainedofthe
Scotchsplashedacrossthevastexpanseofhisface,theglassbouncingoffhis
noseandthenspinningballeticallythroughtheair,landingwithashattering
crashontheancienthardwoodfloors.
“Lidewij,” Van Houten said calmly, “I’ll have a martini, if you please.
Justawhisperofvermouth.”
“Ihaveresigned,”Lidewijsaidafteramoment.
“Don’tberidiculous.”
Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Beingnicehadn’tworked.Beingmeanhadn’t
worked.Ineededananswer.I’dcomeallthisway,hijackedAugustus’sWish.
Ineededtoknow.
“Have you ever stopped to wonder,” he said, his words slurring now,
“whyyoucaresomuchaboutyoursillyquestions?”
“YOU PROMISED!” I shouted, hearing Isaac’s impotent wailing
echoingfromthenightofthebrokentrophies.VanHoutendidn’treply.
I was still standing over him, waiting for him to say something to me
whenIfeltAugustus’shandonmyarm.Hepulledmeawaytowardthedoor,
andIfollowedhimwhileVanHoutenrantedtoLidewijabouttheingratitude
of contemporary teenagers and the death of polite society, and Lidewij,
somewhathysterical,shoutedbackathiminrapid-fireDutch.
“You’ll have to forgive my former assistant,” he said. “Dutch is not so
muchalanguageasanailmentofthethroat.”
Augustus pulled me out of the room and through the door to the late
springmorningandthefallingconfettioftheelms.
***
For me there was no such thing as a quick getaway, but we made our way
down the stairs, Augustus holding my cart, and then started to walk back
toward the Filosoof on a bumpy sidewalk of interwoven rectangular bricks.
Forthefirsttimesincetheswingset,Istartedcrying.
“Hey,”hesaid,touchingmywaist.“Hey.It’sokay.”Inoddedandwiped
myfacewiththebackofmyhand.“Hesucks.”Inoddedagain.“I’llwriteyou
anepilogue,” Gussaid. Thatmade me cry harder.“I will,” he said. “Iwill.
Better than any shit that drunk could write. His brain is Swiss cheese. He
doesn’tevenrememberwritingthebook.Icanwritetentimesthestorythat
guy can. There will be blood and guts and sacrifice. An Imperial Affliction
meetsThePriceofDawn.You’llloveit.”Ikeptnodding,fakingasmile,and
thenhehuggedme,hisstrongarmspullingmeintohismuscularchest,andI
soggeduphispoloshirtalittlebutthenrecoveredenoughtospeak.
“IspentyourWishonthatdoucheface,”Isaidintohischest.
“HazelGrace.No.Iwillgrantyouthatyoudidspendmyoneandonly
Wish,butyoudidnotspenditonhim.Youspentitonus.”
Behind us, I heard the plonk plonk of high heels running. I turned
around.ItwasLidewij,hereyelinerrunningdownhercheeks,dulyhorrified,
chasingusupthesidewalk.“PerhapsweshouldgototheAnneFrankHuis,”
Lidewijsaid.
“I’mnotgoinganywherewiththatmonster,”Augustussaid.
“Heisnotinvited,”Lidewijsaid.
Augustuskeptholdingme,protective,hishandonthesideofmyface.“I
don’tthink—”hestarted,butIcuthimoff.
“Weshouldgo.”IstillwantedanswersfromVanHouten.Butitwasn’t
allIwanted.IonlyhadtwodaysleftinAmsterdamwithAugustusWaters.I
wouldn’tletasadoldmanruinthem.
LidewijdroveaclunkygrayFiatwithanenginethatsoundedlikeanexcited
four-year-old girl. As we drove through the streets of Amsterdam, she
repeatedlyandprofuselyapologized.“Iamverysorry.Thereisnoexcuse.He
isverysick,”shesaid.“Ithoughtmeetingyouwouldhelphim,ifhewould
seethathisworkhasshapedreallives,but...I’mverysorry.Itisvery,very
embarrassing.” Neither Augustus nor I said anything. I was in the backseat
behindhim.Isnuckmyhandbetweenthesideofthecarandhisseat,feeling
forhishand,butIcouldn’tfindit.Lidewijcontinued,“Ihavecontinuedthis
workbecauseIbelieveheisageniusandbecausethepayisverygood,buthe
hasbecomeamonster.”
“Iguesshegotprettyrichonthatbook,”Isaidafterawhile.
“Oh, no no, he is of the Van Houtens,” she said. “In the seventeenth
century, his ancestor discovered how to mix cocoa into water. Some Van
Houtensmoved tothe UnitedStates long ago, and Peteris ofthose, buthe
movedtoHollandafterhisnovel.Heisanembarrassmenttoagreatfamily.”
Theenginescreamed.Lidewijshiftedandweshotupacanalbridge.“It
iscircumstance,”shesaid.“Circumstancehasmadehimsocruel.Heisnotan
evilman.Butthisday,Ididnotthink—whenhesaidtheseterriblethings,I
couldnotbelieveit.Iamverysorry.Veryverysorry.”
We had to park a block away from the Anne Frank House, and then while
Lidewijstoodinlinetogetticketsforus,Isatwithmybackagainstalittle
tree, looking at all the moored houseboats in the Prinsengracht canal.
Augustuswasstandingaboveme,rollingmyoxygencartinlazycircles,just
watchingthewheelsspin.Iwantedhimtositnexttome,butIknewitwas
hard for him to sit, and harder still to stand back up. “Okay?” he asked,
looking down at me. I shruggedand reacheda hand for his calf.It washis
fakecalf,butIheldontoit.Helookeddownatme.
“Iwanted...”Isaid.
“Iknow,”hesaid.“Iknow.Apparentlytheworldisnotawish-granting
factory.”Thatmademesmilealittle.
Lidewijreturnedwithtickets,butherthinlipswerepursedwithworry.
“Thereisnoelevator,”shesaid.“Iamveryverysorry.”
“It’sokay,”Isaid.
“No,therearemanystairs,”shesaid.“Steepstairs.”
“It’s okay,” I said again. Augustus started to say something, but I
interrupted.“It’sokay.Icandoit.”
We began ina room with a videoabout Jews in Holland andthe Nazi
invasionandtheFrankfamily.Thenwewalkedupstairsintothecanalhouse
where Otto Frank’s business had been. The stairs were slow, for me and
Augustusboth,but Ifeltstrong.SoonIwasstaringatthefamousbookcase
thathadhidAnneFrank,herfamily,andfourothers.Thebookcasewashalf
open,and behind itwas an evensteeperset of stairs,only wide enoughfor
oneperson.Therewerefellowvisitorsallaroundus,andIdidn’twanttohold
up the procession, but Lidewij said, “If everyone could be patient, please,”
andIbeganthewalkup,Lidewijcarryingthecartbehindme,Gusbehindher.
Itwasfourteensteps.Ikeptthinkingaboutthepeoplebehindme—they
weremostlyadultsspeakingavarietyoflanguages—andfeelingembarrassed
orwhatever,feelinglikeaghostthatbothcomfortsandhaunts,butfinallyI
madeitup,andthenIwasinaneerilyemptyroom,leaningagainstthewall,
mybraintellingmylungsit’sokayit’sokaycalmdownit’sokayandmylungs
tellingmybrainoh,God,we’redyinghere.Ididn’tevenseeAugustuscome
upstairs,buthecameoverandwipedhisbrowwiththebackofhishandlike
whewandsaid,“You’reachampion.”
Afterafewminutesofwall-leaning,Imadeittothenextroom,which
Anne had shared with the dentist Fritz Pfeffer. It was tiny, empty of all
furniture. You’d never know anyone had ever lived there except that the
picturesAnnehadpastedontothewallfrommagazinesandnewspaperswere
stillthere.
Another staircase led up to the room where the van Pels family had
lived,thisonesteeperthanthelastandeighteensteps,essentiallyaglorified
ladder.IgottothethresholdandlookedupandfiguredIcouldnotdoit,but
alsoknewtheonlywaythroughwasup.
“Let’sgoback,”Gussaidbehindme.
“I’mokay,”Iansweredquietly.It’sstupid,butIkeptthinkingIowedit
toher—toAnneFrank,Imean—becauseshewasdeadandIwasn’t,because
shehadstayedquietandkepttheblindsdrawnanddoneeverythingrightand
stilldied,andsoIshouldgoupthestepsandseetherestoftheworldshe’d
livedinthoseyearsbeforetheGestapocame.
Ibegantoclimbthestairs,crawlingupthemlikealittlekidwould,slow
atfirstso Icouldbreathe,butthenfasterbecauseIknewIcouldn’tbreathe
and wanted to get to the top before everything gave out. The blackness
encroachedaround myfieldof visionas I pulledmyself up, eighteensteps,
steep as hell. I finally crested the staircase mostly blind and nauseated, the
musclesinmyarmsandlegsscreamingforoxygen.Islumpedseatedagainst
awall,heavingwatered-downcoughs.Therewasanemptyglasscasebolted
tothewallabovemeandIstaredupthroughittotheceilingandtriednotto
passout.
Lidewijcroucheddownnexttome,saying,“You are atthetop,thatis
it,”andInodded.Ihadavagueawarenessoftheadultsallaroundglancing
downatmeworriedly;ofLidewijspeakingquietlyinonelanguageandthen
anotherandthenanothertovariousvisitors;ofAugustusstandingaboveme,
hishandonthetopofmyhead,strokingmyhairalongthepart.
Afteralongtime,LidewijandAugustuspulledmetomyfeetandIsaw
what was protected by the glass case: pencil marks on the wallpaper
measuringthegrowthofallthechildrenintheannexduringtheperiodthey
livedthere,inchafterinchuntiltheywouldgrownomore.
From there, we left the Franks’ living area, but we were still in the
museum:Alongnarrowhallwayshowedpicturesofeachoftheannex’seight
residentsanddescribedhowandwhereandwhentheydied.
“Theonlymemberofhiswholefamilywhosurvivedthewar,”Lidewij
toldus,referringtoAnne’sfather,Otto.Hervoicewashushedlikewewerein
church.
“Buthedidn’tsurviveawar,notreally,”Augustussaid.“Hesurviveda
genocide.”
“True,” Lidewij said. “I do not know how you go on, without your
family.Idonotknow.”AsIreadabouteachofthesevenwhodied,Ithought
ofOttoFranknotbeingafatheranymore,leftwithadiaryinsteadofawife
and two daughters. At the end of the hallway, a huge book, bigger than a
dictionary,containedthenamesofthe103,000deadfromtheNetherlandsin
the Holocaust. (Only 5,000 of the deported Dutch Jews, a wall label
explained,hadsurvived.5,000OttoFranks.)Thebookwasturnedtothepage
with Anne Frank’s name, but what got me about it was the fact that right
beneath her name there were four Aron Franks. Four. Four Aron Franks
withoutmuseums,withouthistoricalmarkers,withoutanyonetomournthem.
IsilentlyresolvedtorememberandprayforthefourAronFranksaslongasI
wasaround.(Maybesomepeopleneedtobelieveinaproperandomnipotent
Godtopray,butIdon’t.)
Aswegottotheendoftheroom,Gusstoppedandsaid,“Youokay?”I
nodded.
He gestured back toward Anne’s picture. “The worst part is that she
almostlived,youknow?Shediedweeksawayfromliberation.”
Lidewij took a few steps away to watch a video, and I grabbed
Augustus’shandaswewalkedintothenextroom.ItwasanA-frameroom
with some letters Otto Frank had written to people during his months-long
searchfor hisdaughters. On thewall inthe middle ofthe room,a video of
OttoFrankplayed.HewasspeakinginEnglish.
“ArethereanyNazisleftthatIcouldhuntdownandbringtojustice?”
Augustusaskedwhile we leanedoverthe vitrines readingOtto’sletters and
theguttingrepliesthatno,noonehadseenhischildrenaftertheliberation.
“Ithinkthey’realldead.Butit’snotliketheNazishadamonopolyon
evil.”
“True,” he said. “That’s what we should do, Hazel Grace: We should
teamupandbethisdisabledvigilanteduoroaringthroughtheworld,righting
wrongs,defendingtheweak,protectingtheendangered.”
Although it was his dream and not mine, I indulged it. He’d indulged
mine,afterall.“Ourfearlessnessshallbeoursecretweapon,”Isaid.
“Thetalesofourexploitswillsurviveaslongasthehumanvoiceitself,”
hesaid.
“And even after that, when the robots recall the human absurdities of
sacrificeandcompassion,theywillrememberus.”
“Theywillrobot-laughatourcourageousfolly,”hesaid.“Butsomething
intheirironrobotheartswillyearntohavelivedanddiedaswedid:onthe
hero’serrand.”
“AugustusWaters,” I said, looking up athim,thinkingthatyoucannot
kiss anyone in the Anne Frank House, and then thinking that Anne Frank,
after all, kissed someone in the Anne Frank House, and that she would
probablylikenothingmorethanforherhometohavebecomeaplacewhere
theyoungandirreparablybrokensinkintolove.
“I must say,” Otto Frank said on the video in his accented English, “I
wasverymuchsurprisedbythedeepthoughtsAnnehad.”
And then we were kissing. My hand let go of the oxygen cart and I
reachedupforhisneck,andhepulledmeupbymywaistontomytiptoes.As
hispartedlipsmetmine,Istartedtofeelbreathlessinanewandfascinating
way.Thespacearoundusevaporated,andforaweirdmomentIreallyliked
mybody;thiscancer-ruinedthingI’dspentyearsdraggingaroundsuddenly
seemedworththestruggle,worththechesttubesandthePICClinesandthe
ceaselessbodilybetrayalofthetumors.
“Itwasquitea differentAnneIhad known asmydaughter. She never
reallyshowedthiskindofinnerfeeling,”OttoFrankcontinued.
ThekisslastedforeverasOttoFrankkepttalkingfrombehindme.“And
myconclusionis,”hesaid,“sinceIhadbeeninverygoodtermswithAnne,
thatmostparentsdon’tknowreallytheirchildren.”
I realized that my eyes were closed and opened them. Augustus was
staringat me, hisblueeyes closertome than they’dever been, andbehind
him,acrowdofpeoplethreedeephadsortofcircledaroundus.Theywere
angry,Ithought.Horrified.Theseteenagers,withtheirhormones,makingout
beneathavideobroadcastingtheshatteredvoiceofaformerfather.
IpulledawayfromAugustus,andhesnuckapeckontomyforeheadasI
stared down at my Chuck Taylors. And then they started clapping. All the
people,alltheseadults,juststartedclapping,andoneshouted“Bravo!”ina
European accent. Augustus, smiling, bowed. Laughing, I curtsied ever so
slightly,whichwasmetwithanotherroundofapplause.
We made our way downstairs, letting all the adults go down first, and
right before we got to the café (where blessedly an elevator took us back
downtogroundlevelandthegiftshop)wesawpagesofAnne’sdiary,and
also her unpublished book of quotations. The quote book happened to be
turnedtoapageofShakespearequotations.Forwho sofirmthatcannotbe
seduced?she’dwritten.
LidewijdroveusbacktotheFilosoof.Outsidethehotel,itwasdrizzlingand
AugustusandIstoodonthebricksidewalkslowlygettingwet.
Augustus:“Youprobablyneedsomerest.”
Me:“I’mokay.”
Augustus:“Okay.”(Pause.)“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”
Me:“You.”
Augustus:“Whataboutme?”
Me:“‘Idonotknowwhichtoprefer,/Thebeautyofinflections/Orthe
beautyofinnuendos,/Theblackbirdwhistling/Orjustafter.’”
Augustus:“God,youaresexy.”
Me:“Wecouldgotoyourroom.”
Augustus:“I’veheardworseideas.”
We squeezed into the tiny elevator together. Every surface, including the
floor,wasmirrored.Wehadtopullthedoortoshutourselvesinandthenthe
oldthingcreakedslowlyuptothesecondfloor.Iwastiredandsweatyand
worriedthatIgenerallylookedandsmelledgross,butevensoIkissedhimin
that elevator, and then he pulled away and pointed at the mirror and said,
“Look,infiniteHazels.”
“Some infinities are largerthan other infinities,”I drawled, mimicking
VanHouten.
“Whatanassclown,”Augustussaid,andittookallthattimeandmore
justtogetustothesecondfloor.Finallytheelevatorlurchedtoahalt,andhe
pushedthemirroreddooropen.Whenitwashalfopen,hewincedinpainand
losthisgriponthedoorforasecond.
“Youokay?”Iasked.
After a second, he said, “Yeah, yeah, door’s just heavy, I guess.” He
pushedagainandgotitopen.Heletmewalkoutfirst,ofcourse,butthenI
didn’t know which direction to walk down the hallway, and so I just stood
thereoutsidetheelevatorandhestoodthere,too,hisfacestillcontorted,andI
saidagain,“Okay?”
“Justoutofshape,HazelGrace.Alliswell.”
We were just standing there in the hallway, and he wasn’t leading the
waytohisroomoranything,andIdidn’tknowwherehisroomwas,andas
the stalemate continued, I became convinced he was trying to figure out a
waynottohookupwithme,thatInevershouldhavesuggestedtheideain
the first place, that it was unladylike and therefore had disgusted Augustus
Waters,whowasstandingtherelookingatmeunblinking,tryingtothinkofa
waytoextricatehimselffromthesituationpolitely.Andthen,afterforever,he
said, “It’s above my knee and it just tapers a little and then it’s just skin.
There’sanastyscar,butitjustlookslike—”
“What?”Iasked.
“Myleg,”hesaid.“Justsoyou’repreparedincase,Imean,incaseyou
seeitorwhat—”
“Oh,getoveryourself,”Isaid,andtookthetwostepsIneededtogetto
him.Ikissedhim,hard,pressinghimagainstthewall,andIkeptkissinghim
ashefumbledfortheroomkey.
Wecrawledintothebed,myfreedomcircumscribedsomebytheoxygen,but
evensoIcouldgetontopofhimandtakehisshirtoffandtastethesweaton
the skin below his collarbone as I whispered into his skin, “I love you,
AugustusWaters,”hisbodyrelaxingbeneathmineasheheardmesayit.He
reacheddownand triedtopullmyshirtoff,butitgottangledin thetube.I
laughed.
