Winn

I can't read hieroglyphics.

That's what these reports look like. They're squiggly bunches of pictures that supposedly form some written language. Maybe Natalie would understand this mumbo jumbo.

Dr. Thomas' eyes bore into my skull. I gulp, glancing up at him. "Do you usually show this to patients?" I question while gripping my crumpled black and blue jacket harder.

"I have a tendency," he starts, rubbing his sard-colored skin that gleams in a layer of sweat. "No, I don't." The sight that exits his lips seals my fate further. What else would I expect out of a Monday? "But you're not just a patient..."

Swallowing hard, I let my mind trek to happy thoughts. Natalie isn't leaving me. I try to bat the succeeding thought away, but it creeps in, shooting into my head like the snap of a drumstick against a snare's rim. I'm leaving her.

But... I don't regret anything. No, this weekend has best one of the best in my lifetime. Openly speaking with someone about my melanoma has been oddly freeing. It's weird. I didn't think that feeling was possible in this situation. To be free. Who would have thought?

"What do you mean?" I suffocate the minor chords in my head, drowning the melancholy melody in a roundabout E Major scaled song.

Thinking harder, maybe I thought too much. Yep, a self-fulfilling phrase. I dreamt and thought and daydreamed some more, never executing my thoughts or living my beliefs. I believed and never acted.

"Honorary grandkid?" Dr. Thomas reaches for my file. A smile overloads his lips, spilling over half his face. The look doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes have been glazed over since he walked into the room. "Your family will always hold a special place in my heart," he says, holding back the flood welling in his eyes. Hastily, he turns, tossing the file on the stationary while wiping his eyes.

"I bet." I force another grin, attempting to hold my dam of thought back. My mind falters, nearly losing grip on my flying ability, pummeling at least ten feet through the sky. Clearing my throat, I release another long breath. "So neither treatment responded?"

Dr. Thomas glances at the reports, offering a weak smile. "No. Your system rejected both types of chemotherapy and the small dosage of immunotherapy we did..." He trails off, removing cracks from his voice by making a loud noise with his throat. "The outlook for treatment isn't... it isn't good. You have two options now..."

My brows shoot up. "Wait. I did immunotherapy?"

His jaw drops, and his eyebrows twitch. "Yes..." He scratches his chin. "Have you had memory loss issues? Forgetting small things... what you ate, where you went, what you were thinking?"

"Not more than normal peeps. But I've positively got a fuzzed-up brain." I shrug, digging within my mind for another question. "What are my options now? I can't continue this chemo, right? Because it isn't making the cancer cells respond?"

"Your best option is to terminate treatment." He limply nods while lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "You can either go into hospice care, or I can prescribe medication to help you cope until nature runs its course." By staring into his eyes, I know which option he wants me to choose. The remainder of his sentence blurs into a conglomeration of slop. Something about possible symptoms and a slew of slurs against my stupidity for not contacting him.

God, do I have to go into hospice care? Snap. What if-.

"Are you paying attention?" A hand slaps against my shoulder, and I wince, noting how gentle Dr. Thomas' tap must have been. How sensitive are my shoulders? I poke myself, reacting similarly. Well, that's new...

Nodding, I release another dose of the happy emotions, smiling and letting myself fly higher on happy thoughts. Just because I'm heading to my beliefs doesn't mean I don't like a good distraction. Who doesn't like a distraction once in a while? "Yep, present and accounted for," I reply in a monotone, chuckling at Dr. Thomas' expression, consisting of a scrunched nose and eyebrows.

"I got that, Winslow," he says with a chuckle, correcting himself, "Winn." Settling in his seat, he chucks his pen on my file. "You don't have to make a choice now... I'm free anytime," he emphasizes the word, "If you need anything, ask. I guarantee you aren't bothering me. Please, for Heaven's Sake, bother me."

Numbly, I nod affirmatively, much like how I would imagine Natalie would. Though, maybe she'd have a great retort too. Of course, not one said aloud. I could ask her once I get out of here. After all, she's in the waiting room since she insisted on coming.

"People will talk if I get into hospice here," I say, massaging my neck. "Maybe a referral?" Like that's a good idea. Gossipy people will find my case either way. It's just that I won't have to hear their murmurs if I'm too far gone.

Dr. Thomas snorts and leans in, twitching his grey brows and clenching his jaw as if he's attempting to restrain a laugh. "Winn, you know what HIPAA is?" he questions. Oh, yeah, that. My mouth drops open. He continues, "Take your time with your decision."

