Walk Away

      The coffee shop is bustling with people. Sundays, for some reason or another, always draw such a crowd. You watch as people come and go. Laughing and smiling without any cares in the world -at least, without much thought of their worries.
      Four women are seated inside. You watch them chat and laugh together. The warmth of the spring morning pools over you. And yet, your body remains irreversibly cold. Even with the thick jacket, the long-sleeved black shirt, double pair of socks, and shorts under your blue jeans. The only part of your body that's warm is your stomach. Life is warm. Yours is over. Or at least, it will be in a decade. So the doctors have said anyway -over and over again.
           "...The cerebral damage is going to accumulate..."
           "Nothing to be done."
      "We can send you to some specialists who should be able to give you a definitive time."
           "Your personal progression is astounding...Nothing to be done, though."
           "Ten years."
           "We can't offer you anything."
           "Gradual loss of control..."
           "Vancouver. Toronto. New York. London, maybe."
           "...emotional and then physical..."
           "Specialists around the globe..."
           "...Maybe fifteen..."
           "...it can't be prevented."
           "Twenty years...if you're lucky."
           "No matter how much you fight..."
           "I'm so sorry."
           "Condolences, hon."
           "I'm so very sorry."
      Fragments of conversations forever imprinted into your thoughts. Ten years, at best. Thirty-one years old. Tenth birthday...maybe. Only maybe.
      The four women inside the coffee shop were supposed to be told about those conversations. They were supposed to be informed of your pregnancy, of the extent of the damage to your body, and the generalities of what would be in your near future. But now you watch them smile and laugh, and you can't bring yourself to take a single step toward the doors.
      Once upon a time, you had jokingly asked them what they would do if you simply disappeared. What would they say if you suddenly stopped all means of communication, and never looked back. Their replies were mostly anger.
      "I'd kick your ass," was Leeda's reply.
      "Provided you found me," was your own.
      "You wouldn't do it though," was Sam's soft and slightly nervous answer, her eyes penetrating into your thoughts with that silent demand of hers.
      "How can you be sure?"
      Kate was next on the list, "It would be like leaving your family forever. I know I wouldn't be able to do it. And I don't think you would either, hon. I'm not saying you're weak. But I just don't think you'd be able to up and leave without so much as a goodbye."
      "People do crazy things, though." You weren't serious. You would never have been able to leave those women, then. They were sisters to you. Your only family, really.
      And then Lynn stepped into the conversation. "I wouldn't look twice at you in the future."
      Her response had shocked you a little. It seemed to have the same reaction with the others as well.
      She continued, softly and with a deep bitterness in her tone. "I wouldn't. If I saw you on the street years later, I wouldn't look at you twice -even if I knew it was you. You disappear without saying anything, then fine. I'd be hurt for a while, but I'd get over it."
      You knew it was a scare tactic. But she was also very serious. And as you stand outside the shop, leaning against the neighbouring building, you know that such a reply is what you were looking for -deep down, anyway.
      The women inside are happy and young. They have ages to live. They have dilemmas, not catastrophes, to deal with. This paper is due in three days and I haven't even started it yet! There's isn't enough time to study for the exam and get that project done! Those are the situations they're faced with. Nothing like, How am I going to support myself and a baby? Or, I can avoid paying the phone bill for two months before they disconnect the line. Or, better yet, Who's going to take care of my child come ten years?
      You bow your head and shut your eyes, fingers pressing into your temples and massaging the throbbing flesh. You cherish these women. You would never have survived without them. And yet, you survived a sudden and violent detox on your own. You just stopped using heroine. Destroyed your supplies of crack and stopped it all. You did all that on your own.
      Really and truly, what have these women offered you? A shoulder to lean on has been inaccessible since September. A compassionate hug has come only at holidays. They have listened to you. They have stood by and offered advice. But other than that, what have they ever really done? None of them has made a great effort to come to your door and sit with you through the long and terrible nights. None have come out and demanded that you make time in your schedule so that they may attempt to help you, comfort you, to show you their love and concern.
      In all truth, you have been completely alone. Few people have been told everything. You explained the events that would have betrayed you through odd behaviour. Some things are not able to be hidden. You told them what they needed to know. And now, you stand outside their world. You stand alone, on the outside of their inner circle. You always have been an outsider.
      Silently, you turn away from the bustling coffee shop. There is no need to step inside and tell them that you're pregnant. There is no need to tell them about what you discovered. There's no need to interrupt their worlds.
      They saved you -time and time again. They've never been anything less than the most awe-inspiring friends. You never really deserved the love and support they've always shown you. No matter how much you try and paint them as traitors, as liars, you're lying to the world. They've never left you alone. They've never turned you away. Not once.
      The warm sunshine splashes over your face. The iridescent beams of invisible light heat you from the outside in. You'll survive what's been cast upon you. You haven't any other choice. At least, not for another decade.