***
“Howdoyoudothiseveryday?”heaskedasIdisentangledmyshirtfromthe
tubes.Idiotically,itoccurredtomethatmypinkunderweardidn’tmatchmy
purplebra,asifboysevennoticesuchthings.Icrawledunderthecoversand
kickedout ofmy jeansand socks and then watched the comforter danceas
beneathit,Augustusremovedfirsthisjeansandthenhisleg.
***
We were lying on our backs next to each other, everything hidden by the
covers,andafterasecondIreachedoverforhisthighandletmyhandtrail
downwardtothestump,thethickscarredskin.Iheldthestumpforasecond.
Heflinched.“Ithurts?”Iasked.
“No,”hesaid.
Heflippedhimselfontohissideandkissedme.“You’resohot,”Isaid,
myhandstillonhisleg.
“I’m starting to think you have an amputee fetish,” he answered, still
kissingme.Ilaughed.
“IhaveanAugustusWatersfetish,”Iexplained.
ThewholeaffairwasthepreciseoppositeofwhatIfigureditwouldbe:slow
andpatientandquietandneitherparticularlypainfulnorparticularlyecstatic.
TherewerealotofcondomyproblemsthatIdidnotgetaparticularlygood
lookat.Noheadboardswerebroken.Noscreaming.Honestly,itwasprobably
thelongesttimewe’deverspenttogetherwithouttalking.
Only one thing followed type: Afterward, when I had my face resting
againstAugustus’schest,listeningtohisheartpound,Augustussaid,“Hazel
Grace,Iliterallycannotkeepmyeyesopen.”
“Misuseofliterality,”Isaid.
“No,”hesaid.“So.Tired.”
Hisfaceturnedawayfromme,myearpressedtohischest,listeningto
his lungs settle into the rhythm of sleep. After a while, I got up, dressed,
foundtheHotelFilosoofstationery,andwrotehimaloveletter:
DearestAugustus,
yrs,
HazelGrace
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Thenextmorning,ourlastfulldayinAmsterdam,MomandAugustusandI
walked the half block from the hotel to the Vondelpark, where we found a
caféintheshadowoftheDutchnationalfilmmuseum.Overlattes—which,
the waiter explained to us, the Dutch called “wrong coffee” because it had
moremilkthancoffee—wesatinthelacyshadeofahugechestnuttreeand
recountedforMomourencounterwiththegreatPeterVanHouten.Wemade
thestoryfunny.Youhaveachoiceinthisworld,Ibelieve,abouthowtotell
sad stories, and we made the funny choice: Augustus, slumped in the café
chair,pretendedtobethetongue-tied,word-slurringVanHoutenwhocould
notsomuchaspushhimselfoutofhischair;Istooduptoplayameallfullof
blusterandmachismo,shouting,“Getup,youfatuglyoldman!”
“Didyoucallhimugly?”Augustusasked.
“Justgowithit,”Itoldhim.
“I’mnahtuggy.You’retheuggyone,nosetubegirl.”
“You’reacoward!”Irumbled,andAugustusbrokecharactertolaugh.I
satdown.WetoldMomabouttheAnneFrankHouse,leavingoutthekissing.
“DidyougobacktochezVanHoutenafterward?”Momasked.
Augustusdidn’tevengivemetimetoblush.“Nah,wejusthungoutata
café.HazelamusedmewithsomeVenndiagramhumor.”Heglancedatme.
God,hewassexy.
“Soundslovely,”shesaid.“Listen,I’mgoingtogoforawalk.Givethe
twoofyoutimetotalk,”shesaidatGus,anedgeinit.“Thenmaybelaterwe
cangoforatouronacanalboat.”
“Um,okay?”Isaid.Momleftafive-euronoteunderhersaucerandthen
kissedmeonthetopofthehead,whispering,“Iloveloveloveyou,”which
wastwomorelovesthanusual.
Gus motioned down to the shadows of the branches intersecting and
comingapartontheconcrete.“Beautiful,huh?”
“Yeah,”Isaid.
“Suchagoodmetaphor,”hemumbled.
“Isitnow?”Iasked.
“Thenegativeimageofthingsblowntogetherandthenblownapart,”he
said. Before us, hundreds of people passed, jogging and biking and
Rollerblading.Amsterdamwasacitydesignedformovementandactivity,a
citythatwouldrathernottravelbycar,andsoinevitablyIfeltexcludedfrom
it.ButGod,wasitbeautiful,thecreekcarvingapatharoundthehugetree,a
heron standing still at the water’s edge, searching for a breakfast amid the
millionsofelmpetalsfloatinginthewater.
But Augustus didn’t notice. He was too busy watching the shadows
move.Finally,hesaid,“Icouldlookatthisallday,butweshouldgotothe
hotel.”
“Dowehavetime?”Iasked.
Hesmiledsadly.“Ifonly,”hesaid.
“What’swrong?”Iasked.
Henoddedbackinthedirectionofthehotel.
Wewalkedinsilence,Augustusahalfstepinfrontofme.Iwastooscaredto
askifIhadreasontobescared.
SothereisthisthingcalledMaslow’sHierarchyofNeeds.Basically,this
guyAbrahamMaslowbecamefamousforhistheorythatcertainneedsmust
bemetbeforeyoucanevenhaveotherkindsofneeds.Itlookslikethis:
Once your needs for food and water are fulfilled, you move up to the
nextsetofneeds,security,andthenthenextandthenext,buttheimportant
thing is that, according to Maslow, until your physiological needs are
satisfied,youcan’tevenworryaboutsecurityorsocialneeds,letalone“self-
actualization,” which is when you start to, like, make art and think about
moralityandquantumphysicsandstuff.
Accordingto Maslow, Iwas stuckon the secondlevel of thepyramid,
unabletofeelsecureinmyhealthandthereforeunabletoreachforloveand
respect and art and whatever else, which is, of course, utter horseshit: The
urgetomakeartorcontemplatephilosophydoesnotgoawaywhenyouare
sick.Thoseurgesjustbecometransfiguredbyillness.
Maslow’s pyramid seemed to imply that I was less human than other
people, and most people seemed to agree with him. But not Augustus. I
alwaysthoughthecouldlovemebecausehe’doncebeensick.Onlynowdid
itoccurtomethatmaybehestillwas.
Wearrivedinmyroom,theKierkegaard.Isatdownonthebedexpectinghim
tojoinme,buthehunkereddowninthedustypaisleychair.Thatchair.How
oldwasit?Fiftyyears?
IfelttheballinthebaseofmythroathardeningasIwatchedhimpulla
cigarette from his pack and stick it between his lips. He leaned back and
sighed.“JustbeforeyouwentintotheICU,Istartedtofeelthisacheinmy
hip.”
“No,”Isaid.Panicrolledin,pulledmeunder.
Henodded.“SoIwentinforaPETscan.”Hestopped.Heyankedthe
cigaretteoutofhismouthandclenchedhisteeth.
Muchofmylifehadbeendevotedtotryingnottocryinfrontofpeople
wholovedme,soIknewwhatAugustuswasdoing.Youclenchyourteeth.
Youlookup.Youtellyourselfthatiftheyseeyoucry,itwillhurtthem,and
youwillbenothingbutASadnessintheirlives,andyoumustnotbecomea
mere sadness, so you will notcry, andyou say all of this to yourself while
lookingupattheceiling,andthenyouswalloweventhoughyourthroatdoes
notwanttocloseandyoulookatthepersonwholovesyouandsmile.
Heflashedhis crookedsmile,thensaid,“IlituplikeaChristmastree,
HazelGrace.Theliningofmychest,mylefthip,myliver,everywhere.”
Everywhere. That word hung in the air awhile. We both knew what it
meant.Igotup,draggingmybodyandthecartacrosscarpetthatwasolder
thanAugustuswouldeverbe,andIkneltatthebaseofthechairandputmy
headinhislapandhuggedhimbythewaist.
Hewasstrokingmyhair.“I’msosorry,”Isaid.
“I’msorryIdidn’ttellyou,”hesaid,hisvoicecalm.“Yourmommust
know. The way she looked at me. My mom must’ve just told her or
something.Ishould’vetoldyou.Itwasstupid.Selfish.”
Iknewwhyhehadn’tsaidanything,ofcourse:thesamereasonIhadn’t
wanted him to see me in the ICU. I couldn’t be mad at him for even a
moment,andonlynowthatIlovedagrenadedidIunderstandthefoolishness
of trying to save others from my own impending fragmentation: I couldn’t
unloveAugustusWaters.AndIdidn’twantto.
“It’snotfair,”Isaid.“It’sjustsogoddamnedunfair.”
“Theworld,”hesaid,“isnotawish-grantingfactory,”andthenhebroke
down, just for one moment, his sob roaring impotent like a clap of thunder
unaccompaniedbylightning,theterribleferocitythatamateursinthefieldof
sufferingmightmistakeforweakness.Thenhepulledmetohimand,hisface
inchesfrommine,resolved,“I’llfightit.I’llfightitforyou.Don’tyouworry
aboutme,HazelGrace.I’mokay.I’llfindawaytohangaroundandannoy
youforalongtime.”
I was crying. But even then he was strong, holding me tight so that I
couldseethesinewymusclesofhisarmswrappedaroundmeashesaid,“I’m
sorry.You’llbeokay.It’llbeokay.Ipromise,”andsmiledhiscrookedsmile.
Hekissedmyforehead,andthenIfelthispowerfulchestdeflatejusta
little.“IguessIhadahamartiaafterall.”
Afterawhile,Ipulledhimovertothebedandwelaytheretogetherashetold
me they’d started palliative chemo, but he gave it up to go to Amsterdam,
eventhoughhisparentswerefurious.They’dtriedtostophimrightupuntil
that morning, when I heard him screaming that his body belonged to him.
“Wecouldhaverescheduled,”Isaid.
“No, we couldn’t have,” he answered. “Anyway, it wasn’t working. I
couldtellitwasn’tworking,youknow?”
Inodded.“It’sjustbullshit,thewholething,”Isaid.
“They’lltrysomethingelsewhenIgethome.They’vealwaysgotanew
idea.”
“Yeah,”Isaid,havingbeentheexperimentalpincushionmyself.
“I kind of conned you into believing you were falling in love with a
healthyperson,”hesaid.
Ishrugged.“I’dhavedonethesametoyou.”
“No, you wouldn’t’ve, but we can’t all be as awesome as you.” He
kissedme,thengrimaced.
“Doesithurt?”Iasked.
“No.Just.”Hestaredattheceilingforalongtimebeforesaying,“Ilike
thisworld.Ilikedrinkingchampagne.Ilikenotsmoking.Ilikethesoundof
DutchpeoplespeakingDutch.Andnow...Idon’tevengetabattle.Idon’t
getafight.”
“Yougettobattlecancer,”Isaid.“Thatisyourbattle.Andyou’llkeep
fighting,”Itoldhim.Ihateditwhenpeopletriedtobuildmeuptopreparefor
battle,butIdidittohim,anyway.“You’ll...you’ll...liveyourbestlife
today.Thisisyourwarnow.”Idespisedmyselfforthecheesysentiment,but
whatelsedidIhave?
“Somewar,”hesaiddismissively.“WhatamIatwarwith?Mycancer.
And what is my cancer? My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me.
They’remadeofmeassurelyasmybrainandmyheartaremadeofme.Itis
acivilwar,HazelGrace,withapredeterminedwinner.”
“Gus,” I said. I couldn’t say anything else. He was too smart for the
kindsofsolaceIcouldoffer.
“Okay,”hesaid.Butitwasn’t.Afteramoment,hesaid,“Ifyougotothe
Rijksmuseum,whichIreallywantedtodo—butwhoarewekidding,neither
of us can walk through a museum. But anyway, I looked at the collection
onlinebeforeweleft.Ifyouweretogo,andhopefullysomedayyouwill,you
wouldseealotofpaintingsofdeadpeople.You’dseeJesusonthecross,and
you’dseeadudegettingstabbedintheneck,andyou’dseepeopledyingat
seaandinbattleandaparadeofmartyrs.ButNot.One.Single.Cancer.Kid.
Nobody biting it from the plague or smallpox or yellow fever or whatever,
because there is no glory in illness. There is no meaning to it. There is no
honorindyingof.”
AbrahamMaslow,I presenttoyou AugustusWaters, whoseexistential
curiositydwarfedthatofhiswell-fed,well-loved,healthybrethren.Whilethe
mass of men went on leading thoroughly unexamined lives of monstrous
consumption,AugustusWatersexamined thecollectionoftheRijksmuseum
fromafar.
“What?”Augustusaskedafterawhile.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t
knowhowto.“I’mjustvery,veryfondofyou.”
Hesmiledwithhalfhismouth,hisnoseinchesfrommine.“Thefeeling
ismutual.Idon’t suppose you can forgetaboutitandtreatmelikeI’mnot
dying.”
“Idon’tthinkyou’redying,”Isaid.“Ithinkyou’vejustgotatouchof
cancer.”
Hesmiled.Gallowshumor.“I’monarollercoasterthatonlygoesup,”
hesaid.
“Anditismyprivilegeandmyresponsibilitytorideallthewayupwith
you,”Isaid.
“Woulditbeabsolutelyludicroustotrytomakeout?”
“Thereisnotry,”Isaid.“Thereisonlydo.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
On the flight home, twenty thousand feet above clouds that were ten
thousandfeetabovetheground,Gussaid,“Iusedtothinkitwouldbefunto
liveonacloud.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Likeitwouldbelikeoneofthoseinflatablemoonwalk
machines,exceptforalways.”
“Buttheninmiddleschoolscience,Mr.Martinezaskedwhoamongus
hadeverfantasizedaboutlivingintheclouds,andeveryoneraisedtheirhand.
ThenMr.Martineztoldusthatupinthecloudsthewindblewonehundred
andfiftymilesanhourandthetemperaturewasthirtybelowzeroandthere
wasnooxygenandwe’dalldiewithinseconds.”
“Soundslikeaniceguy.”
“Hespecializedinthemurderofdreams,HazelGrace,letmetellyou.
You think volcanoes are awesome? Tell that to the ten thousand screaming
corpsesatPompeii.Youstillsecretlybelievethatthereisanelementofmagic
to this world? It’s all just soulless molecules bouncing against each other
randomly.Doyouworryaboutwhowilltakecareofyouifyourparentsdie?
Aswellyoushould,becausetheywillbewormfoodinthefullnessoftime.”
“Ignoranceisbliss,”Isaid.
A flight attendant walked through the aisle with a beverage cart, half
whispering,“Drinks?Drinks?Drinks?Drinks?”Gusleanedoverme,raising
hishand.“Couldwehavesomechampagne,please?”
“You’re twenty-one?” she asked dubiously. I conspicuously rearranged
the nubbins in my nose. The stewardess smiled, then glanced down at my
sleepingmother.“Shewon’tmind?”sheaskedofMom.
“Nah,”Isaid.
Soshepouredchampagneintotwoplasticcups.CancerPerks.
GusandItoasted.“Toyou,”hesaid.
“Toyou,”Isaid,touchingmycuptohis.
Wesipped.Dimmerstarsthanwe’dhadatOranjee,butstillgoodenough
todrink.
“Youknow,”Gussaidtome,“everythingVanHoutensaidwastrue.”
“Maybe,buthedidn’thavetobesuchadoucheaboutit.Ican’tbelieve
heimaginedafutureforSisyphustheHamsterbutnotforAnna’smom.”
Augustusshrugged. Heseemed to zoneout all ofa sudden.“Okay?” I
asked.
Heshookhisheadmicroscopically.“Hurts,”hesaid.
“Chest?”
Henodded.Fistsclenched.Later,hewoulddescribeitasaone-legged
fatmanwearingastilettoheelstandingonthemiddleofhischest.Ireturned
myseat-backtraytoitsuprightandlockedpositionandbentforwardtodig
pills out of his backpack. He swallowed one with champagne. “Okay?” I
askedagain.
Gus sat there, pumping his fist, waiting for the medicine to work, the
medicinethatdidnotkillthepainsomuchasdistancehimfromit(andfrom
me).
“Itwaslikeitwaspersonal,”Gussaidquietly.“Likehewasmadatus
forsomereason.VanHouten,Imean.”Hedranktherestofhischampagnein
aquickseriesofgulpsandsoonfellasleep.
My dad was waiting for us in baggage claim, standing amid all the limo
driversinsuitsholdingsignsprintedwiththelastnamesoftheirpassengers:
JOHNSON,BARRINGTON,CARMICHAEL.Dadhadasignofhisown.MYBEAUTIFUL
FAMILY,itread,andthenunderneaththat(ANDGUS).
Ihuggedhim,andhestartedcrying(ofcourse).Aswedrovehome,Gus
and I told Dad stories of Amsterdam, but it wasn’t until I was home and
hooked up to Philip watching good ol’ American television with Dad and
eatingAmericanpizzaoffnapkinsonourlapsthatItoldhimaboutGus.
“Gushadarecurrence,”Isaid.
“I know,” he said. He scooted over toward me, and then added, “His
momtoldusbeforethetrip.I’msorryhekeptitfromyou.I’m...I’msorry,
Hazel.” I didn’t say anything for a long time. The show we were watching
wasaboutpeoplewhoaretryingtopickwhichhousetheyaregoingtobuy.
“SoIreadAnImperialAfflictionwhileyouguysweregone,”Dadsaid.
Iturnedmyheaduptohim.“Oh,cool.What’dyouthink?”
“It was good. A little over my head. I was a biochemistry major,
remember,notaliteratureguy.Idowishithadended.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Commoncomplaint.”
“Also,itwasabithopeless,”hesaid.“Abitdefeatist.”
“Ifbydefeatistyoumeanhonest,thenIagree.”
“I don’t think defeatism is honest,” Dad answered. “I refuse to accept
that.”
“Soeverythinghappensforareasonandwe’llallgoliveintheclouds
andplayharpsandliveinmansions?”
Dadsmiled.Heputabigarmaroundmeandpulledmetohim,kissing
thesideofmyhead.“Idon’tknowwhatIbelieve,Hazel.Ithoughtbeingan
adultmeantknowingwhatyoubelieve,butthathasnotbeenmyexperience.”
