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Fiction Short Story

by Joseph Arechavala

Last Request

Benny sat on the bed, drawing in his ever-present notebook when I walked into his room. At fifteen, Benny had a grasp on real life that kids his age, and even most adults, didn't come close to. Benny was a slight kid, thin of frame, short for his age, and looked like he'd blow away in a good wind. His light brown hair was cut short, and his crystal clear blue eyes sparkled with a joy of life. Like a lot of seriously ill kids, he had a really positive outlook on life, and his smile was the sweetest I've ever seen. It lit up his face every time I walked into his room.

Benny had made the room his, decorating it with his artwork. His pencil sketches were a remarkable display of talent, and so realistic. There were many of me, all drawn from his memory, more flattering than I thought I really looked, and the cause of many comments from other staff members. I knew how Benny felt about me.

Benny, in short, was dying and knew it. Cystic fibrosis is a horrible disease, robbing young lives before they have a chance to begin, and making them suffer so before it closes its icy hand of death. I was Benny's respiratory therapist, an exercise in futility, fighting his body's destruction of its lungs to try to get them to function, so he could maybe live another few weeks. We did his therapy three times a day, fighting our losing battle. It was going through the motions, really. We all knew Benny would not be with us much longer.

The usual smile greeted me. "Hi, Gina."

"Hi Benny," I cheerfully replied, feeling none of the rehearsed cheer I put in my voice.

He looked at me with just a hint of anger in those eyes, a bit of a pout and put down his pad.

"Stop it."

I feigned ignorance as I halted my approach. "What?"

"You know what."

"I don't, Benny. I really don't."

He flopped down onto the bed and pulled his sheet up to his chest. "Yes you do, Gina. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

I sighed and hung my head. No matter how hard I tried, I could never hide my true feelings from Benny. He possessed this ability to look through my veneer and see into my heart and mind. I slowly walked to his bedside, put my supply box on the blanket and sat down.

"Benny, I'm sorry."

Benny rolled over to face away from me. "You don't mean it. Say it like you mean it." He coughed two or three times weakly; the sheets barely wavered.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "I mean it, Benny. I'm really sorry. I just—"

I gulped hard as I faltered. Tears brimmed in my eyes.

"I'm dying, Gina. Say it."

"I don't want to say it, Benny."

"You have to." He turned to face me, earnest concern on his face. Not for himself—his was concern for me.

I began to really cry and managed to croak out, "You're...dying."

He sat up and hugged me to him, comforting me. I didn't care if anyone saw us. I didn't care if it was unprofessional. I just wanted to hug him and stay that way forever. Benny was dying and I hated the fact. I hated that he was so young, so talented. I hated the unfairness. And most of all, I hated the fact that there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do.

I sat there holding him, never wanting to let go. But after a while, Benny did let me go. His lips curled with a faintly mischievous expression, showing his dimples.

"You know," he began, "There is one thing you could do to make me feel better..."

I faked anger through my tears. "Benny..."

Now it was his turn to play the innocent. "What?"

"I thought we settled this."

He turned away, and I saw it. For one split second, I saw the fear. Then it vanished. He coughed for a full minute. I repeatedly smacked him on the back to help him clear it.

After he stopped, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Benny, I know you're afraid. It's okay to be afraid."

"I'm not."

"Not even a little? C'mon Benny, you always want me to be honest with you. How about reciprocating a little, huh?"

He looked up at me and smiled again with uncertainty written all over his face. "Okay, maybe a little. But deep down, I know it's gonna be okay." He paused to catch his breath and looked at me again.

"Please?"

I sighed again. But there was something different about his usual request today. Something compelled me, pushing me forward. Benny responded, closing his eyes and leaning towards me. My lips met his, and my arms came up to hug him to me. He opened his mouth slightly, and my tongue, without my resistance, pushed into his willing mouth. Our tongues intertwined and lingered. Benny wrapped his arms around me and stroked my back as I was doing to his.

Our kiss seemed an eternity. An eternity of a little piece of heaven. The world stopped. Nothing else existed, except for us kissing. It was, without any question, the most passionate, loving kiss I had ever received in my twenty-nine years.

Reluctantly, I broke our embrace and looked at Benny. His eyes stayed closed as he remained completely motionless, a smile of bliss on his pale face.

I waited and he opened his eyes after a moment or two. "I love you, Gina."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this. Benny loved me. And I was absolutely positive that this was not some schoolboy crush.

I sat motionless, and he smiled even more broadly. "It's okay. I know you don't love me, Gina," he said softly, "but I do love you."

I jumped up and my box of supplies tumbled to the floor. I gasped and fell to my knees to hurriedly pick them up. "I... I have to go, Benny."

I finished gathering up the last handful and threw it in. I looked up at Benny and froze, like a rabbit in a panic.

He gazed down at me, the sunlight flowing through his window, backlighting him like an angel. "I'll always love you, Gina."

Benny lay back on the bed and sighed. I got up and slowly moved to the bed. I looked down to see the serene expression on his face.

"You need to rest, Benny. I'll send Louise up to do your therapy later, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." I turned to walk out, but stopped when Benny quietly said, "No, you won't. Goodbye, Gina." I stood rock still and repeated without looking back, "I'll see you tomorrow."

I rushed out of the room as fast as I could manage. I went through the motions of doing my job for the rest of the day. All I could think about was that kiss. Finally, my shift was over and I rushed home to sit in the dark the entire evening, crying until I fell asleep on the sofa.

The next morning I went in puffy eyes and all and immediately headed to Benny's room. The housekeeping woman—Betty, I think her name was, oh so carefully pulled Benny's drawings off the wall. She heard me and turned around, sadness in her eyes.

We stood like there like we were waiting for a bus or something. Betty finally said, "He's gone."

"I know."

"He told the nurse he wanted you to have these."

She handed me his drawings of me. I mumbled a 'thank you' and walked out of the room. I made my way to the bathroom and broke down.

That was five years ago. I've lost patients since then, including children, but no one has ever affected me the way Benny did. I loved him. I miss him. I still occasionally pull out those drawings and spend hours looking at them. And when I do, I can feel him put his arm around me and whisper. "It's all right. I love you, Gina."

And I always whisper back, "I love you, too, Benny."

Copyright © 2004 Joseph Arechavala

About the Author
Joseph Arechavala is a semi-happily married father of two boys living in NJ, and dreaming of fame and fortune as a writer—or at least, winning the lottery. He is a member of WVU and hangs out in the Trail Mix and Flash Fiction groups.