James held Thomas's hand as the hospital doors swooshed open. A tumbling wave of cold air slapped their faces, carrying with it an unpleasant chemical smell that filled up their nostrils. Thomas gazed up, suddenly more nervous and more uncertain about entering the place. His father smiled weakly and nodded for him to cross over.

An intercom buzzed and beeped when a woman paged a doctor. He squinted away the glaringly bright fluorescent lights overhead that reflected off the glossy grayish-white speckled floor. Dark, almost vaporous silhouettes seemed to reside within the corners of the walls and large portions of the area. His little fingers tightened their grip as he turn his head in different directions. Rolling wheels gratingly wobbled and echoed throughout one of the hallways. Shoes squeaked all around, as a nurse, orderly or doctor quickly walked from one room to the other. One of the doctors spoke to a lady at the front desk, chuckling during their conversation.

Laughter? Laughter was good. Maybe things weren't so bad? He thought.

Veronica sat on one of the steel-blue chairs in the waiting room, hunched over and crying. Her wavy blonde hair tumbled over, obscuring most of her face. On the seat beside her, laid a tattered box with a yellow ribbon hanging over the seat's edge. It twinkled and moved to an invisible gentle breeze.

Thomas freed himself from his father and ran toward her. He gently touched her shoulder, causing her to pause and look up in bewilderment. She reached out and groped his arms. Her fingers dug deep into the soft areas between his bones, twitching erratically along his elbow and forearms. Flinching, he stared into her bloodshot, mascara-soaked eyes. When she spoke, her voice croaked as she struggled to produce a sound.

"Thomas?" She asked, almost as if wondering whether he was a figment of her imagination.

"Did the doctors fix Christina?"

"Christina..." she said in a whisper. A dark shadow crept into her blue eyes. Their pupils dilated as the temporary look of madness faded from them. With a startling swiftness, she embraced him and began to wail unintelligibly. He couldn't make sense of what she was saying and gazed up at his father with a quizzical expression.

"Sit here and wait a moment," James gestured to one of the seats nearby.

It took her some time to calm down after his father led her away. It was difficult to listen to their hushed conversation through all the noises around him and only gathered pieces of it.

Christina had been in the operating room for some time now and there were complications. His eyes scanned the box beside him, wondering why she chose to walk to his house. You knucklehead! He thought to himself.

"She went to get your birthday present. I guess she wanted to surprise you with it," Veronica said when she returned.

"She got hurt ... while getting me my present?" he touched the top of the box, gently flicking one of the torn pieces.

"It happened right after she left the store." She was too distraught to notice the true meaning of his question.

There was a heavy silence as he repeated her answer in his mind. He'd been so preoccupied with the celebration, that he didn't even notice anything strange about Christina's behavior. Slouching, he lowered his head and fiddled with his fingers.

Minutes turned to hours and his impatience grew the longer they waited. His father would often stand up and ask if they wanted anything to drink or eat. Eventually, he wore himself out and plopped himself on the seat next to Thomas.

"No! What are you talking about? I did not do that. Shut up!" someone yelled from behind.

Thomas turned in his seat; his fingers clutched the edges of the backrest.

"Shh! Calm down," a woman replied, as she tried grabbing his arms.

The man argued with the air, while shaking his and slapping his knees.

"Dad, what's wrong with that man?"

James briefly looked behind them before settling back into his seat. "He's unwell, Thomas. Don't stare, it's rude." When Thomas continued staring, he placed his hand over his and whispered: "Please, turn around."

With a nod, he complied, "why haven't the doctors fixed him?"

His father released a drawn-out sigh and massaged his temples. Weighed down by exhaustion, he sluggishly turned to face him. "I want you to listen to me carefully, O.K.?"

Was he in trouble? Going to receive a lecture? His father didn't sound angry, but he hadn't failed to notice the serious tone with which he asked it.

"Sometimes not everyone can be fixed. People aren't television sets you can send to a technician that can just order spare parts. Besides, sometimes ... even a T.V. can't be fixed."

"But why?"

"I don't know, Thomas. It's just the way it goes. It just ... happens. Do you understand?"

"The doctors will fix—I mean, make Christina better, right?"

"I don't know. They're trying their best. All we can do is just wait."

His father was wrong about people not being able to be fixed—he had to be! He thought to himself as he looked at the double doors leading to the operating room. Christina would soon be running out through there. They were going to leave this awful place and go home, together. "They'll fix her! You'll see."

"I hope so, too."

An hour had passed since his conversation, when his father said: "I think we should get you home. It's getting late and you need to get some sleep."

"NO." His nostrils flared as he continued to quietly gaze in front of him, unmovable and rooted to the chair. Nothing was going to make him leave. He was going to wait for Christina.

Sleep was taking over, he could no longer fight his leadened eyelids when they began to droop over his half-closed eyes. They sealed themselves shut after several attempts. He dreamt of Parkorman Park, of the clearing, and the halcyon days that felt so long ago. Amorphous shapes and colors took form.

Standing on the path, he saw Christina running through that shimmering green ocean of grass, giggling as she sunk into it. She'd drown if she continued! Hesitant about crossing over, he called out to her, but she continued moving further away. When her shoulders were submerged, and the only thing he could see was a neck with bobbing head of windswept curls, he decided he was going to run after her. Before he could step beyond the threshold, the loud sound of crying startled him out of his slumber.

His mother was there? When did she get here? He wondered. Veronica was crying, screaming "no" repeatedly as his father and mother tried to console her. Celia's eyes widened when she noticed him fearfully approaching them.

"Christina had died during the operation." They said this to him, but the statement seemed garbled.

So it seemed by some unjust divine decision, that Life would teach Thomas about the ephemeral disposition of the body and that at a tender age, he would have to learn about the fragile (and seemingly very finite) quality of cherished bonds. Despite the summertime vigor and energy that permeated Christina's and Thomas's relationship, it was not impervious to the twists and turns of fate. It was a harsh lesson he'd have a difficult time understanding.

Christina's Wake was held a week later. Thomas still hadn't accepted the news of her death. He had to walk up to her casket and see for himself. As he passed the crying mourners seated on the chairs, he approached her body, leaning over and observing it carefully to make sure she was truly dead. Though the pale makeup made her appear doll-like and surreal, it was indeed Christina laying there. Her eyes were closed in an eternal slumber. An eternal slumber she would never wake from.

He would never see her again. Never speak to her or play with her anymore.

And she was gone because of him.

Realization hit him full force. He wanted to run away from there, but his feet remained glued to the red carpet as he started hyperventilating. A strange and peculiar sensation began to take hold. All his weight dropped to the floor, despite the fact that he was still standing. Pressure built inside of him and his breath hitched. Pain, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, jabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

Why? The questioned looped in his mind.

He hadn't cried since the evening they told him of her death, but in that instance, he split open and every emotion uncontrollably burst out. His parents sprinted to where he was when they heard his anguished shrieking, pulling him away while he reached over the casket.

That last memory of Christina planted itself deep within his mind. It repeated itself when he laid in bed and closed his eyes. Even worse, after curiously searching through the internet, he learned what occurred to the human body once dead. The horrific images were what his best friend would become, deteriorating until there was nothing left but bones.

Nothing would remain of her, except his memories.

Every night, memories morphed into nightmarish visuals. His crying was done in secret, when nothing could deter the process. But something other than sadness had also begun to take residence within him: anger. For a very long time, he would wonder whether he was broken or unfixable.

Blinded by his emotions, Thomas shrunk within himself. Hiding himself from the world, he'd miss the significance of one very special evening that would take place two months after Christina's death.

********