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Okay.”
HetoldmeagainthathewassorryaboutGus,andthenwewentbackto
watchingtheshow,andthepeoplepickedahouse,andDadstillhadhisarm
aroundme,andIwaskindastartingtofallasleep,butIdidn’twanttogoto
bed,andthenDadsaid,“YouknowwhatIbelieve?IrememberincollegeI
wastakingthismathclass,thisreallygreatmathclasstaughtbythistinyold
woman. She was talking about fast Fourier transforms and she stopped
midsentenceandsaid,‘Sometimesitseemstheuniversewantstobenoticed.’
“That’swhatIbelieve.Ibelievetheuniversewantstobenoticed.Ithink
the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards
intelligenceinpartbecausetheuniverseenjoysitselegancebeingobserved.
AndwhoamI,livinginthemiddleofhistory,totelltheuniversethatit—or
myobservationofit—istemporary?”
“Youarefairlysmart,”Isaidafterawhile.
“Youarefairlygoodatcompliments,”heanswered.
The next afternoon, I drove over to Gus’s house and ate peanut-butter-and-
jelly sandwiches with his parents and told them stories about Amsterdam
while Gus napped on the living room couch, where we’d watched V for
Vendetta. I could just see him from the kitchen: He lay on his back, head
turnedawayfromme,aPICClinealreadyin.Theywereattackingthecancer
withanewcocktail:twochemodrugsandaproteinreceptorthattheyhoped
wouldturnofftheoncogeneinGus’scancer.Hewasluckytogetenrolledin
thetrial,theytoldme.Lucky.Iknewoneofthedrugs.Hearingthesoundof
itsnamemademewanttobarf.
Afterawhile,Isaac’smombroughthimover.
“Isaac, hi, it’s Hazel from Support Group, not your evil ex-girlfriend.”
Hismomwalkedhimtome,andIpulledmyselfoutofthediningroomchair
andhuggedhim,hisbodytakingamomenttofindmebeforehehuggedme
back,hard.
“HowwasAmsterdam?”heasked.
“Awesome,”Isaid.
“Waters,”hesaid.“Whereareya,bro?”
“He’s napping,” I said, and my voice caught. Isaac shook his head,
everyonequiet.
“Sucks,”Isaacsaidafterasecond.Hismomwalkedhimtoachairshe’d
pulledout.Hesat.
“IcanstilldominateyourblindassatCounterinsurgence,”Augustussaid
withoutturningtowardus.Themedicineslowedhisspeechabit,butonlyto
thespeedofregularpeople.
“I’mprettysureallassesareblind,”Isaacanswered,reachinghishands
intotheairvaguely,looking for hismom.Shegrabbedhim, pulled himup,
andtheywalkedovertothecouch,whereGusandIsaachuggedawkwardly.
“Howareyoufeeling?”Isaacasked.
“Everythingtasteslikepennies.Asidefromthat,I’monarollercoaster
thatonlygoesup,kid,”Gusanswered.Isaaclaughed.“Howaretheeyes?”
“Oh, excellent,” he said. “I mean, they’re not in my head is the only
problem.”
“Awesome, yeah,” Gus said. “Not to one-up you or anything, but my
bodyismadeoutofcancer.”
“So I heard,” Isaac said, trying not to let it get to him. He fumbled
towardGus’shandandfoundonlyhisthigh.
“I’mtaken,”Gussaid.
Isaac’smombroughtovertwodiningroomchairs,andIsaacandIsatdown
nexttoGus.ItookGus’shand,strokingcirclesaroundthespacebetweenhis
thumbandforefinger.
The adults headed down to the basement to commiserate or whatever,
leaving the three of us alone in the living room. After a while, Augustus
turnedhisheadtous,thewakingupslow.“How’sMonica?”heasked.
“Haven’t heardfromheronce,”Isaacsaid.“No cards;noemails.Igot
thismachinethatreadsmemyemails.It’sawesome.Icanchangethevoice’s
genderoraccentorwhatever.”
“SoIcanlikesend you apornstoryandyou can have anoldGerman
manreadittoyou?”
“Exactly,” Isaac said. “Although Mom still has to help me with it, so
maybeholdoffontheGermanpornoforaweekortwo.”
“She hasn’t even, like, texted you to ask how you’re doing?” I asked.
Thisstruckmeasanunfathomableinjustice.
“Totalradiosilence,”Isaacsaid.
“Ridiculous,”Isaid.
“I’vestoppedthinkingaboutit.Idon’thavetimetohaveagirlfriend.I
havelikeafull-timejobLearningHowtoBeBlind.”
Gusturnedhis head back awayfromus,staring out thewindowatthe
patioinhisbackyard.Hiseyesclosed.
IsaacaskedhowIwasdoing,andIsaidIwasgood,andhetoldmethere
wasanewgirlinSupportGroupwithareallyhotvoiceandheneededmeto
go to tell him if she was actually hot. Then out of nowhere Augustus said,
“Youcan’tjustnotcontactyourformerboyfriendafterhiseyesgetcutoutof
hisfreakinghead.”
“Justoneof—”Isaacstarted.
“HazelGrace,doyouhavefourdollars?”askedGus.
“Um,”Isaid.“Yes?”
“Excellent. You’ll find my leg under the coffee table,” he said. Gus
pushedhimselfuprightandscooteddowntotheedgeofthecouch.Ihanded
himtheprosthetic;hefasteneditinslowmotion.
IhelpedhimtostandandthenofferedmyarmtoIsaac,guidinghimpast
furniture that suddenly seemed intrusive, realizing that, for the first time in
years,Iwasthehealthiestpersonintheroom.
Idrove.Augustusrodeshotgun.Isaacsatintheback.We stopped ata
grocerystore,where,perAugustus’sinstruction,Iboughtadozeneggswhile
heand Isaacwaited in thecar. And then Isaacguided usby his memoryto
Monica’s house, an aggressively sterile, two-story house near the JCC.
Monica’sbrightgreen1990sPontiacFirebirdsatfat-wheeledinthedriveway.
“Isitthere?”Isaacaskedwhenhefeltmecomingtoastop.
“Oh,it’sthere,”Augustussaid.“Youknowwhatitlookslike,Isaac?It
lookslikeallthehopeswewerefoolishtohope.”
“Soshe’sinside?”
Gusturnedhis headaroundslowlytolookatIsaac. “Whocareswhere
sheis?Thisisnotabouther.Thisisaboutyou.”Gusgrippedtheeggcartonin
his lap, then opened the door and pulled his legs out onto the street. He
opened the door for Isaac, and I watched through the mirror as Gus helped
Isaacoutofthecar,thetwoofthemleaningoneachotherattheshoulderthen
taperingaway,likeprayinghandsthatdon’tquitemeetatthepalms.
Irolleddownthewindowsandwatchedfromthecar,becausevandalism
made me nervous. They took a few steps toward the car, then Gus flipped
opentheeggcartonandhandedIsaacanegg.Isaactossedit,missingthecar
byasolidfortyfeet.
“Alittletotheleft,”Gussaid.
“MythrowwasalittletotheleftorIneedtoaimalittletotheleft?”
“Aim left.” Isaac swiveled his shoulders. “Lefter,” Gus said. Isaac
swiveledagain.“Yes.Excellent. And throwhard.”Gus handed himanother
egg,andIsaachurledit,theeggarcingoverthecarandsmashingagainstthe
slow-slopingroofofthehouse.“Bull’s-eye!”Gussaid.
“Really?”Isaacaskedexcitedly.
“No,youthrewitliketwentyfeetoverthecar.Just,throwhard,butkeep
itlow.Andalittlerightofwhereyouwerelasttime.”Isaacreachedoverand
found an egg himself from the carton Gus cradled. He tossed it, hitting a
taillight.“Yes!”Gussaid.“Yes!TAILLIGHT!”
Isaacreachedforanotheregg,missedwideright,thenanother,missing
low,thenanother,hittingthebackwindshield.Hethennailedthreeinarow
againstthetrunk.“HazelGrace,”Gusshoutedbacktome.“Takeapictureof
thissoIsaaccanseeitwhentheyinventroboteyes.”IpulledmyselfupsoI
wassittingintherolled-downwindow,myelbowsontheroofofthecar,and
snappedapicturewithmyphone:Augustus,anunlitcigaretteinhismouth,
hissmiledeliciouslycrooked,holdsthemostlyemptypinkeggcartonabove
hishead.HisotherhandisdrapedaroundIsaac’sshoulder,whosesunglasses
areturnednotquitetowardthecamera.Behindthem,eggyolksdripdownthe
windshield and bumper of the green Firebird. And behind that, a door is
opening.
“What,”askedthemiddle-agedwomanamomentafterI’dsnappedthe
picture,“inGod’sname—”andthenshestoppedtalking.
“Ma’am,”Augustussaid,noddingtowardher,“yourdaughter’scarhas
justbeendeservedlyeggedbyablindman.Pleaseclosethedoorandgoback
inside or we’ll be forced to call the police.” After wavering for a moment,
Monica’s mom closed the door and disappeared. Isaac threw the last three
eggsinquicksuccessionandGusthenguidedhimbacktowardthecar.“See,
Isaac, if you just take—we’re coming to the curb now—the feeling of
legitimacy away from them, if you turn it around so they feel like they are
committing a crime by watching—a few more steps—their cars get egged,
they’llbeconfusedandscaredandworriedandthey’lljustreturntotheir—
you’llfindthedoorhandledirectlyinfrontofyou—quietlydesperatelives.”
Gushurriedaroundthefrontofthecarandinstalledhimselfintheshotgun
seat. The doors closed, and I roared off, driving for several hundred feet
beforeIrealizedIwasheadeddownadead-endstreet.Icircledthecul-de-sac
andracedbackpastMonica’shouse.
Inevertookanotherpictureofhim.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Afewdayslater,atGus’shouse,hisparentsandmyparentsandGusand
me all squeezed around the dining room table, eating stuffed peppers on a
tablecloth that had, according to Gus’s dad, last seen use in the previous
century.
Mydad:“Emily,thisrisotto...”
Mymom:“It’sjustdelicious.”
Gus’smom:“Oh,thanks.I’dbehappytogiveyoutherecipe.”
Gus,swallowingabite:“Youknow,theprimarytasteI’mgettingisnot-
Oranjee.”
Me:“Goodobservation,Gus.Thisfood,whiledelicious,doesnottaste
likeOranjee.”
Mymom:“Hazel.”
Gus:“Ittasteslike...”
Me:“Food.”
Gus:“Yes,precisely.Ittasteslikefood,excellentlyprepared.Butitdoes
nottaste,howdoIputthisdelicately...?”
Me:“ItdoesnottastelikeGodHimselfcookedheavenintoaseriesof
fivedisheswhichwerethenservedtoyouaccompaniedbyseveralluminous
balls of fermented, bubbly plasma while actual and literal flower petals
floateddownallaroundyourcanal-sidedinnertable.”
Gus:“Nicelyphrased.”
Gus’sfather:“Ourchildrenareweird.”
Mydad:“Nicelyphrased.”
A week afterourdinner,Gus endedupin the ERwithchest pain, andthey
admitted him overnight, so I drove over to Memorialthe next morning and
visitedhimonthefourthfloor.Ihadn’tbeentoMemorialsincevisitingIsaac.
Itdidn’thaveanyofthecloyinglybrightprimarycolor–paintedwallsorthe
framed paintings of dogs driving cars that one found at Children’s, but the
absolutesterilityoftheplacemademenostalgicforthehappy-kidbullshitat
Children’s. Memorial was so functional. It was a storage facility. A
prematorium.
Whenthe elevatordoorsopened onthe fourth floor,I saw Gus’s mom
pacinginthewaitingroom,talkingonacellphone.Shehungupquickly,then
huggedmeandofferedtotakemycart.
“I’mokay,”Isaid.“How’sGus?”
“Hehadatoughnight,Hazel,”shesaid.“Hisheartisworkingtoohard.
He needs to scale back on activity. Wheelchairs from here on out. They’re
putting him on some new medicine that should be better for the pain. His
sistersjustdrovein.”
“Okay,”Isaid.“CanIseehim?”
She put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. It felt weird.
“You know welove you, Hazel, but right now wejust needto be a family.
Gusagreeswiththat.Okay?”
“Okay,”Isaid.
“I’lltellhimyouvisited.”
“Okay,”Isaid.“I’mjustgonnareadhereforawhile,Ithink.”
Shewentdownthehall,backtowherehewas.Iunderstood,butIstillmissed
him, still thought maybe I was missing my last chance to see him, to say
good-bye or whatever. The waiting room was all brown carpet and brown
overstuffedclothchairs.Isatinaloveseatforawhile,myoxygencarttucked
bymyfeet.I’dwornmyChuckTaylorsandmyCecin’estpasunepipeshirt,
theexactoutfitI’dbeenwearingtwoweeksbeforeontheLateAfternoonof
the Venn Diagram, and he wouldn’t see it. I started scrolling through the
picturesonmyphone,abackwardflip-bookofthelastfewmonths,beginning
with him and Isaac outside of Monica’s house and ending with the first
pictureI’dtakenofhim,onthedrivetoFunkyBones.Itseemedlikeforever
ago, like we’d had this brief but still infinite forever. Some infinities are
biggerthanotherinfinities.
***
Twoweekslater,IwheeledGusacrosstheartparktowardFunkyBoneswith
oneentirebottleofveryexpensivechampagneandmyoxygentankinhislap.
The champagne had been donated by one of Gus’s doctors—Gus being the
kindofpersonwhoinspiresdoctorstogivetheirbestbottlesofchampagneto
children.Wesat,Gusinhischairandmeonthedampgrass,asneartoFunky
Bones as we could get him in the chair. I pointed at the little kids goading
each other to jump from rib cage to shoulder and Gus answered just loud
enoughformetohearoverthedin,“Lasttime,Iimaginedmyselfasthekid.
Thistime,theskeleton.”
WedrankfrompaperWinnie-the-Poohcups.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Atypicaldaywithlate-stageGus:
I went over to his house about noon, after he had eaten and puked up
breakfast.Hemetmeatthedoorinhiswheelchair,nolongerthemuscular,
gorgeousboywhostaredatmeatSupportGroup,butstillhalfsmiling,still
smokinghisunlitcigarette,hisblueeyesbrightandalive.
We ate lunch with his parents at the dining room table. Peanut-butter-
and-jellysandwichesandlastnight’sasparagus.Gusdidn’teat.Iaskedhow
hewasfeeling.
“Grand,”hesaid.“Andyou?”
“Good.What’dyoudolastnight?”
“Isleptquitealot. I want towriteyouasequel,Hazel Grace, but I’m
justsodamnedtiredallthetime.”
“Youcanjusttellittome,”Isaid.
“Well,Istandbymypre–VanHoutenanalysisoftheDutchTulipMan.
Notaconman,butnotasrichashewaslettingon.”
“AndwhataboutAnna’smom?”
“Haven’tsettledonanopinionthere.Patience,Grasshopper.”Augustus
smiled.Hisparentswerequiet,watchinghim,neverlookingaway,likethey
just wanted to enjoy The Gus Waters Show while it was still in town.
“SometimesIdreamthatI’mwritingamemoir.Amemoirwouldbejustthe
thingtokeepmeintheheartsandmemoriesofmyadoringpublic.”
“Whydoyouneedanadoringpublicwhenyou’vegotme?”Iasked.
“Hazel Grace, when you’re as charming and physically attractive as
myself,it’seasyenoughtowinoverpeopleyoumeet.Butgettingstrangersto
loveyou...now,that’sthetrick.”
Irolledmyeyes.
After lunch, we went outside to the backyard. He was still well enough to
pushhisownwheelchair,pullingminiaturewheeliestogetthefrontwheels
over the bump in the doorway. Still athletic, in spite of it all, blessed with
balance and quick reflexes that even the abundant narcotics could not fully
mask.
Hisparentsstayedinside,butwhenIglancedbackintothediningroom,
theywerealwayswatchingus.
WesatoutthereinsilenceforaminuteandthenGussaid, “Iwishwe
hadthatswingsetsometimes.”
“Theonefrommybackyard?”
“Yeah.MynostalgiaissoextremethatIamcapableofmissingaswing
mybuttneveractuallytouched.”
“Nostalgiaisasideeffectofcancer,”Itoldhim.
“Nah, nostalgia is a side effect of dying,” he answered. Above us, the
wind blew and the branching shadows rearranged themselves on our skin.
Gussqueezedmyhand.“Itisagoodlife,HazelGrace.”
We went inside when he needed meds, which were pressed into him along
withliquidnutritionthroughhisG-tube,abitofplasticthatdisappearedinto
hisbelly.Hewasquietforawhile,zonedout.Hismomwantedhimtotakea
nap,buthekeptshakinghisheadnowhenshesuggestedit,sowejustlethim
sittherehalfasleepinthechairforawhile.
His parents watched an old video of Gus with his sisters—they were
probablymyageandGuswasaboutfive.Theywereplayingbasketballinthe
drivewayofadifferenthouse,andeventhoughGuswastiny,hecoulddribble
like he’d been born doing it, running circles around his sisters as they
laughed. It was the first time I’d even seen him play basketball. “He was
good,”Isaid.
“Should’veseenhiminhighschool,”hisdadsaid.“Startedvarsityasa
freshman.”
Gusmumbled,“CanIgodownstairs?”
His mom and dad wheeled the chair downstairs with Gus still in it,
bouncing down crazily in a way that would have been dangerous if danger
retaineditsrelevance,andthentheyleftusalone.Hegotintobedandwelay
theretogetherunderthecovers,meonmysideandGusonhisback,myhead
on his bony shoulder, his heat radiating through his polo shirt and into my
skin,myfeettangledwithhisrealfoot,myhandonhischeek.
When I got his face nose-touchingly close so that I could only see his
eyes,Icouldn’ttellhewassick.Wekissedforawhileandthenlaytogether
listening to The Hectic Glow’s eponymous album, and eventually we fell
asleeplikethat,aquantumentanglementoftubesandbodies.