"I was planning to go into hospice if it got this bad. I have money saved for this," I explain, my voice growing softer by the second.

"Should I call your father?" His brows narrow in concern.

Freezing, I pinch my arm to ensure I'm fully awake to answer the question. "I..." I gulp. "Call him after I can't pick up a phone."

Dr. Thomas nods, shutting his eyes and taking a steady breath. "I'll send over the paperwork in an email by eight. Have a great day. I'm keeping you in my prayers."

Following him, I trudge to the waiting room. My mouth and body operate involuntarily as I say something barely processed to the receptionist, acknowledge Natalie with a light smile, and trip over my feet when exiting the wing.

A finger flicks against my cheek. "Winn? Are you alright?" Natalie questions, once again swinging my passenger door open.

"Yeah, of course," I immediately reply, my voice fraying at the end. "No," I mutter after seating myself. "I'm not alright, physically. But... I'll be okay in a bit. Don't worry." I offer a weak smile but let my face crumple into a heavy frown with drooped eyelids.

"You aren't obligated to be alright," Natalie states while inserting my key into the ignition. "The majority is blind-sighted by the false apparition of being fine anyways." The next turn comes in a jerk as she turns left off Mainstreet, passing a neon sign.

Clenching my jaw to hold the floodgates in my mind back, I suck in a deep breath, focusing. Focus is rare. The irregularity. "You're right," I agree. "But estar is a state of being... in Spanish, right? With ser and estar? At least that's what I got from two years in Spanish."

"Correct." Natalie nods. Her brown eyes flicker to mine, capturing my attention to the fullest extent. I think, at least. My attention span is laugh-worthy at this point. "Estar is temporary." Her lips quirk, and her eyes narrow. "Do you want to discuss your appointment?" she questions, waving a group at a crosswalk ahead.

Appointment. Hey, that sounds like anointment. Shaking myself, I allow my mind to drag to Dr. Thomas and his unrelenting depressed look. Not only does he tell people one of the gravest pieces of news of their life, but he's a living witness of Gran's, Mom's, and now my death. Snap.

Appointment, I repeat in my head. Hospice. I'm going into hospice. I repeat the phrase aloud. "I'm going into hospice, terminating my treatment." My exhale is shaky. For a moment, I'm convinced I'll convulse into a state of unbreathing again, but the wave doesn't come. "I'm not going to survive, Natalie."

She purses her lips as she eases onto the brake at a stoplight, turning to me. "I'm here for you, Winn." She takes a long breath, bobbing her head to the beat of my fingers against the center console. "I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light," she replies in a steady murmur. "Yes, a Helen Keller quote."

"Thank you," I say for the one-thousandth time. Natalie nods while a curve pulls at the corner of her mouth. Grinning, a thought pops into my head. "This is completely unrelated but also sort of related. Have you ever wondered why my given name is Winslow?"

Natalie clears her throat. "I assumed your parents were either fans of Winslow Homer or humans attempting to curse their child," Natalie says in one breath, another phrase balancing on her tongue.

I snort, savoring the moment. "Funny, but no." I think I'm going to cherish every moment from here on out. How could I not? These moments are going to be some of the last I remember. "My mom loved the Eagles." Natalie nods. "In their song, Take It Easy, there's a line that says 'we're standin' on the corner of Winslow, Arizona. Boom, the name was born." I shrug, my mind tracing over the not-so-picturesque landscape of Winslow, Arizona. Google Maps didn't flatter the area in the slightest. The little city looked like a ghost town, void of life, dust-covered, and annoyingly hot. But according to Mom's "legends," the town was "lively" in the 1970s when Route 66 and the Eagles were popular.

Natalie raises a brow. "Your mother sounds like an interesting person." She really was. The words don't come to life, but the phrase lives in my head, making me smile. She places my car in park, eyes skirting the newly painted Fizzy's sign and the pack parking lot. "Have you looked up what your name means?"

"You have?" I question, pulling my guitar from the back. My heart pounds faster in anticipation. Really, I can't believe I'm playing a gig on a Monday, out of sequence and away from outside pressure. "And no."

She passes through the threshold, holding Fizzy's door open for me. "Your name was intriguing, so I looked it up." Again, her brows arc in question. "Winslow means friend's hill."

"You learn something every day," I reply, feeling my phone ping in my pocket. The device reads Kenneth Thomas, displaying an email with three links. Sighing, I spin around and shove my phone into my guitar case.

This is my last dance with music.

Maybe, more like my last performance.