Entering middle school changed my life. The night before our first day of sixth grade, Theo and I stayed up all night talking. I thought middle school would be the best thing that ever happened to me. I would have a great time and forget all about elementary school. My expectations were so high, but I was right.
Sixth grade was the year Theo and I became different people. Theo made the football team that year. I don't think he even liked football before that. He got into arguments and pointless fights and made friends with big scary eight graders, who were actually pretty nice. I didn't really change, but I fell in with the popular people. I was "quiet and well-liked", according to my science teacher. Looking back, I was just a shorter, younger version of myself. Same person, same face, same personality. Naive and childish.
Theo and I were happy. We rode go-karts and went to birthday parties and did dangerous things with our skateboards that made our mother shriek in terror. Looking back, though, I don't think Mom and Dad knew what we did most of the time. They worked for such long hours. Mom would often return at night, skipping dinner, and go to bed. Dad would come home after dinner and watch the news and shows on the couch until midnight, where I often found him asleep with the TV still on.
But those were happier times, and when I think back to my middle school days, I don't see any of the bad stuff. I just miss it.
***
"Ten push-ups now!" Mr. Kingsley hollered. He was a big man, with a round belly and a wild white beard that made him look like Santa Claus. I hit the ground alongside Theo, expecting him to finish before I did, as usual. However, he seemed to struggle. I slowed down for him to finish.
"HURRY UP," Mr. Kingsley screeched at the two of us. We scrambled up and sprinted after the rest of the class, who were falling and tumbling over each other. Theo, who usually ran as if his life depended on it, was sluggish. I watched him, jogging a bit behind.
"YOU BETTER RUN, KIM," Mr. Kingsley yelled after us. I didn't know if he was talking to me or Theo, but I sped up a bit. Theo was breathing heavily, and kind of gasping for air. He was making wheezing noises. I was concerned, but pushed and jostled by the crowd until I couldn't see him anymore.
In the locker room, Theo was still struggling for breath.
"Theo? You alright?" I tried to sound nonchalant. He looked like an old man, leaning against the wall for support. I repeated the question, but he didn't seem to have heard me. I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched violently.
"Yeah, yeah," he snapped, but his voice sounded breathy and fluttery. He was still wheezing and struggling for breath as we left together.
I worried about it, but when we walked home that afternoon, Theo assured me it was fine. He coughed a few times and seemed out of breath, so we slowed down.
"It's just a cough," he said easily. "I kind of have the flu."
And he seemed right. He came down with a fever, and stayed home for a while. It just seemed like a regular sickness. He went back to school a week later, but he seemed a bit odd. He had problems breathing, and he seemed tired, and always woke up in the mornings drenched in sweat, and never seemed to eat when we had food. It went on like this for almost 3 weeks.
"Theo," I said casually one night when we were doing math homework together, "you still sick?" I knew that Theo wouldn't like it if I suggested he go to the doctor. We had spent years avoiding the doctor, not because we wanted to, but because it cost us.
"No," he mumbled. "Just a bit ill. I'm fine, Trent." He lowered his head over his textbook, scribbling madly.
"Still getting over the flu?" I suggested. He nodded as if to confirm it. Like he was trying to convince himself. I was still worried, but I thought it wasn't major. Maybe I was trying to convince myself too.
The next day Theo was taking his morning shower, as usual. I was getting Noah ready for kindergarten.
"Moo," Noah mooed. "Mooooo." He shuffled around the kitchen as I struggled to button his overalls. Once I did, I put him in a kitchen stool and poured his cereal for him. He squirmed and wriggled in his seat.
Theo came out at that instant, wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts. He looked tired, and seemed to have lost weight. He was taking deep breaths as he sat down and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He looked like a zombie, but managed a smile at Noah, who burbled in delight.
That afternoon when we were walking home together like we usually did, Theo asked if he could tell me a secret.
"Yeah? What kind of secret?" I was puzzled, and looked around cautiously, as if there were ninjas hiding in the bushes, eavesdropping on us.
Theo looked uncomfortable. "I think my neck is swelling or something." He gingerly rubbed his neck, over a bump that I hadn't seen before.
"Lymph nodes," I noted, hazily remembering a lesson from health class. Theo gave a curt nod.
"Maybe a virus," he said softly. "I'll take some medicine when we get home. Just don't tell Mom and Dad. Don't wanna stress them out or anything."
And I didn't. I didn't tell my parents about Theo being sick until one day Theo collapsed in gym class when we were running, unable to breath. I got help and called Mom, and I talked to her on the phone, telling her all about the symptoms that Theo had been experiencing. She sounded odd, like she was trying not to cry. It was clear she was worried.
When I got home, they were still at the hospital with Dad. Noah was sitting at the kitchen counter reading quietly. I made dinner but couldn't eat. Instead, I paced around the table, watching the phone, but it never rang. Frustrated, I put Noah to bed. He asked about Theo, and I told him that Theo was at the hospital because he was sick. Noah's little black button eyes stared at me like they were accusing me.
I stayed awake for a long time, then finally went to bed at midnight, falling into a dream where Theo coughed crimson red blood into the sink, filling it up until it spilled everywhere, and then he started to become thinner and thinner until he couldn't stand.
"What's wrong with him?" my mother whispered into my ear. She was crying, the tears splashing when they reached the floor. I moved, running, sprinting, but couldn't reach Theo no matter how hard I strained.
When I woke up, it was 3 o'clock in the night. The apartment was quiet. I fell back asleep.