We woke up later and arranged an armada of pillows so that we could sit
comfortablyagainsttheedgeofthebedandplayedCounterinsurgence2:The
PriceofDawn.Isuckedatit,ofcourse,butmysuckingwasusefultohim:It
madeiteasierforhimtodiebeautifully,tojumpinfrontofasniper’sbullet
and sacrifice himself for me, or else to kill a sentry who was just about to
shootme.Howhereveledinsavingme.Heshouted,“Youwillnotkillmy
girlfriendtoday,InternationalTerroristofAmbiguousNationality!”
Itcrossedmymind to fakeachokingincidentor something sothathe
mightgivemetheHeimlich.Maybethenhecouldridhimselfofthisfearthat
hislifehadbeenlivedandlostfornogreatergood.ButthenIimaginedhim
beingphysicallyunabletoHeimlich,andmehavingtorevealthatitwasalla
ruse,andtheensuingmutualhumiliation.
It’s hard as hell to hold on to your dignity when the risen sun is too
brightinyourlosingeyes,andthat’swhatIwasthinkingaboutaswehunted
forbadguysthroughtheruinsofacitythatdidn’texist.
Finally,his dadcame down and dragged Gus back upstairs,and in the
entryway,beneath anEncouragement telling me that FriendsAre Forever,I
knelt to kiss him good night. I went home and ate dinner with my parents,
leavingGustoeat(andpukeup)hisowndinner.
AftersomeTV,Iwenttosleep.
Iwokeup.
Aroundnoon,Iwentoverthereagain.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Onemorning,amonthafterreturninghomefromAmsterdam,Idroveover
to his house. His parents told me he was still sleeping downstairs, so I
knockedloudlyonthebasementdoorbeforeentering,thenasked,“Gus?”
Ifoundhimmumblinginalanguageofhisowncreation.He’dpissedthe
bed.Itwasawful.Icouldn’tevenlook,really.Ijustshoutedforhisparents
andtheycamedown,andIwentupstairswhiletheycleanedhimup.
WhenIcamebackdown,hewasslowlywakingupoutofthenarcotics
to the excruciating day. I arranged his pillows so we could play
Counterinsurgenceonthebaresheetlessmattress,buthewassotiredandout
ofitthathesuckedalmostasbadasIdid,andwecouldn’tgofiveminutes
withoutbothgettingdead.Notfancyheroicdeathseither,justcarelessones.
Ididn’treallysayanythingtohim.IalmostwantedhimtoforgetIwas
there,Iguess,andIwashopinghedidn’trememberthatI’dfoundtheboyI
lovederangedinawidepoolofhisownpiss.Ikeptkindofhopingthathe’d
lookoveratmeandsay,“Oh,HazelGrace.How’dyougethere?”
But unfortunately, he remembered. “With each passing minute, I’m
developingadeeperappreciationofthewordmortified,”hesaidfinally.
“I’vepissedthebed,Gus,believeme.It’snobigdeal.”
“Youused,”hesaid,andthentookasharpbreath,“tocallmeAugustus.”
“Youknow,”hesaidafterawhile,“it’skids’stuff,butIalwaysthoughtmy
obituarywouldbeinallthenewspapers,thatI’dhaveastoryworthtelling.I
alwayshadthissecretsuspicionthatIwasspecial.”
“Youare,”Isaid.
“YouknowwhatImean,though,”hesaid.
Ididknowwhathemeant.Ijustdidn’tagree.“Idon’tcareiftheNew
YorkTimes writes an obituary for me. I just want you to write one,” I told
him.“Yousayyou’renotspecialbecausetheworlddoesn’tknowaboutyou,
butthat’saninsulttome.Iknowaboutyou.”
“Idon’tthinkI’mgonnamakeittowriteyourobituary,”hesaid,instead
ofapologizing.
I was so frustrated with him. “I just want to be enough for you, but I
nevercanbe.Thiscanneverbeenoughforyou.Butthisisallyouget.You
getme,andyourfamily,andthisworld.Thisisyourlife.I’msorryifitsucks.
Butyou’renotgoingtobethefirstmanonMars,andyou’renotgoingtobe
an NBA star, and you’re not going to hunt Nazis. I mean, look at yourself,
Gus.”Hedidn’trespond.“Idon’tmean—”Istarted.
“Oh, you meant it,” he interrupted. I started to apologize and he said,
“No,I’msorry.You’reright.Let’sjustplay.”
Sowejustplayed.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
IwokeuptomyphonesingingasongbyTheHecticGlow.Gus’sfavorite.
That meant he was calling—or someone was calling from his phone. I
glancedatthealarmclock:2:35A.M.He’sgone,Ithoughtaseverythinginside
ofmecollapsedintoasingularity.
Icouldbarelycreakouta“Hello?”
Iwaitedforthesoundofaparent’sannihilatedvoice.
“HazelGrace,”Augustussaidweakly.
“Oh,thankGodit’syou.Hi.Hi,Iloveyou.”
“HazelGrace,I’matthegasstation.Something’swrong.Yougottahelp
me.”
“What?Whereareyou?”
“TheSpeedwayatEighty-sixthandDitch.Ididsomethingwrongwith
theG-tubeandIcan’tfigureitoutand—”
“I’mcallingnine-one-one,”Isaid.
“Nonononono,they’lltakemetoahospital.Hazel,listentome.Do
notcallnine-one-oneormyparentsIwillneverforgiveyoudon’tpleasejust
comepleasejustcomeandfixmygoddamnedG-tube.I’mjust,God,thisis
thestupidestthing.Idon’twantmyparentstoknowI’mgone.Please.Ihave
themedicinewithme;Ijustcan’tgetitin.Please.”Hewascrying.I’dnever
heardhimsoblikethisexceptfromoutsidehishousebeforeAmsterdam.
“Okay,”Isaid.“I’mleavingnow.”
ItooktheBiPAPoffandconnectedmyselftoanoxygentank,liftedthe
tankintomycart,andputonsneakerstogowithmypinkcottonpajamapants
andaButlerbasketballT-shirt,whichhadoriginallybeenGus’s.Igrabbedthe
keysfromthekitchendrawerwhereMomkeptthemandwroteanoteincase
theywokeupwhileIwasgone.
WenttocheckonGus.It’simportant.Sorry.
Love,H
AsIdrovethecouplemilestothegasstation,Iwokeupenoughtowonder
why Gus had left the house in the middle of the night. Maybe he’d been
hallucinating,orhismartyrdomfantasieshadgottenthebetterofhim.
IspedupDitchRoadpastflashingyellowlights,goingtoofastpartlyto
reachhimandpartlyinthehopesacopwouldpullmeoverandgivemean
excuse to tell someone that my dying boyfriend was stuck outside of a gas
station with a malfunctioning G-tube. But no cop showed up to make my
decisionforme.
Therewereonlytwocarsinthelot.Ipulledupnexttohis.Iopenedthedoor.
Theinteriorlightscameon.Augustussatinthedriver’sseat,coveredinhis
ownvomit,hishandspressedtohisbellywheretheG-tubewentin.“Hi,”he
mumbled.
“Oh,God,Augustus,wehavetogetyoutoahospital.”
“Please just look at it.” I gagged from the smell but bent forward to
inspecttheplaceabovehisbellybuttonwherethey’dsurgicallyinstalledthe
tube.Theskinofhisabdomenwaswarmandbrightred.
“Gus, I think something’sinfected. Ican’tfix this. Why areyou here?
Why aren’t you at home?” He puked, without even the energy to turn his
mouthawayfromhislap.“Oh,sweetie,”Isaid.
“Iwantedtobuyapackofcigarettes,”hemumbled.“Ilostmypack.Or
they took it away from me. I don’tknow. They said they’d get me another
one,butIwanted...todoitmyself.Doonelittlethingmyself.”
He was staring straight ahead. Quietly, I pulled out my phone and
glanceddowntodial911.
“I’msorry,”Itoldhim.Nine-one-one,whatisyouremergency?“Hi,I’m
at the Speedway at Eighty-sixth and Ditch, and I need an ambulance. The
greatloveofmylifehasamalfunctioningG-tube.”
Helookedupatme.Itwashorrible.Icouldhardlylookathim.TheAugustus
Watersofthecrookedsmilesandunsmokedcigaretteswasgone,replacedby
thisdesperatehumiliatedcreaturesittingtherebeneathme.
“Thisisit.Ican’tevennotsmokeanymore.”
“Gus,Iloveyou.”
“Whereismychancetobesomebody’sPeterVanHouten?”Hehitthe
steeringwheelweakly,thecarhonkingashecried.Heleanedhisheadback,
lookingup.“IhatemyselfIhatemyselfIhatethisIhatethisIdisgustmyself
IhateitIhateitIhateitjustletmefuckingdie.”
According to the conventions of the genre, Augustus Waters kept his
senseofhumortilltheend,didnotforamomentwaiverinhiscourage,and
his spirit soared like an indomitable eagle until the world itself could not
containhisjoyoussoul.
But this was the truth, a pitiful boy who desperately wanted not to be
pitiful,screamingand crying, poisonedbyan infected G-tube thatkepthim
alive,butnotaliveenough.
Iwipedhischinandgrabbedhisfaceinmyhandsandkneltdownclose
tohimsothatIcouldseehiseyes,whichstilllived.“I’msorry.Iwishitwas
likethatmovie,withthePersiansandtheSpartans.”
“Metoo,”hesaid.
“Butitisn’t,”Isaid.
“Iknow,”hesaid.
“Therearenobadguys.”
“Yeah.”
“Evencancerisn’tabadguyreally:Cancerjustwantstobealive.”
“Yeah.”
“You’reokay,”Itoldhim.Icouldhearthesirens.
“Okay,”hesaid.Hewaslosingconsciousness.
“Gus,youhavetopromisenottotrythisagain.I’llgetyoucigarettes,
okay?” He looked at me. His eyes swam in their sockets. “You have to
promise.”
He nodded a little and then his eyes closed, his head swiveling on his
neck.
“Gus,”Isaid.“Staywithme.”
“Readmesomething,”hesaidasthegoddamnedambulanceroaredright
pastus.SowhileIwaitedforthemtoturnaroundandfindus,Irecitedthe
onlypoemIcouldbringtomind,“TheRedWheelbarrow”byWilliamCarlos
Williams.
somuchdepends
upon
aredwheel
barrow
glazedwithrain
water
besidethewhite
chickens.
Williamswasadoctor.Itseemedtomelikeadoctor’spoem.Thepoem
wasover,buttheambulancewasstilldrivingawayfromus,soIkeptwriting
it.
***
And so much depends, I told Augustus, upon a blue sky cut open by the
branches of the trees above. So much depends upon the transparent G-tube
erupting from the gut of the blue-lipped boy. So much depends upon this
observeroftheuniverse.
Halfconscious,heglancedoveratmeandmumbled,“Andyousayyou
don’twritepoetry.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
He came home from the hospital a fewdays later,finally and irrevocably
robbed of his ambitions. It took more medication to remove him from the
pain.Hemovedupstairspermanently,intoahospitalbednearthelivingroom
window.
Theseweredaysofpajamasandbeardscruff,ofmumblingsandrequests
and him endlessly thanking everyone for all they weredoing on his behalf.
Oneafternoon,hepointedvaguelytowardalaundrybasketinacornerofthe
roomandaskedme,“What’sthat?”
“Thatlaundrybasket?”
“No,nexttoit.”
“Idon’tseeanythingnexttoit.”
“It’smylastshredofdignity.It’sverysmall.”
***
Thenextday,Iletmyselfin.Theydidn’tlikemetoringthedoorbellanymore
because it might wake him up. His sisters were there with their banker
husbandsandthreekids,allboys,whoranuptomeandchantedwhoareyou
who are you who are you, running circles around the entryway like lung
capacitywas a renewableresource. I’dmet the sistersbefore, but neverthe
kidsortheirdads.
“I’mHazel,”Isaid.
“Gushasagirlfriend,”oneofthekidssaid.
“IamawarethatGushasagirlfriend,”Isaid.
“She’sgotboobies,”anothersaid.
“Isthatso?”
“Whydoyouhavethat?”thefirstoneasked,pointingatmyoxygencart.
“Ithelpsmebreathe,”Isaid.“IsGusawake?”
“No,he’ssleeping.”
“He’sdying,”saidanother.
“He’sdying,”thethirdoneconfirmed,suddenlyserious.Itwasquietfor
amoment,andIwonderedwhatIwassupposedtosay,butthenoneofthem
kickedanotherandtheywereofftotheracesagain,fallingallovereachother
inascrumthatmigratedtowardthekitchen.
ImademywaytoGus’sparentsinthelivingroomandmethisbrothers-
in-law,ChrisandDave.
Ihadn’tgottentoknowhishalfsisters,really,buttheybothhuggedme
anyway.Juliewassittingontheedgeofthebed,talkingtoasleepingGusin
preciselythesamevoicethatonewouldusetotellaninfanthewasadorable,
saying, “Oh, Gussy Gussy, our little Gussy Gussy.” Our Gussy? Had they
acquiredhim?
“What’sup,Augustus?”Isaid,tryingtomodelappropriatebehavior.
“Our beautiful Gussy,” Martha said, leaning in toward him. I began to
wonderifhewasactuallyasleeporifhe’djustlaidaheavyfingeronthepain
pumptoavoidtheAttackoftheWell-MeaningSisters.
He woke up after a while and the first thing he said was, “Hazel,” which I
havetoadmitmademe kind of happy,likemaybeIwaspartof his family,
too.“Outside,”hesaidquietly.“Canwego?”
We went, his mom pushing the wheelchair, sisters and brothers-in-law
and dad and nephews and me trailing. It was a cloudy day, still and hot as
summersettledin.Heworealong-sleevenavyT-shirtandfleecesweatpants.
Hewascoldallthetimeforsomereason.Hewantedsomewater,sohisdad
wentandgotsomeforhim.
MarthatriedtoengageGusinconversation,kneelingdownnexttohim
andsaying,“You’vealwayshadsuchbeautifuleyes.”Henoddedalittle.
OneofthehusbandsputanarmonGus’sshoulderandsaid,“How’sthat
freshairfeel?”Gusshrugged.
“Doyouwantmeds?”hismomasked,joiningthecirclekneelingaround
him.Itookastepback,watchingasthenephewstorethroughaflowerbedon
their way to the little patch of grass in Gus’s backyard. They immediately
commencedtoplayagamethatinvolvedthrowingoneanothertotheground.
“Kids!”Julieshoutedvaguely.
“Icanonlyhope,”Juliesaid,turningbacktoGus,“theygrowintothe
kindofthoughtful,intelligentyoungmenyou’vebecome.”
Iresistedtheurgetoaudiblygag.“He’snotthatsmart,”IsaidtoJulie.
“She’sright.It’sjustthatmostreallygood-lookingpeoplearestupid,so
Iexceedexpectations.”
“Right,it’sprimarilyhishotness,”Isaid.
“Itcanbesortofblinding,”hesaid.
“ItactuallydidblindourfriendIsaac,”Isaid.
“Terribletragedy,that.ButcanIhelpmyowndeadlybeauty?”
“Youcannot.”
“Itismyburden,thisbeautifulface.”
“Nottomentionyourbody.”
“Seriously,don’tevengetmestartedonmyhotbod.Youdon’twantto
see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace’s breath
away,”hesaid,noddingtowardtheoxygentank.
“Okay,enough,”Gus’sdadsaid,andthenoutofnowhere,hisdadputan
armaroundmeandkissedthesideofmyheadandwhispered,“IthankGod
foryoueveryday,kid.”
Anyway,thatwasthelastgooddayIhadwithGusuntiltheLastGood
Day.
CHAPTERTWENTY
One of the less bullshitty conventions of the cancer kid genre is the Last
GoodDayconvention,whereinthevictimofcancerfindsherselfwithsome
unexpected hours when it seems like the inexorable decline has suddenly
plateaued,whenthepainisforamomentbearable.Theproblem,ofcourse,is
that there’s no way of knowing that your last good day is your Last Good
Day.Atthetime,itisjustanothergoodday.
I’d taken a day off from visiting Augustus because I was feeling a bit
unwellmyself:nothingspecific,justtired.Ithadbeenalazyday,andwhen
AugustuscalledjustafterfiveP.M.,IwasalreadyattachedtotheBiPAP,which
we’ddraggedouttothelivingroomsoIcouldwatchTVwithMomandDad.
“Hi,Augustus,”Isaid.
HeansweredinthevoiceI’dfallenfor.“Goodevening,HazelGrace.Do
you suppose you could find your way to the Literal Heart of Jesus around
eightP.M.?”
“Um,yes?”
“Excellent.Also,ifit’snottoomuchtrouble,pleaseprepareaeulogy.”
“Um,”Isaid.
“Iloveyou,”hesaid.
“AndIyou,”Ianswered.Thenthephoneclickedoff.
“Um,” I said. “I have to go to Support Group at eight tonight.
Emergencysession.”
MymommutedtheTV.“Iseverythingokay?”
I looked at her for a second, my eyebrows raised. “I assume that’s a
rhetoricalquestion.”
“Butwhywouldthere—”
“BecauseGusneedsmeforsomereason.It’sfine.Icandrive.”Ifiddled
withtheBiPAPsoMomwouldhelpmetakeitoff,butshedidn’t.“Hazel,”
shesaid,“yourdadandIfeellikewehardlyevenseeyouanymore.”
“Particularlythoseofuswhoworkallweek,”Dadsaid.
“Heneedsme,”Isaid,finallyunfasteningtheBiPAPmyself.
“Weneedyou,too,kiddo,”mydadsaid.Hetookholdofmywrist,likeI
wasatwo-year-oldabouttodartoutintothestreet,andgrippedit.
“Well,getaterminaldisease,Dad,andthenI’llstayhomemore.”
“Hazel,”mymomsaid.
“Youweretheonewhodidn’twantmetobeahomebody,”Isaidtoher.
Dadwasstillclutchingmyarm.“Andnowyouwanthimtogoaheadanddie
soI’llbebackhere chained to thisplace,lettingyoutakecareofme like I
always used to. But I don’t need it, Mom. I don’t need you like I used to.
You’retheonewhoneedstogetalife.”
“Hazel!”Dadsaid,squeezingharder.“Apologizetoyourmother.”
