Out of the Woods

Fourteen Years Ago

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Win whispers into our darkened bedroom, from the bunk above mine.

“Sure,” I say, sniffing back tears. Win comes down the ladder and I lift the corner of my blanket up so she can slot herself in next to me. For a while, we say nothing. I shuffle a hand under my pillow and use the shoulder of my nightgown to wipe my tears. Win sniffs too, then clears her throat which leads to a sputtering, phlegmy cough. “Ew!” I laugh out. “That was fucking nasty, dude.”

Win laughs too, near breathless. Her laughter, like always, is contagious. After fits of giggles that are restarted by my inability to stop a snort laugh from happening twice, we fall back into deafening quiet. Then, Win throws her arms around my neck and tucks herself in close against me. “She’s going to be okay,” she whispers into my hair.

But she’s not. Mom knows it. I know it. Aunt June knows it. The doctor seems to know it. And I can tell Win does too. The only one who seems not to know yet is Caleb, who, despite only leaving our house two hours ago, has already sent me a research paper discussing new and improved techniques for treating ALS and has asked his mother to contact a friend of a friend’s husband who works out of some special research clinic in Toronto.

I wrap my hands around her waist. “It’s never going to be the same again, though.” Exhaustion settles heavy against my throat. “No matter what happens. Nothing is ever going to be the same.”

Win lets that truth linger in the space between us for a minute before speaking. “Probably not.”

“I’m scared,” I admit. “I’m so scared,” I whisper softly.

“I know…Me too.” She holds me tighter. “But I’ve got you. No matter what, we will always have each other.”

“I don’t want to lose her,” I choke out between tears. “I don’t know…I don’t know how I could—how I would—what it—”

“You won’t.” Win says it like a promise she has no business making. “There’s still hope.” It really, truly doesn’t feel like it.

We spend the next hour taking turns crying and consoling. Each time we fall asleep, one of us wakes up startled—like the feeling of waking up when you dream you’re falling and about to crash to the ground. Eventually, we give up on trying to sleep in our own beds and decide to go crawl into Mom’s. When we enter, we find Aunt June already in bed with Mom. They’ve moved the television from the living room onto Mom’s dresser and they’ve got their favorite telenovela playing from an old VCR tape.

“Hi, girls,” Mom says softly, patting the bed next to her.

All four of us squeeze in and, at some unknown hour, I fall asleep to the sounds of an infomercial for an at-home perm solution, Aunt June loudly chewing popcorn, and my mother’s soft snoring.

I wake up to a dozen texts from Caleb, sent all throughout the night, with a countless number of articles that had been behind paywalls, all pointing to hopes of a cure. He must have not slept.

I foolishly let hope creep in like the sunrise through my mother’s blinds as I read them over and receive one more text from him.

Caleb: My mom just heard back from her friend. Dr. Torres has agreed to meet with your mom.