Iwastuggingatmyarmbuthewouldn’tletgo,andIcouldn’tgetmy
cannulaonwithonlyonehand.Itwasinfuriating.AllIwantedwasanold-
fashionedTeenagerWalkout,whereinIstompoutoftheroomandslamthe
door to my bedroom and turn up The Hectic Glow and furiously write a
eulogy.But Icouldn’tbecauseIcouldn’tfreakingbreathe.“Thecannula,” I
whined.“Ineedit.”
Mydad immediatelylet goand rushedto connectme tothe oxygen.I
could see the guilt in his eyes, but he was still angry. “Hazel, apologize to
yourmother.”
“Fine,I’msorry,justpleaseletmedothis.”
Theydidn’tsayanything.Momjustsattherewithherarmsfolded,not
even looking at me. After a while, I got up and went to my room to write
aboutAugustus.
BothMomandDadtriedafewtimestoknockonthedoororwhatever,
butIjusttold them I wasdoingsomethingimportant.Ittook me foreverto
figureoutwhatIwanted to say,andeventhenIwasn’tvery happywithit.
Before I’d technically finished, I noticed it was 7:40, which meant that I
wouldbelateevenifIdidn’tchange,sointheendIwore babybluecotton
pajamapants,flip-flops,andGus’sButlershirt.
Iwalkedoutoftheroomandtriedtogorightpastthem,butmydadsaid,
“Youcan’tleavethehousewithoutpermission.”
“Oh,myGod,Dad.Hewantedmetowritehimaeulogy,okay? I’llbe
homeevery.Freaking.Night.Startinganydaynow,okay?”Thatfinallyshut
themup.
Ittooktheentiredrivetocalmdownaboutmyparents.Ipulleduparoundthe
back of the church and parked in the semicircular driveway behind
Augustus’scar.Thebackdoortothechurchwasheldopenbyafist-sizerock.
Inside, I contemplated taking the stairs but decided to wait for the ancient
creakingelevator.
Whentheelevatordoorsunscrolled,IwasintheSupportGrouproom,
the chairs arranged in the same circle. But now I saw only Gus in a
wheelchair,ghoulishlythin.Hewasfacingmefromthecenterofthecircle.
He’dbeenwaitingfortheelevatordoorstoopen.
“HazelGrace,”hesaid,“youlookravishing.”
“Iknow,right?”
I heard a shuffling in a dark corner of the room. Isaac stood behind a
littlewoodenlectern,clingingtoit.“Youwanttosit?”Iaskedhim.
“No,I’mabouttoeulogize.You’relate.”
“You’re...I’m...what?”
Gusgesturedformetosit.Ipulledachairintothecenterofthecircle
withhimashespunthechairtofaceIsaac.“Iwanttoattendmyfuneral,”Gus
said.“Bytheway,willyouspeakatmyfuneral?”
“Um,of course, yeah,”I said, lettingmy head fallonto his shoulder. I
reachedacrosshisbackandhuggedbothhimandthewheelchair.Hewinced.
Iletgo.
“Awesome,”hesaid.“I’mhopefulI’llgettoattendasaghost,butjustto
make sure, I thought I’d—well, not to put you on the spot, but I just this
afternoon thought I could arrange a prefuneral, and I figured since I’m in
reasonablygoodspirits,there’snotimelikethepresent.”
“Howdidyouevengetinhere?”Iaskedhim.
“Wouldyoubelievetheyleavethedooropenallnight?”Gusasked.
“Um,no,”Isaid.
“As well you shouldn’t.” Gus smiled. “Anyway, I know it’s a bit self-
aggrandizing.”
“Hey,you’restealingmyeulogy,”Isaacsaid.“Myfirstbitisabouthow
youwereaself-aggrandizingbastard.”
Ilaughed.
“Okay,okay,”Gussaid.“Atyourleisure.”
Isaac cleared his throat. “Augustus Waters was a self-aggrandizing
bastard.But we forgive him.Weforgive himnotbecause he hada heart as
figuratively good as his literal one sucked, or because he knew more about
how to hold a cigarette than any nonsmoker in history, or because he got
eighteenyearswhenheshouldhavegottenmore.”
“Seventeen,”Guscorrected.
“I’massumingyou’vegotsometime,youinterruptingbastard.
“I’m telling you,” Isaac continued, “Augustus Waters talked so much
that he’d interrupt you at his own funeral. And he was pretentious: Sweet
Jesus Christ, that kid never took a piss without pondering the abundant
metaphoricalresonancesofhumanwasteproduction.Andhewasvain:Ido
notbelieveIhaveevermetamorephysicallyattractivepersonwhowasmore
acutelyawareofhisownphysicalattractiveness.
“But I will say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my
housewithroboteyesandtheytellmetotrythemon,Iwilltellthescientists
toscrewoff,becauseIdonotwanttoseeaworldwithouthim.”
Iwaskindofcryingbythen.
“Andthen,havingmademyrhetoricalpoint,Iwillputmyroboteyeson,
becauseImean,withroboteyesyoucanprobablyseethroughgirls’shirtsand
stuff.Augustus,myfriend,Godspeed.”
Augustus nodded for a while, his lips pursed, and then gave Isaac a
thumbs-up.Afterhe’d recoveredhiscomposure,headded,“Iwouldcutthe
bitaboutseeingthroughgirls’shirts.”
Isaacwasstillclingingtothelectern.Hestartedtocry.Hepressedhis
forehead down to the podium and I watched his shoulders shake, and then
finally,hesaid,“Goddamnit,Augustus,editingyourowneulogy.”
“Don’tswearintheLiteralHeartofJesus,”Gussaid.
“Goddamn it,” Isaac said again. He raised his head and swallowed.
“Hazel,canIgetahandhere?”
I’dforgottenhecouldn’tmakehisownwaybacktothecircle.Igotup,
placedhishandonmyarm,andwalkedhimslowlybacktothechairnextto
GuswhereI’dbeensitting.ThenIwalkeduptothepodiumandunfoldedthe
pieceofpaperonwhichI’dprintedmyeulogy.
“MynameisHazel.AugustusWaterswasthegreatstar-crossedloveof
mylife.Ourswasanepiclovestory,andIwon’tbeabletogetmorethana
sentenceinto it withoutdisappearing into apuddle oftears. Gus knew.Gus
knows.Iwillnottellyouourlovestory,because—likeallreallovestories—it
willdiewithus,asitshould.I’dhopedthathe’dbeeulogizingme,because
there’s no oneI’d ratherhave . ..” Istartedcrying. “Okay,how not tocry.
HowamI—okay.Okay.”
Itookafewbreathsandwentbacktothepage.“Ican’ttalkaboutour
lovestory, so I will talkabout math. I am nota mathematician,butI know
this:Thereareinfinitenumbersbetween0and1.There’s.1and.12and.112
andaninfinitecollectionofothers.Ofcourse,thereisabiggerinfinitesetof
numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are
biggerthanotherinfinities.Awriterweusedtoliketaughtusthat.Thereare
days,manyofthem,whenIresentthesizeofmyunboundedset.Iwantmore
numbersthanI’mlikelytoget,andGod,IwantmorenumbersforAugustus
Watersthanhegot.But,Gus,mylove,IcannottellyouhowthankfulIamfor
our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever
withinthenumbereddays,andI’mgrateful.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Augustus Waters died eight days after his prefuneral, at Memorial, in the
ICU, when the cancer, which was made of him, finally stopped his heart,
whichwasalsomadeofhim.
Hewaswithhismomanddadandsisters.Hismomcalledmeatthree
thirtyinthemorning.I’dknown,ofcourse,thathewasgoing.I’dtalkedto
hisdadbeforegoingtobed,andhetoldme, “Itcouldbetonight,”butstill,
whenIgrabbedthephonefromthebedsidetableandsawGus’sMomonthe
callerID,everythinginsideofmecollapsed.Shewasjustcryingontheother
endoftheline,andshetoldmeshewassorry,andIsaidIwassorry,too,and
shetoldmethathewasunconsciousforacouplehoursbeforehedied.
Myparentscameinthen,lookingexpectant,andIjustnoddedandthey
fellintoeachother,feeling,I’msure,theharmonicterrorthatwouldintime
comeforthemdirectly.
I called Isaac, who cursed life and the universe and God Himself and
who said where are the goddamned trophies to break whenyou need them,
andthenIrealizedtherewasnooneelsetocall,whichwasthesaddestthing.
TheonlypersonIreallywantedtotalktoaboutAugustusWaters’sdeathwas
AugustusWaters.
Myparentsstayedinmyroomforeveruntilitwasmorningandfinally
Dadsaid,“Doyouwanttobealone?”andInoddedandMomsaid,“We’llbe
rightoutsidethedoor,”methinking,Idon’tdoubtit.
Itwasunbearable.Thewholething.Everysecondworsethanthelast.Ijust
kept thinking about calling him, wondering what would happen, if anyone
would answer. In the last weeks, we’d been reduced to spending our time
together in recollection, but that was not nothing: The pleasure of
rememberinghadbeentakenfromme,becausetherewasnolongeranyoneto
remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the
memoryitself, as ifthe things we’ddone were lessreal and importantthan
theyhadbeenhoursbefore.
***
WhenyougointotheER,oneofthefirstthingstheyaskyoutodoistorate
yourpainonascaleofonetoten,andfromtheretheydecidewhichdrugsto
use and how quickly to use them. I’d been asked this question hundreds of
timesovertheyears,andIrememberonceearlyonwhenIcouldn’tgetmy
breathanditfeltlikemychestwasonfire,flameslicking the inside of my
ribsfightingforawaytoburnoutofmybody,myparentstookmetotheER.
Anurseaskedmeaboutthepain,andIcouldn’tevenspeak,soIheldupnine
fingers.
Later,afterthey’dgivenmesomething,thenursecameinandshewas
kind of stroking my hand while she took my blood pressure and she said,
“YouknowhowIknowyou’reafighter?Youcalledatenanine.”
Butthatwasn’tquiteright.IcalleditaninebecauseIwassavingmyten.
Andhereitwas,thegreatandterribleten,slammingmeagainandagainasI
lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me
against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me
againintothejaggedfaceofthecliff,leavingmefloatingfaceuponthewater,
undrowned.
FinallyIdidcallhim.Hisphonerangfivetimesandthenwenttovoice
mail. “You’ve reached the voice mail of Augustus Waters,” he said, the
clarionvoiceI’dfallenfor.“Leaveamessage.”Itbeeped.Thedeadaironthe
linewassoeerie.Ijustwantedtogobacktothatsecretpost-terrestrialthird
spacewithhimthatwevisitedwhenwetalkedonthephone.Iwaitedforthat
feeling, but it never came: The dead air on the line was no comfort, and
finallyIhungup.
Igotmylaptopoutfromunderthebedandfireditupandwentontohis
wallpage,wherealreadythecondolenceswerefloodingin.Themostrecent
onesaid:
Iloveyou,bro.Seeyouontheotherside.
...WrittenbysomeoneI’dneverheardof.Infact,almostallthewallposts,
whicharrivednearlyasfastasIcouldreadthem,werewrittenbypeopleI’d
nevermetandwhomhe’dneverspokenabout,peoplewhowereextollinghis
various virtues now that he was dead, even though I knew for a fact they
hadn’tseenhiminmonthsandhadmadenoefforttovisithim.Iwonderedif
mywall wouldlook likethis if I died, or if I’d been out of school and life
longenoughtoescapewidespreadmemorialization.
Ikeptreading.
Imissyoualready,bro.
Iloveyou,Augustus.Godblessandkeepyou.
You’llliveforeverinourhearts,bigman.
(Thatparticularlygalledme,becauseitimpliedtheimmortalityofthoseleft
behind:Youwillliveforeverinmymemory,becauseIwillliveforever!IAM
YOURGODNOW,DEADBOY!IOWNYOU!Thinkingyouwon’tdieis
yetanothersideeffectofdying.)
YouwerealwayssuchagreatfriendI’msorryIdidn’tseemoreof
youafter youleftschool, bro.I bet you’realready playingballin
heaven.
I imagined the Augustus Waters analysis of that comment: If I am playing
basketball in heaven, does that imply a physical location of a heaven
containingphysicalbasketballs?Whomakesthebasketballsinquestion?Are
therelessfortunatesoulsinheavenwhoworkinacelestialbasketballfactory
sothatIcanplay?OrdidanomnipotentGodcreatethebasketballsoutofthe
vacuumofspace?Isthisheaveninsomekindofunobservableuniversewhere
thelawsofphysicsdon’tapply,andifso,whyinthehellwouldIbeplaying
basketballwhenIcouldbeflyingorreadingorlookingatbeautifulpeopleor
something else I actually enjoy? It’s almost as if the way you imagine my
deadselfsaysmoreaboutyouthanitsaysabouteitherthepersonIwasorthe
whateverIamnow.
Hisparentscalledaroundnoontosaythefuneralwouldbeinfivedays,on
Saturday. I pictured a church packed with people who thought he liked
basketball,andIwantedtopuke,butIknewIhadtogo,sinceIwasspeaking
andeverything.WhenIhungup,Iwentbacktoreadinghiswall:
JustheardthatGusWaters died after alengthybattlewithcancer.
Restinpeace,buddy.
Iknewthesepeopleweregenuinelysad,andthatIwasn’treallymadatthem.
Iwasmadattheuniverse.Evenso,itinfuriatedme:Yougetallthesefriends
justwhenyoudon’tneedfriendsanymore.Iwroteareplytohiscomment:
We live in a universe devoted to the creation, and eradication, of
awareness.AugustusWatersdidnotdieafteralengthybattlewith
cancer.Hediedafteralengthybattlewithhumanconsciousness,a
victim—as you will be—of the universe’s need to make and
unmakeallthatispossible.
Iposteditandwaitedforsomeonetoreply,refreshingoverandoveragain.
Nothing. My comment got lost in the blizzard of new posts. Everyone was
going to miss him so much. Everyone was praying for his family. I
rememberedVanHouten’sletter:Writingdoesnotresurrect.Itburies.
***
Afterawhile,Iwentoutintothelivingroomtositwithmyparentsandwatch
TV.Icouldn’ttellyouwhattheshowwas,butatsomepoint,mymomsaid,
“Hazel,whatcanwedoforyou?”
AndIjustshookmyhead.Istartedcryingagain.
“Whatcanwedo?”Momaskedagain.
Ishrugged.
But she kept asking, as if there were something she could do, until
finallyIjustkindofcrawledacrossthecouchintoherlapandmydadcame
overandheldmylegsreallytightandIwrappedmyarmsallthewayaround
mymom’smiddleandtheyheldontomeforhourswhilethetiderolledin.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
When we first got there, I sat in the back of the visitation room, a little
room of exposed stone walls off to the side of the sanctuary in the Literal
Heart of Jesus church. There were maybe eighty chairs set up in the room,
anditwastwo-thirdsfullbutfeltone-thirdempty.
Forawhile,Ijustwatchedpeoplewalkuptothecoffin,whichwason
somekindofcartcoveredinapurpletablecloth.AllthesepeopleI’dnever
seenbeforewouldkneeldownnexttohimorstandoverhimandlookathim
for a while, maybe crying, maybe saying something, and then all of them
would touch the coffin instead of touching him, because no one wants to
touchthedead.
Gus’smomanddadwerestandingnexttothecoffin,huggingeverybody
astheypassedby,butwhentheynoticedme,theysmiledandshuffledover.I
got up and hugged first his dad and then his mom, who held on to me too
tight,likeGus used to,squeezingmyshoulder blades. They bothlookedso
old—theireyesocketshollowed,theskinsaggingfromtheirexhaustedfaces.
Theyhadreachedtheendofahurdlingsprint,too.
“Helovedyousomuch,”Gus’smomsaid.“Hereallydid.Itwasn’t—it
wasn’tpuppyloveoranything,”sheadded,asifIdidn’tknowthat.
“He loved you so much, too,” I said quietly. It’s hard to explain, but
talkingtothemfeltlikestabbingandbeingstabbed.“I’msorry,”Isaid.And
thenhisparentsweretalkingtomyparents—theconversationallnoddingand
tightlips.Ilookedupatthecasketandsawitunattended,soIdecidedtowalk
up there. I pulled the oxygen tube from my nostrils and raised the tube up
over my head, handing it to Dad. I wanted it to be just me and just him. I
grabbedmylittleclutchandwalkedupthemakeshiftaislebetweentherows
ofchairs.
Thewalkfeltlong,butIkepttellingmylungstoshutup,thattheywere
strong,thattheycoulddothis.IcouldseehimasIapproached:Hishairwas
partedneatly on theleftside in away that hewould have foundabsolutely
horrifying, and his face was plasticized. But he was still Gus. My lanky,
beautifulGus.
I wanted to wear the little black dress I’d bought for my fifteenth
birthday party,my death dress, but I didn’t fit into it anymore, so I wore a
plainblackdress,knee-length.Augustusworethesamethin-lapeledsuithe’d
worntoOranjee.
As I knelt, I realized they’d closed his eyes—of course they had—and
that I would never again see his blue eyes. “I love you present tense,” I
whispered, and then put my hand on the middle of his chest and said, “It’s
okay, Gus. It’s okay. It is. It’s okay, you hear me?” I had—and have—
absolutelynoconfidencethathecouldhearme.Ileanedforwardandkissed
hischeek.“Okay,”Isaid.“Okay.”
I suddenly felt conscious that there were all these people watching us,
that the last time so many people saw us kiss we were in the Anne Frank
House.Buttherewas,properlyspeaking,nouslefttowatch.Onlyame.
I snapped open the clutch, reached in, and pulled out a hard pack of
CamelLights.InaquickmotionIhopednoonebehindwouldnotice,Isnuck
themintothespacebetweenhissideandthecoffin’splushsilverlining.“You
canlightthese,”Iwhisperedtohim.“Iwon’tmind.”
WhileIwastalkingtohim,MomandDadhadmoveduptothesecondrow
withmytank,soIdidn’thavealongwalkback.DadhandedmeatissueasI
sat down. I blew my nose, threaded the tubes around my ears, and put the
nubbinsbackin.
Ithoughtwe’dgointothepropersanctuaryfortherealfuneral,butitall
happenedinthatlittlesideroom—theLiteralHandofJesus,Iguess,thepart
ofthecrosshe’dbeennailedto.Aministerwalkedupandstoodbehindthe
coffin,almostlikethecoffinwasapulpitorsomething,andtalkedalittlebit
abouthowAugustushadacourageousbattleandhowhisheroismintheface
ofillnesswasaninspirationtousall,andIwasalreadystartingtogetpissed
offattheministerwhenhesaid,“Inheaven,Augustuswillfinallybehealed
andwhole,”implyingthathehadbeenlesswholethanotherpeopleduetohis
leglessness, and I kind of could not repress my sigh of disgust. My dad
grabbedmejustabovethekneeandcutmeadisapprovinglook,butfromthe
row behind me, someone muttered almost inaudibly near my ear, “What a
loadofhorsecrap,eh,kid?”
Ispunaround.
Peter Van Houten wore a white linen suit, tailored to account for his
rotundity,apowder-bluedressshirt, and agreen tie. Helooked like hewas
dressedforacolonialoccupationofPanama,notafuneral.Theministersaid,
“Letuspray,”butaseveryoneelsebowedtheirhead,Icouldonlystareslack-
jawedatthesightofPeterVanHouten.Afteramoment,hewhispered,“We
gottafakepray,”andbowedhishead.
ItriedtoforgetabouthimandjustprayforAugustus.Imadeapointof
listeningtotheministerandnotlookingback.
TheministercalledupIsaac,whowasmuchmoreseriousthanhe’dbeen
at the prefuneral. “Augustus Waters was the Mayor of the Secret City of
Cancervania,andhe is notreplaceable,”Isaacbegan. “Other peoplewillbe
abletotellyoufunnystoriesaboutGus,becausehewasafunnyguy,butlet
metellyouaseriousone:AdayafterIgotmyeyecutout,Gusshowedupat
thehospital.Iwasblindandheartbrokenanddidn’twanttodoanythingand
Gus burst into my room and shouted, ‘I have wonderful news!’ And I was
like, ‘I don’t really want to hear wonderful news right now,’ and Gus said,
‘Thisiswonderfulnewsyouwanttohear,’andIaskedhim,‘Fine,whatisit?’
andhesaid,‘Youaregoingtoliveagoodandlonglifefilledwithgreatand
terriblemomentsthatyoucannotevenimagineyet!’”
Isaaccouldn’tgoon,ormaybethatwasallhehadwritten.
After a high school friend told some stories about Gus’s considerable
basketball talents and his many qualities as a teammate, the minister said,
“We’llnowhearafewwordsfromAugustus’sspecialfriend,Hazel.”Special
friend?Thereweresometittersintheaudience,soIfigureditwassafeforme
tostartoutbysayingtotheminister,“Iwashisgirlfriend.”Thatgotalaugh.
ThenIbeganreadingfromtheeulogyI’dwritten.
“There’sagreatquoteinGus’shouse,onethatbothheandIfoundvery
comforting:Withoutpain,wecouldn’tknowjoy.”
I went on spouting bullshit Encouragements as Gus’s parents, arm in
arm,huggedeachotherandnoddedateveryword.Funerals,Ihaddecided,
arefortheliving.
AfterhissisterJuliespoke,theserviceendedwithaprayeraboutGus’sunion
withGod,andIthoughtbacktowhathe’dtoldmeatOranjee,thathedidn’t
believeinmansionsandharps,butdidbelieveincapital-SSomething,andso
I tried to imagine him capital-S Somewhere as we prayed, but even then I
could not quite convince myself that he and I would be together again. I
alreadyknewtoomanydeadpeople.Iknewthattimewouldnowpassforme
differentlythanitwouldforhim—thatI,likeeveryoneinthatroom,wouldgo
onaccumulatinglovesandlosseswhilehewouldnot.Andforme,thatwas
the final and truly unbearable tragedy: Like all the innumerable dead, he’d
onceandforallbeendemotedfromhauntedtohaunter.
AndthenoneofGus’sbrothers-in-lawbroughtupaboomboxandthey
played this song Gus had picked out—a sad and quiet song by The Hectic
Glowcalled“TheNewPartner.”Ijustwantedtogohome,honestly.Ididn’t
know hardly any of these people, and I felt Peter Van Houten’s little eyes
boring into my exposed shoulder blades, but after the song was over,
everyonehadto comeuptomeandtellmethatI’dspokenbeautifully,and
thatitwasalovelyservice,whichwasalie:Itwasafuneral.Itlookedlike
anyotherfuneral.
His pallbearers—cousins, his dad, an uncle, friends I’d never seen—
cameandgothim,andtheyallstartedwalkingtowardthehearse.
WhenMomandDadandIgotinthecar,Isaid,“Idon’twanttogo.I’m
tired.”
“Hazel,”Momsaid.
“Mom, there won’t be a place to sit and it’ll last forever and I’m
exhausted.”
“Hazel,wehavetogoforMr.andMrs.Waters,”Momsaid.
“Just...”Isaid.Ifeltsolittleinthebackseatforsomereason.Ikindof
wantedtobelittle.Iwantedtobelikesixyearsoldorsomething.“Fine,”I
said.
Ijuststared outthewindowawhile.Ireallydidn’twanttogo.Ididn’t
wanttoseethemlowerhimintothegroundinthespothe’dpickedoutwith
hisdad,andIdidn’twanttoseehisparentssinktotheirkneesinthedew-wet
grassandmoaninpain,andIdidn’twanttoseePeterVanHouten’salcoholic
bellystretchedagainsthislinenjacket,andIdidn’twanttocryinfrontofa
bunchofpeople,andIdidn’twanttotossahandfulofdirtontohisgrave,and
Ididn’twantmyparentstohavetostandtherebeneaththeclearblueskywith
itscertainslantofafternoonlight,thinkingabouttheirdayandtheirkidand
myplotandmycasketandmydirt.
But I did these things. I did all of them and worse, because Mom and
Dadfeltweshould.
***
After it was over, Van Houten walked up to me and put a fat hand on my
shoulderandsaid,“CouldIhitcharide?Leftmyrentalatthebottomofthe
hill.” I shrugged, and he opened the door to the backseat right as my dad
unlockedthecar.
Inside, he leaned betweenthe front seats and said,“Peter Van Houten:
NovelistEmeritusandSemiprofessionalDisappointer.”
My parents introduced themselves. He shook their hands. I was pretty
surprisedthatPeterVanHoutenhadflownhalfwayacrosstheworldtoattend
afuneral.“Howdidyoueven—”Istarted,buthecutmeoff.
“IusedtheinfernalInternetofyourstofollowtheIndianapolisobituary
notices.”Hereachedintohislinensuitandproducedafifthofwhiskey.
“Andyoujustlikeboughtaticketand—”
Heinterruptedagainwhileunscrewingthecap.“Itwasfifteenthousand
forafirst-classticket,butI’msufficientlycapitalizedtoindulgesuchwhims.
And the drinks are free on the flight. If you’re ambitious, you can almost
breakeven.”
VanHoutentookaswigofthewhiskeyandthenleanedforwardtooffer
ittomydad,whosaid,“Um,nothanks.”ThenVanHoutennoddedthebottle
towardme.Igrabbedit.
“Hazel,”mymomsaid,butIunscrewedthecapandsipped.Itmademy
stomachfeellikemylungs.IhandedthebottlebacktoVanHouten,whotook
alongslugfromitandthensaid,“So.Omniscellulaecellula.”
“Huh?”
“YourboyWatersandIcorrespondedabit,andinhislast—”
“Wait,youreadyourfanmailnow?”
“No,hesent it to myhouse,notthrough my publisher.AndI’d hardly
callhimafan.Hedespisedme.ButatanyratehewasquiteinsistentthatI’d
beabsolved for mymisbehavior if Iattended his funeraland told youwhat
became of Anna’s mother. So here I am, and there’s your answer: Omnis
cellulaecellula.”
“What?”Iaskedagain.
“Omnis cellula e cellula,” he said again. “All cells come from cells.
Everycellisbornofapreviouscell,whichwasbornofapreviouscell.Life
comesfromlife.Lifebegetslifebegetslifebegetslifebegetslife.”
We reached the bottom of the hill. “Okay, yeah,” I said. I was in no
moodforthis.PeterVanHoutenwouldnothijackGus’sfuneral.Iwouldn’t
allowit.“Thanks,”Isaid.“Well,Iguesswe’reatthebottomofthehill.”
“Youdon’twantanexplanation?”heasked.
“No,” I said. “I’m good. I think you’re a pathetic alcoholic who says
fancythingstogetattentionlikeareallyprecociouseleven-year-oldandIfeel
superbadforyou.Butyeah,no,you’renottheguywhowroteAnImperial
Afflictionanymore,soyoucouldn’tsequelitevenifyouwantedto.Thanks,
though.Haveanexcellentlife.”
“But—”
“Thanks for the booze,” I said. “Now get out of the car.” He looked
scolded.DadhadstoppedthecarandwejustidledtherebelowGus’sgrave
foraminuteuntilVanHoutenopenedthedoorand,finallysilent,left.
As we drove away, I watched through the back window as he took a
drinkandraisedthebottleinmydirection,asiftoastingme.Hiseyeslooked
sosad.Ifeltkindabadforhim,tobehonest.
Wefinallygothomearoundsix,andIwasexhausted.Ijustwantedtosleep,
butMommademeeatsomecheesypasta,althoughsheatleastallowedmeto
eatinbed.IsleptwiththeBiPAPforacouplehours.Wakingupwashorrible,
becauseforadisorientedmomentIfeltlikeeverythingwasfine,andthenit
crushedmeanew.MomtookmeofftheBiPAP,Itetheredmyselftoaportable
tank,andstumbledintomybathroomtobrushmyteeth.
Appraisingmyself in the mirror as I brushedmy teeth,I kept thinking
there were two kinds of adults: There were Peter Van Houtens—miserable
creatureswhoscouredtheearthinsearchofsomethingtohurt.Andthenthere
werepeoplelikemyparents,whowalkedaroundzombically,doingwhatever
theyhadtodotokeepwalkingaround.
Neitherofthesefuturesstruckmeasparticularlydesirable.Itseemedto
methatIhadalreadyseeneverythingpureandgoodintheworld,andIwas
beginningtosuspectthatevenifdeathdidn’tgetintheway,thekindoflove
that Augustus and I share could never last. So dawn goes down to day, the
poetwrote.Nothinggoldcanstay.
Someoneknockedonthebathroomdoor.
“Occupada,”Isaid.
“Hazel,”mydadsaid.“CanIcomein?”Ididn’tanswer,butafterawhile
Iunlockedthedoor.Isatdownontheclosedtoiletseat.Whydidbreathing
havetobesuchwork?Dadkneltdownnexttome.Hegrabbedmyheadand
pulleditintohiscollarbone,andhesaid,“I’msorryGusdied.”Ifeltkindof
suffocatedbyhisT-shirt,butitfeltgoodtobeheldsohard,pressedintothe
comfortablesmellofmydad.Itwasalmostlikehewasangryorsomething,
andIlikedthat,becauseIwasangry,too.“It’stotalbullshit,”hesaid.“The
whole thing. Eighty percent survival rate and he’s in the twenty percent?
Bullshit. He was such a bright kid. It’s bullshit. I hate it. But it was sure a
privilegetolovehim,huh?”
Inoddedintohisshirt.
“GivesyouanideahowIfeelaboutyou,”hesaid.
Myoldman.Healwaysknewjustwhattosay.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Acoupledayslater,IgotuparoundnoonanddroveovertoIsaac’shouse.
Heansweredthedoorhimself.“MymomtookGrahamtoamovie,”hesaid.
“Weshouldgodosomething,”Isaid.
“Canthesomethingbeplayblind-guyvideogameswhilesittingonthe
couch?”
“Yeah,that’sjustthekindofsomethingIhadinmind.”
So we sat there for a couple hours talking to the screen together,
navigating this invisible labyrinthine cave without a single lumen of light.
Themostentertainingpartofthegamebyfarwastryingtogetthecomputer
toengageusinhumorousconversation:
Me:“Touchthecavewall.”
Computer:“Youtouchthecavewall.Itismoist.”
Isaac:“Lickthecavewall.”
Computer:“Idonotunderstand.Repeat?”
Me:“Humpthemoistcavewall.”
Computer:“Youattempttojump.Youhityourhead.”
Isaac:“Notjump.HUMP.”
Computer:“Idon’tunderstand.”
Isaac: “Dude, I’ve been alone inthe dark in this cave for weeks and I
needsomerelief.HUMPTHECAVEWALL.”
Computer:“Youattempttoju—”
Me:“Thrustpelvisagainstthecavewall.”
Computer:“Idonot—”
Isaac:“Makesweetlovetothecave.”
Computer:“Idonot—”
Me:“FINE.Followleftbranch.”
Computer:“Youfollowtheleftbranch.Thepassagenarrows.”
Me:“Crawl.”
Computer:“Youcrawlforonehundredyards.Thepassagenarrows.”
Me:“Snakecrawl.”
Computer: “You snake crawl for thirty yards. A trickle of water runs
down your body. You reach a mound of small rocks blocking the
passageway.”
Me:“CanIhumpthecavenow?”
Computer:“Youcannotjumpwithoutstanding.”
Isaac:“IdislikelivinginaworldwithoutAugustusWaters.”
Computer:“Idon’tunderstand—”
Isaac:“Meneither.Pause.”
Hedroppedtheremoteontothecouchbetweenusandasked,“Doyouknow
ifithurtorwhatever?”
“Hewasreallyfightingforbreath,Iguess,”Isaid.“Heeventuallywent
unconscious, but it sounds like, yeah, it wasn’t great or anything. Dying
sucks.”
“Yeah,” Isaac said. And then after a long time, “It just seems so
impossible.”
“Happensallthetime,”Isaid.
“Youseemangry,”hesaid.
“Yeah,” Isaid.Wejustsattherequietfor alongtime,whichwasfine,
andIwasthinkingaboutwaybackintheverybeginningintheLiteralHeart
ofJesuswhenGustoldusthathefearedoblivion,andItoldhimthathewas
fearingsomethinguniversalandinevitable,andhowreally,theproblemisnot
suffering itself or oblivion itself but the depraved meaninglessness of these
things, the absolutely inhuman nihilism of suffering. I thought of my dad
tellingmethattheuniversewantstobenoticed.But what we want is to be
noticedbytheuniverse,tohavetheuniversegiveashitwhathappenstous—
notthecollectiveideaofsentientlifebuteachofus,asindividuals.
“Gusreallylovedyou,youknow,”hesaid.
“Iknow.”
“Hewouldn’tshutupaboutit.”
“Iknow,”Isaid.
“Itwasannoying.”
“Ididn’tfinditthatannoying,”Isaid.
“Didheevergiveyouthatthinghewaswriting?”
“Whatthing?”
“Thatsequelorwhatevertothatbookyouliked.”
IturnedtoIsaac.“What?”
“Hesaidhewasworkingonsomethingforyoubuthewasn’tthatgood
ofawriter.”
“Whendidhesaythis?”
“Idon’tknow.Like,afterhegotbackfromAmsterdamatsomepoint.”
“Atwhichpoint?”Ipressed.Hadhenothadachancetofinishit?Had
hefinisheditandleftitonhiscomputerorsomething?
“Um,” Isaac sighed. “Um, I don’t know. We talked about it over here
once.Hewasoverhere,like—uh,weplayedwithmyemailmachineandI’d
justgottenanemailfrommygrandmother.Icancheckonthemachineifyou
—”
“Yeah,yeah,whereisit?”
He’dmentioneditamonthbefore.Amonth.Notagoodmonth,admittedly,
butstill—amonth.Thatwasenoughtimeforhimtohavewrittensomething,
atleast.Therewasstillsomethingofhim,orbyhimatleast,floatingaround
outthere.Ineededit.
“I’mgonnagotohishouse,”ItoldIsaac.
Ihurriedouttotheminivanandhauledtheoxygencartupandintothe
passengerseat.Istartedthecar.Ahip-hopbeatblaredfromthestereo,andas
Ireachedtochangetheradiostation,someonestartedrapping.InSwedish.
IswiveledaroundandscreamedwhenIsawPeterVanHoutensittingin
thebackseat.
“Iapologizeforalarmingyou,”PeterVanHoutensaidovertherapping.
Hewasstillwearingthefuneralsuit,almostaweeklater.Hesmelledlikehe
was sweating alcohol. “You’re welcome to keep the CD,” he said. “It’s
Snook,oneofthemajorSwedish—”
“AhahahahGETOUTOFMYCAR.”Iturnedoffthestereo.
“It’s your mother’s car, as I understand it,” he said. “Also, it wasn’t
locked.”
“Oh,myGod!GetoutofthecarorI’llcallnine-one-one.Dude,whatis
yourproblem?”
“Ifonlytherewerejustone,”hemused.“Iamheresimplytoapologize.
Youwerecorrectinnotingearlierthat Iamapatheticlittleman,dependent
uponalcohol.IhadoneacquaintancewhoonlyspenttimewithmebecauseI
paid her to doso—worse, still, she has sincequit, leaving me the raresoul
whocannotacquirecompanionshipeventhroughbribery.Itisalltrue,Hazel.
Allthatandmore.”
“Okay,” I said. It would have been a more moving speech had he not
slurredhiswords.
“YouremindmeofAnna.”
“Iremindalotofpeopleofalotofpeople,”Ianswered.“Ireallyhaveto
go.”
“Sodrive,”hesaid.
“Getout.”
“No.YouremindmeofAnna,”hesaidagain.Afterasecond,Iputthe
carinreverseandbackedout.Icouldn’tmakehimleave,andIdidn’thaveto.
I’ddrivetoGus’shouse,andGus’sparentswouldmakehimleave.
“Youare,ofcourse,familiar,”VanHoutensaid,“withAntoniettaMeo.”
“Yeah, no,” I said. I turned on the stereo, and the Swedish hip-hop
blared,butVanHoutenyelledoverit.
“She may soon be the youngest nonmartyr saint ever beatified by the
CatholicChurch.ShehadthesamecancerthatMr.Watershad,osteosarcoma.
Theyremovedher right leg.Thepain was excruciating.AsAntoniettaMeo
lay dying at the ripened ageof six from this agonizing cancer, she told her
father,‘Painislikefabric:Thestrongeritis,themoreit’sworth.’Isthattrue,
Hazel?”
Iwasn’tlookingathimdirectlybutathisreflectioninthemirror.“No,”I
shoutedoverthemusic.“That’sbullshit.”
“Butdon’tyouwishitweretrue!”hecriedback.Icutthemusic.“I’m
sorryIruinedyourtrip.Youweretooyoung.Youwere—”Hebrokedown.
As if he had a right to cry over Gus. Van Houten was just another of the
endlessmournerswhodidnotknowhim,anothertoo-latelamentationonhis
wall.
“You didn’t ruin our trip, you self-important bastard. We had an
awesometrip.”
“Iamtrying,”hesaid.“Iamtrying,Iswear.”ItwasaroundthenthatI
realizedPeterVanHouten hadadeadpersoninhisfamily.Iconsideredthe
honestywithwhichhehadwrittenaboutcancerkids;thefactthathecouldn’t
speaktomeinAmsterdamexcepttoaskifI’ddressedlikeheronpurpose;his
shittinessaroundmeandAugustus;hisachingquestionabouttherelationship
betweenpain’sextremityanditsvalue.Hesatbacktheredrinking,anoldman
who’dbeendrunkforyears.IthoughtofastatisticIwishIdidn’tknow:Half
of marriages end in the year after a child’s death. I looked back at Van
Houten.IwasdrivingdownCollegeandIpulledoverbehindalineofparked
carsandasked,“Youhadakidwhodied?”
“Mydaughter,”hesaid.“Shewaseight.Sufferedbeautifully.Willnever
bebeatified.”
“Shehadleukemia?”Iasked.Henodded.“LikeAnna,”Isaid.
“Verymuchlikeher,yes.”
“Youweremarried?”
“No.Well,notatthetimeofherdeath.Iwasinsufferablelongbeforewe
losther.Griefdoesnotchangeyou,Hazel.Itrevealsyou.”
“Didyoulivewithher?”
“No, not primarily, although at the end, we brought her to New York,
where I was living, for a series of experimental tortures that increased the
miseryofherdayswithoutincreasingthenumberofthem.”
Afterasecond,Isaid,“Soit’slikeyougaveherthissecondlifewhere
shegottobeateenager.”
“I suppose that would be a fair assessment,” he said, and then quickly
added, “I assume you are familiar with Philippa Foot’s Trolley Problem
thoughtexperiment?”
“And then I show up at your house and I’m dressed like the girl you
hopedshewouldlivetobecomeandyou’re,like,alltakenabackbyit.”
“There’satrolleyrunningoutofcontroldownatrack,”hesaid.
“Idon’tcareaboutyourstupidthoughtexperiment,”Isaid.
“It’sPhilippaFoot’s,actually.”
“Well,herseither,”Isaid.
“Shedidn’tunderstandwhyitwashappening,”hesaid.“Ihadtotellher
shewoulddie.HersocialworkersaidIhadtotellher.Ihadtotellher she
would die, so I told her she was going to heaven. She asked if I would be
there, and I said that I would not, not yet. But eventually, she said, and I
promisedthatyes,ofcourse,verysoon.AndItoldherthatinthemeantime
wehadgreatfamilyuptherethatwouldtakecareofher.Andsheaskedme
whenIwouldbethere,andItoldhersoon.Twenty-twoyearsago.”
“I’msorry.”
“SoamI.”
Afterawhile,Iasked,“Whathappenedtohermom?”
Hesmiled.“You’restilllookingforyoursequel,youlittlerat.”
I smiled back. “You should go home,” I told him. “Sober up. Write
another novel. Do the thing you’re good at. Not many people are lucky
enoughtobesogoodatsomething.”
He stared at me through the mirror for a long time. “Okay,” he said.
“Yeah. You’reright.You’reright.” But evenashe saidit,he pulled outhis
mostlyemptyfifthofwhiskey.Hedrank,recappedthebottle,andopenedthe
door.“Good-bye,Hazel.”
“Takeiteasy,VanHouten.”
Hesatdownonthecurbbehindthecar.AsIwatchedhimshrinkinthe
rearview mirror, he pulled out the bottle and for a second it looked like he
wouldleaveitonthecurb.Andthenhetookaswig.
It was a hot afternoon in Indianapolis, the air thick and still like we were
insideacloud.Itwastheworstkindofairforme,andItoldmyselfitwasjust
theairwhenthewalkfromhisdrivewaytohisfrontdoorfeltinfinite.Irang
thedoorbell,andGus’smomanswered.
“Oh,Hazel,”shesaid,andkindofenvelopedme,crying.
She made me eat some eggplant lasagna—I guess a lot of people had
broughtthemfoodorwhatever—withherandGus’sdad.“Howareyou?”
“Imisshim.”
“Yeah.”
Ididn’treallyknowwhattosay.Ijustwantedtogodownstairsandfind
whatever he’d written for me. Plus, the silence in the room really bothered
me.Iwantedthemtobetalkingtoeachother,comfortingorholdinghandsor
whatever. But they just sat there eating very small amounts of lasagna, not
even looking at each other. “Heaven needed an angel,” his dad said after a
while.
“Iknow,”Isaid.Thenhissistersandtheirmessofkidsshowedupand
piledintothekitchen.Igotupandhuggedbothhissistersandthenwatched
thekidsrunaroundthekitchenwiththeirsorelyneededsurplusofnoiseand
movement, excited molecules bouncing against each other and shouting,
“You’reitnoyou’reitnoIwasitbutthenItaggedyouyoudidn’ttagmeyou
missedmewellI’mtaggingyounownodumbbuttit’satime-outDANIEL
DO NOT CALL YOUR BROTHER A DUMB BUTT Mom if I’m not
allowedtouse thatwordhowcomeyoujustuseditdumbbuttdumbbutt,”
andthen,chorally,dumbbuttdumbbuttdumbbuttdumbbutt,andatthetable
Gus’sparentswerenowholdinghands,whichmademefeelbetter.
“Isaac told me Gus was writing something, something for me,” I said.
Thekidswerestillsingingtheirdumb-buttsong.
“Wecancheckhiscomputer,”hismomsaid.
“Hewasn’tonitmuchthelastfewweeks,”Isaid.
“That’s true. I’m not even sure we brought it upstairs. Is it still in the
basement,Mark?”
“Noidea.”
“Well,”Isaid,“canI...”Inoddedtowardthebasementdoor.
“We’re not ready,” his dad said. “Butof course, yes, Hazel.Of course
youcan.”
Iwalkeddownstairs,pasthisunmadebed,pastthegamingchairsbeneaththe
TV. His computer was still on. I tapped the mouse to wake it up and then
searched for his most recently edited files. Nothing in the last month. The
mostrecentthingwasaresponsepapertoToniMorrison’sTheBluestEye.
Maybe he’d written something by hand. I walked over to his
bookshelves,lookingforajournaloranotebook.Nothing.Iflippedthrough
hiscopyofAnImperialAffliction.Hehadn’tleftasinglemarkinit.
Iwalkedtohisbedsidetablenext.InfiniteMayhem,theninthsequelto
ThePriceofDawn,layatopthetablenexttohisreadinglamp,thecornerof
page138turneddown.He’dnevermadeittothe endofthebook.“Spoiler
alert:Mayhemsurvives,”Isaidoutloudtohim,justincasehecouldhearme.
And then I crawled into his unmade bed, wrapping myself in his
comforter like a cocoon, surrounding myself with his smell. I took out my
cannulasoIcouldsmellbetter,breathinghiminandbreathinghimout,the
scentfadingevenasIlaythere,mychestburninguntilIcouldn’tdistinguish
amongthepains.
Isatupinthebedafterawhileandreinsertedmycannulaandbreathed
forawhilebeforegoingupthestairs.Ijustshookmyheadnoinresponseto
hisparents’expectantlooks.Thekidsracedpastme.OneofGus’ssisters—I
couldnottellthemapart—said,“Mom,doyouwantmetotakethemtothe
parkorsomething?”
“No,no,they’refine.”
“Isthereanywherehemighthaveputanotebook?Likebyhishospital
bedorsomething?”Thebedwasalreadygone,reclaimedbyhospice.
“Hazel,” his dad said, “you were there every day with us. You— he
wasn’talonemuch,sweetie.Hewouldn’thavehadtimetowriteanything.I
knowyouwant...Iwantthat,too.Butthemessagesheleavesforusnoware
coming from above, Hazel.” He pointed toward the ceiling, as if Gus were
hoveringjustabovethehouse.Maybehewas.Idon’tknow.Ididn’tfeelhis
presence,though.
“Yeah,”Isaid.Ipromisedtovisitthemagaininafewdays.
Ineverquitecaughthisscentagain.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Three days later, on the eleventh day AG, Gus’s father called me in the
morning.IwasstillhookedtotheBiPAP,soIdidn’tanswer,butIlistenedto
hismessagethemomentitbeepedthroughtomyphone.“Hazel,hi,it’sGus’s
dad.Ifounda,uh,blackMoleskinenotebookinthemagazinerackthatwas
near his hospital bed, I think near enough that he could have reached it.
Unfortunatelythere’snowritinginthenotebook.Allthepagesareblank.But
the first—I think three or four—the first few pages are torn out of the
notebook.Welookedthroughthehousebutcouldn’tfindthepages.SoIdon’t
know what to make of that. But maybe those pages are what Isaac was
referringto?Anyway,Ihopethatyouaredoingokay.You’reinourprayers
everyday,Hazel.Okay,bye.”
Three or four pages ripped from a Moleskine notebook no longer in
Augustus Waters’s house. Where would he leave them for me? Taped to
FunkyBones?No,hewasn’twellenoughtogetthere.
TheLiteralHeartofJesus. Maybe he’dleftitthereforme on hisLast
GoodDay.
SoIlefttwenty minutes earlyforSupportGroupthe next day.Idrove
overtoIsaac’shouse,pickedhimup,andthenwedrovedowntotheLiteral
HeartofJesuswiththewindowsoftheminivandown,listeningtoTheHectic
Glow’sleakednewalbum,whichGuswouldneverhear.
Wetooktheelevator.IwalkedIsaactoaseatintheCircleofTrustthen
slowlyworkedmywayaroundtheLiteralHeart.Icheckedeverywhere:under
the chairs, around the lectern I’d stood behind while delivering my eulogy,
underthetreattable,onthebulletinboardpackedwithSundayschoolkids’
drawingsofGod’slove.Nothing.Itwastheonlyplacewe’dbeentogetherin
thoselastdaysbesideshishouse,anditeitherwasn’thereorIwasmissing
something.Perhapshe’dleftitformeinthehospital,butifso,ithadalmost
certainlybeenthrownawayafterhisdeath.
IwasreallyoutofbreathbythetimeIsettledintoachairnexttoIsaac,
andIdevotedtheentiretyofPatrick’snutlesstestimonialtotellingmylungs
they were okay, that they could breathe, that there was enough oxygen.
They’d been drained only a week before Gus died—I watched the amber
cancerwaterdribbleoutofmethroughthetube—andyetalreadytheyfeltfull
again.IwassofocusedontellingmyselftobreathethatIdidn’tnoticePatrick
sayingmynameatfirst.
Isnappedtoattention.“Yeah?”Iasked.
“Howareyou?”
“I’mokay,Patrick.I’malittleoutofbreath.”
“WouldyouliketoshareamemoryofAugustuswiththegroup?”
“IwishIwouldjustdie,Patrick.Doyoueverwishyouwouldjustdie?”
“Yes,” Patrick said, without his usual pause. “Yes, of course. So why
don’tyou?”
Ithoughtaboutit.MyoldstockanswerwasthatIwantedtostayalive
formyparents,becausetheywouldbeallguttedandchildlessinthewakeof
me,andthatwasstilltruekindof,butthatwasn’tit,exactly.“Idon’tknow.”
“Inthehopesthatyou’llgetbetter?”
“No,”Isaid.“No,it’snotthat.Ireallydon’tknow.Isaac?”Iasked.Iwas
tiredoftalking.
Isaac started talking about true love. I couldn’t tell them what I was
thinking because it seemed cheesy to me, but I was thinking about the
universewantingtobenoticed,andhowIhadtonoticeitasbestIcould.I
feltthatIowedadebttotheuniversethatonlymyattentioncouldrepay,and
alsothatIowedadebttoeverybodywhodidn’tgettobeapersonanymore
andeveryonewhohadn’tgottentobeapersonyet.Whatmydadhadtoldme,
basically.
Istayed quiet forthe rest ofSupport Group, andPatrick said aspecial
prayer for me, andGus’s name was tacked onto the long list of the dead—
fourteenofthemforeveryoneofus—andwepromisedtoliveourbestlife
today,andthenItookIsaactothecar.
When I got home, Mom and Dad were at the dining room table on their
separate laptops, and the moment I walked in the door, Mom slammed her
laptopshut.“What’sonthecomputer?”
“Justsomeantioxidantrecipes.ReadyforBiPAPandAmerica’sNextTop
Model?”sheasked.
“I’mjustgoingtoliedownforaminute.”
“Areyouokay?”
“Yeah,justtired.”
“Well,you’vegottaeatbeforeyou—”
“Mom,Iam aggressivelyunhungry.”Itookastep towardthedoorbut
shecutmeoff.
“Hazel,youhavetoeat.Justsomech—”
“No.I’mgoingtobed.”
“No,”Momsaid.“You’renot.”Iglancedatmydad,whoshrugged.
“It’smylife,”Isaid.
“You’renotgoingtostarveyourselftodeathjustbecauseAugustusdied.
You’regoingtoeatdinner.”
I was really pissed off for some reason. “I can’t eat, Mom. I can’t.
Okay?”
I tried to push past her but she grabbed both my shoulders and said,
“Hazel,you’reeatingdinner.Youneedtostayhealthy.”
“NO!” I shouted. “I’m not eating dinner, and I can’t stay healthy,
becauseI’mnothealthy.Iamdying,Mom.Iamgoingtodieandleaveyou
here alone and you won’t have a me to hover around and you won’t be a
motheranymore,andI’msorry,butIcan’tdoanythingaboutit,okay?!”
IregretteditassoonasIsaidit.
“Youheardme.”
“What?”
“Did you hear me say that to your father?” Her eyes welled up. “Did
you?” I nodded. “Oh, God, Hazel. I’m sorry. I was wrong, sweetie. That
wasn’ttrue.Isaidthatinadesperatemoment.It’snotsomethingIbelieve.”
Shesatdown,andIsatdownwithher.IwasthinkingthatIshouldhavejust
pukedupsomepastaforherinsteadofgettingpissedoff.
“Whatdoyoubelieve,then?”Iasked.
“Aslongaseitherofusisalive,Iwillbeyourmother,”shesaid.“Even
ifyoudie,I—”
“When,”Isaid.
She nodded. “Even when you die, I will still be your mom, Hazel. I
won’t stop being your mom. Have you stopped loving Gus?” I shook my
head.“Well,thenhowcouldIstoplovingyou?”
“Okay,”Isaid.Mydadwascryingnow.
“Iwantyouguystohavealife,”Isaid.“Iworrythatyouwon’thavea
life,thatyou’llsitaroundherealldaywithnometolookafterandstareatthe
wallsandwanttooffyourselves.”
Afteraminute,Momsaid,“I’mtakingsomeclasses.Online,throughIU.
To get my master’s in social work. In fact, I wasn’t looking at antioxidant
recipes;Iwaswritingapaper.”
“Seriously?”
“Idon’twantyoutothinkI’mimaginingaworldwithoutyou.ButifI
get my MSW, I can counsel families in crisis or lead groups dealing with
illnessintheirfamiliesor—”
“Wait,you’regoingtobecomeaPatrick?”
“Well,notexactly.Thereareallkindsofsocialworkjobs.”
Dad said, “We’ve both been worried that you’ll feel abandoned. It’s
importantforyoutoknowthatwewillalwaysbehereforyou,Hazel.Your
momisn’tgoinganywhere.”
“No,thisisgreat.Thisisfantastic!”Iwasreallysmiling.“Momisgoing
tobecomeaPatrick.She’llbeagreatPatrick!She’llbesomuchbetteratit
thanPatrickis.”
“Thankyou,Hazel.Thatmeanseverythingtome.”
I nodded. I was crying. I couldn’t get over how happy I was, crying
genuine tears of actual happiness for the first time in maybe forever,
imagining my mom as a Patrick. It made me think of Anna’s mom. She
would’vebeenagoodsocialworker,too.
AfterawhileweturnedontheTVandwatchedANTM.ButIpausedit
afterfivesecondsbecauseIhadallthesequestionsforMom.“Sohowclose
areyoutofinishing?”
“IfIgouptoBloomingtonforaweekthissummer,Ishouldbeableto
finishbyDecember.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenkeepingthisfromme,exactly?”
“Ayear.”
“Mom.”
“Ididn’twanttohurtyou,Hazel.”
Amazing.“Sowhenyou’rewaitingformeoutsideofMCCorSupport
Grouporwhatever,you’realways—”
“Yes,workingorreading.”
“Thisissogreat.IfI’mdead,IwantyoutoknowIwillbesighingatyou
fromheaveneverytimeyouasksomeonetosharetheirfeelings.”
Mydadlaughed.“I’llberighttherewithya,kiddo,”heassuredme.
Finally,wewatchedANTM.Dadtriedreallyhardnottodieofboredom,
andhekeptmessingupwhichgirlwaswhich,saying,“Welikeher?”
“No,no.WerevileAnastasia.WelikeAntonia,theotherblonde,”Mom
explained.
“They’realltallandhorrible,”Dadresponded.“Forgivemeforfailingto
tellthedifference.”DadreachedacrossmeforMom’shand.
“DoyouthinkyouguyswillstaytogetherifIdie?”Iasked.
“Hazel,what?Sweetie.”Shefumbledfortheremotecontrolandpaused
theTVagain.“What’swrong?”
“Just,doyouthinkyouwould?”
“Yes,ofcourse.Ofcourse,”Dadsaid.“YourmomandIloveeachother,
andifweloseyou,we’llgothroughittogether.”
“SweartoGod,”Isaid.
“IsweartoGod,”hesaid.
IlookedbackatMom.“SweartoGod,”sheagreed.“Whyareyoueven
worryingaboutthis?”
“Ijustdon’twanttoruinyourlifeoranything.”
Mom leaned forward and pressed her face into my messy puff of hair
andkissedmeattheverytopofmyhead.IsaidtoDad,“Idon’twantyouto
becomelikeamiserableunemployedalcoholicorwhatever.”
Mymomsmiled.“Yourfatherisn’tPeterVanHouten,Hazel.Youofall
peopleknowitispossibletolivewithpain.”
“Yeah,okay,”Isaid.MomhuggedmeandIlethereventhoughIdidn’t
reallywanttobe hugged. “Okay,youcanunpauseit,” I said.Anastasiagot
kickedoff.Shethrewafit.Itwasawesome.
Iateafewbitesofdinner—bow-tiepastawithpesto—andmanagedto
keepitdown.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
I woke up the next morning panicked because I’d dreamed of being alone
andboatlessinahugelake.Iboltedup,strainingagainsttheBiPAP,andfelt
Mom’sarmonme.
“Hi,youokay?”
My heart raced, but I nodded. Mom said, “Kaitlyn’s on the phone for
you.”IpointedatmyBiPAP.Shehelpedmegetitoffandhookedmeupto
PhilipandthenfinallyItookmycellfromMomandsaid,“Hey,Kaitlyn.”
“Justcallingtocheckin,”shesaid.“Seehowyou’redoing.”
“Yeah,thanks,”Isaid.“I’mdoingokay.”
“You’vejusthadtheworstluck,darling.It’sunconscionable.”
“Iguess,”Isaid.Ididn’tthinkmuchaboutmyluckanymoreonewayor
theother.Honestly,Ididn’treallywanttotalkwithKaitlynaboutanything,
butshekeptdraggingtheconversationalong.
“Sowhatwasitlike?”sheasked.
“Havingyourboyfrienddie?Um,itsucks.”
“No,”shesaid.“Beinginlove.”
“Oh,”Isaid.“Oh.Itwas...itwasnicetospendtimewithsomeoneso
interesting. We were very different, and we disagreed about a lot of things,
buthewasalwayssointeresting,youknow?”
“Alas,Idonot.TheboysI’macquaintedwitharevastlyuninteresting.”
“He wasn’t perfect or anything. He wasn’t your fairy-tale Prince
Charmingorwhatever.Hetriedtobelikethatsometimes,butIlikedhimbest
whenthatstufffellaway.”
“Doyouhavelikeascrapbookofpicturesandlettershewrote?”
“Ihavesomepictures,butheneverreallywrotemeletters.Except,well
there are some missing pages from his notebook that might have been
something for me, but I guess he threw them away or they got lost or
something.”
“Maybehemailedthemtoyou,”shesaid.
“Nah,they’d’vegottenhere.”
“Then maybe they weren’t written for you,” she said. “Maybe . . . I
mean,nottodepressyouoranything,butmaybehewrotethemforsomeone
elseandmailedthem—”
“VANHOUTEN!”Ishouted.
“Areyouokay?Wasthatacough?”
“Kaitlyn,Iloveyou.Youareagenius.Ihavetogo.”
Ihungup,rolledover,reachedformylaptop,turnediton,andemailed
lidewij.vliegenthart.
Lidewij,
I believe Augustus Waters sent a few pages from a notebook to
Peter Van Houten shortly before he (Augustus) died. It is very
important to me that someone reads these pages. I want to read
them,ofcourse,butmaybetheyweren’twrittenforme.Regardless,
theymustberead.Theymustbe.Canyouhelp?
Yourfriend,
HazelGraceLancaster
Sherespondedlatethatafternoon.
DearHazel,
IdidnotknowthatAugustushaddied.Iam verysadtohearthis
news. He was such a very charismatic young man. I am so sorry,
andsosad.
IhavenotspokentoPetersinceIresignedthatdaywemet.It
isverylateatnighthere,butIamgoingovertohishousefirstthing
inthemorningtofindthisletterandforcehimtoreadit.Mornings
werehisbesttime,usually.
Yourfriend,
LidewijVliegenthart
p.s. I am bringing my boyfriend in case we have to physically
restrainPeter.
I wondered why he’d written Van Houten in those last days instead of me,
telling Van Houten that he’d be redeemed if only he gave me my sequel.
Maybe the notebook pages had just repeated his request to Van Houten. It
madesense,Gusleveraginghisterminalitytomakemydreamcometrue:The
sequel was a tiny thing to die for, but it was the biggest thing left at his
disposal.
I refreshed my email continually that night, slept for a few hours, and
then commenced to refreshing around five in the morning. But nothing
arrived.ItriedtowatchTVtodistractmyself,butmythoughtskeptdrifting
back to Amsterdam, imagining Lidewij Vliegenthart and her boyfriend
bicycling around town on this crazy mission to find a dead kid’s last
correspondence. How fun it would be to bounce on the back of Lidewij
Vliegenthart’sbikedownthebrickstreets,hercurlyredhairblowingintomy
face,thesmellofthecanalsandcigarettesmoke,allthepeoplesittingoutside
thecafésdrinkingbeer,sayingtheirr’sandg’sinawayI’dneverlearn.
Imissedthefuture.ObviouslyIknewevenbeforehisrecurrencethatI’d
never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij and her
boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the ocean from
thirtythousandfeetabove,sofarupthatyoucan’tmakeoutthewavesorany
boats,sothattheoceanisagreatandendlessmonolith.Icouldimagineit.I
couldrememberit.ButIcouldn’tseeitagain,anditoccurredtomethatthe
voraciousambitionofhumansisneversatedbydreamscomingtrue,because
thereisalwaysthethoughtthateverythingmightbedonebetterandagain.
Thatisprobablytrueevenifyoulivetobeninety—althoughI’mjealous
ofthepeoplewhogettofindoutforsure.Thenagain,I’dalreadylivedtwice
aslongasVanHouten’sdaughter.Whathewouldn’thavegiventohaveakid
dieatsixteen.
SuddenlyMomwasstandingbetweentheTVandme,herhandsfolded
behind her back. “Hazel,” she said. Her voice was so serious I thought
somethingmightbewrong.
“Yes?”
“Doyouknowwhattodayis?”
“It’snotmybirthday,isit?”
Shelaughed.“Notjustyet.It’sJulyfourteenth,Hazel.”
“Isityourbirthday?”
“No...”
“IsitHarryHoudini’sbirthday?”
“No...”
“Iamreallytiredofguessing.”
“IT IS BASTILLE DAY!” She pulled her arms from behind her back,
producingtwosmallplasticFrenchflagsandwavingthementhusiastically.
“Thatsoundslikeafakething.LikeCholeraAwarenessDay.”
“Iassureyou,Hazel,thatthereisnothingfakeaboutBastilleDay.Did
youknowthattwohundredandtwenty-threeyearsagotoday,thepeopleof
France stormed the Bastille prison to arm themselves to fight for their
freedom?”
“Wow,”Isaid.“Weshouldcelebratethismomentousanniversary.”
“ItsohappensthatIhavejustnowscheduledapicnicwithyourfatherin
HollidayPark.”
Sheneverstoppedtrying,mymom.Ipushedagainstthecouchandstood
up.Together,wecobbledtogethersomesandwichmakingsandfoundadusty
picnicbasketinthehallwayutilitycloset.
Itwaskindofabeautifulday,finallyrealsummerinIndianapolis,warmand
humid—thekindofweatherthatremindsyouafteralongwinterthatwhile
the world wasn’t built for humans, we were built for the world. Dad was
waiting for us, wearing a tan suit, standing in a handicapped parking spot
typingawayonhishandheld.Hewavedasweparkedandthenhuggedme.
“Whataday,”hesaid.“IfwelivedinCalifornia,they’dallbelikethis.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t enjoy them,” my mom said. She was
wrong,butIdidn’tcorrecther.
WeendedupputtingourblanketdownbytheRuins,thisweirdrectangle
of Roman ruins plopped down in the middle of a field in Indianapolis. But
theyaren’trealruins:They’relikeasculpturalre-creationofruinsbuilteighty
yearsago,butthefakeRuinshavebeenneglectedprettybadly,sotheyhave
kindof becomeactualruins byaccident. VanHouten would likethe Ruins.
Gus,too.
SowesatintheshadowoftheRuinsandatealittlelunch.“Doyouneed
sunscreen?”Momasked.
“I’mokay,”Isaid.
You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the
screamsofthekidsontheplaygroundinthedistance,thelittlekidsfiguring
outhowtobealive,howtonavigateaworldthatwasnotbuiltforthemby
navigating a playground that was. Dad saw me watching the kids and said,
“Youmissrunningaroundlikethat?”
“Sometimes, I guess.” But that wasn’t what I was thinking. I was just
tryingtonoticeeverything:thelightontheruinedRuins,thislittlekidwho
could barely walk discovering a stick at the corner of the playground, my
indefatigablemotherzigzaggingmustardacrossherturkeysandwich,mydad
patting his handheld in his pocket and resisting the urge to check it, a guy
throwingaFrisbeethathisdogkeptrunningunderandcatchingandreturning
tohim.
Who amI to say that these things might not be forever? Who is Peter
VanHoutentoassertasfacttheconjecturethatourlaboristemporary?AllI
knowofheavenandallIknowofdeathisinthispark:anelegantuniversein
ceaselessmotion,teemingwithruinedruinsandscreamingchildren.
Mydadwaswavinghishandinfrontofmyface.“Tunein,Hazel.Are
youthere?”
“Sorry,yeah,what?”
“MomsuggestedwegoseeGus?”
“Oh.Yeah,”Isaid.
So after lunch, we drove down to Crown Hill Cemetery, the last and final
restingplaceofthreevicepresidents,onepresident,andAugustusWaters.We
droveupthehillandparked.CarsroaredbybehindusonThiry-eighthStreet.
Itwaseasytofindhisgrave:Itwasthenewest.Theearthwasstillmounded
abovehiscoffin.Noheadstoneyet.
Ididn’tfeellikehewasthereoranything,butIstilltookoneofMom’s
dumb little French flags and stuck it in the ground at the foot of his grave.
MaybepassersbywouldthinkhewasamemberoftheFrenchForeignLegion
orsomeheroicmercenary.
***
Lidewij finally wrote back just after six P.M. while I was on the couch
watching both TV and videos on my laptop. I saw immediately there were
fourattachmentstotheemailandIwantedtoopenthemfirst,butIresisted
temptationandreadtheemail.
DearHazel,
Peter was very intoxicated when we arrived at his house this
morning, but this made our job somewhat easier. Bas (my
boyfriend)distractedhimwhileIsearchedthroughthegarbagebag
Peterkeepswiththefanmailinit,butthenIrealizedthatAugustus
knewPeter’saddress.Therewasalargepileofmailonhisdining
room table, where I found the letter very quickly.I opened it and
sawthatitwasaddressedtoPeter,soIaskedhimtoreadit.
Herefused.
Atthispoint,Ibecameveryangry,Hazel,butIdidnotyellat
him.Instead,Itoldhimthatheowedittohisdeaddaughtertoread
thisletterfromadeadboy,andIgavehimtheletterandhereadthe
entirethingandsaid—Iquotehimdirectly—“Sendittothegirland
tellherIhavenothingtoadd.”
Ihave notread the letter,althoughmy eyesdid fall onsome
phrases while scanning the pages. I have attached them here and
thenwillmailthemtoyouatyourhome;youraddressisthesame?
MayGodblessandkeepyou,Hazel.
Yourfriend,
LidewijVliegenthart
Iclickedopenthefourattachments.Hishandwritingwasmessy,slanting
acrossthepage,thesizeofthelettersvarying,thecolorofthepenchanging.
He’dwrittenitovermanydaysinvaryingdegreesofconsciousness.
VanHouten,
I’magoodpersonbutashittywriter.You’reashittypersonbuta
goodwriter.We’dmakeagoodteam.Idon’twanttoaskyouany
favors,butifyouhavetime—andfromwhatIsaw,youhaveplenty
—IwaswonderingifyoucouldwriteaeulogyforHazel.I’vegot
notesandeverything,butifyoucouldjustmakeitintoacoherent
whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say
differently.
Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with
leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting
death.Weallwanttoberemembered.Ido,too.That’swhatbothers
me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient
andingloriouswaragainstdisease.
Iwanttoleaveamark.
ButVanHouten:Themarkshumansleavearetoooftenscars.You
buildahideousminimallorstartacouportrytobecomearockstar
and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t
remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your
coupbecomesadictatorship.Yourminimallbecomesalesion.
(Okay,maybeI’mnotsuchashittywriter.ButIcan’tpullmyideas
together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into
constellations.)
Wearelikeabunchofdogssquirtingonfirehydrants.Wepoison
thegroundwaterwithourtoxicpiss,markingeverythingMINEina
ridiculousattempttosurviveourdeaths.Ican’tstoppissingonfire
hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless—epically useless in my
currentstate—butIamananimallikeanyother.
Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly
upon the earth. Hazel knows thetruth: We’re aslikely to hurt the
universeaswearetohelpit,andwe’renotlikelytodoeither.
People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer
rememberher,thatshewasloveddeeplybutnotwidely.Butit’snot
sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real
heroism?Likethedoctorssay:First,donoharm.
The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real
heroesarethepeopleNOTICINGthings,payingattention.Theguy
whoinventedthesmallpoxvaccinedidn’tactuallyinventanything.
Hejustnoticedthatpeoplewithcowpoxdidn’tgetsmallpox.
AftermyPETscanlitup,IsnuckintotheICUandsawherwhile
shewasunconscious.Ijustwalkedinbehindanursewithabadge
andIgottositnexttoherforliketenminutesbeforeIgotcaught.I
reallythoughtshewasgoingtodiebeforeIcouldtellherthatIwas
going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized
haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water
drippingoutofherchest.Eyesclosed.Intubated.Butherhandwas
stillherhand,stillwarmandthenailspaintedthisalmostblackdark
blueandIjustheldherhandandtriedtoimaginetheworldwithout
usand for aboutone secondIwas agood enough personto hope
shediedsoshewouldneverknowthatIwasgoing,too.ButthenI
wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I
suppose.Ileftmyscar.
AnurseguycameinandtoldmeIhadtoleave,thatvisitorsweren’t
allowed,andIaskedifshewasdoingokay,andtheguysaid,“She’s
stilltakingonwater.”Adesertblessing,anoceancurse.
Whatelse?Sheissobeautiful.Youdon’tgettiredoflookingather.
Youneverworryifsheissmarterthanyou:Youknowsheis.Sheis
funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love
her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this
world,oldman,butyoudohavesomesayinwhohurtsyou.Ilike
mychoices.Ihopeshelikeshers.
Ido,Augustus.
Ido.
Clickhereformorebooksfromthisauthor.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Theauthorwouldliketoacknowledge:
Thatdiseaseanditstreatmentaretreatedfictitiouslyinthisnovel.Forexample,thereisno
such thing as Phalanxifor. I made it up, because I would like for it to exist. Anyone
seeking an actual history of cancer ought to read The Emperor of All Maladies by
Siddhartha Mukherjee. I am also indebted to The Biology of Cancer by Robert A.
Weinberg, and to Josh Sundquist, Marshall Urist, and Jonneke Hollanders, who shared
theirtimeandexpertisewithmeonmedicalmatters,whichIcheerfullyignoredwhenit
suitedmywhims.
EstherEarl,whoselifewasagifttomeandtomany.IamgratefulalsototheEarlfamily
—Lori, Wayne, Abby, Angie, Grant, and Abe—for their generosity and friendship.
Inspired by Esther, the Earls have founded a nonprofit, This Star Won’t Go Out, in her
memory.Youcanlearnmoreattswgo.org.
TheDutchLiteratureFoundation,forgivingmetwomonthsinAmsterdamtowrite.I’m
particularlygratefultoFleurvanKoppen,JeanCristopheBoelevanHensbroek,Janettade
With,CarlijnvanRavenstein,MargjeScheepsma,andtheDutchnerdfightercommunity.
My editor and publisher, Julie Strauss-Gabel, who stuck with this story through many
years of twists and turns, as did an extraordinary team at Penguin. Particular thanks to
RosanneLauer,DeborahKaplan,LizaKaplan,SteveMeltzer,NovaRenSuma,andIrene
Vandervoort.
IleneCooper,mymentorandfairygodmother.
Myagent,JodiReamer,whosesagecounselhassavedmefromcountlessdisasters.
Nerdfighters,forbeingawesome.
Catitude,forwantingnothingmorethantomaketheworldsuckless.
Mybrother,Hank,whoismybestfriendandclosestcollaborator.
Mywife,Sarah,whoisnotonlythegreatloveofmylifebutalsomyfirstandmosttrusted
reader. Also, the baby, Henry, to whom she gave birth. Furthermore, my own parents,
MikeandSydneyGreen,andparents-in-law,ConnieandMarshallUrist.
MyfriendsChrisandMarinaWaters,whohelpedwiththisstoryatvitalmoments,asdid
JoellenHosler,ShannonJames,ViHart,theVenndiagramaticallybrilliantKarenKavett,
ValerieBarr,RosiannaHalseRojas,andJohnDarnielle.
PHOTOBYTONKOENE,2009
JOHNGREENis an award-winning, New York Times–bestselling author
whosemanyaccoladesincludethePrintzMedal,aPrintzHonor,andtheEdgarAward.He
hastwicebeenafinalistfortheLATimesBookPrize.Withhisbrother,Hank,Johnisone
halfoftheVlogbrothers(youtube.com/vlogbrothers),oneofthemostpopularonlinevideo
projects in the world. You can join John’s 1.1 million followers on Twitter
(@realjohngreen),orvisithimonlineatjohngreenbooks.com.
JohnliveswithhiswifeandsoninIndianapolis,Indiana.
ALSOBYJOHNGREEN
LookingforAlaska
AnAbundanceofKatherines
PaperTowns
WillGrayson,WillGrayson
WITHDAVIDLEVITHAN