The date was April second; April the second was the day her life changed. It was the day my life changed. She found out she had Leukemia. And I knew we had very little time.
Carboxylic acid and its derivatives appeared in my nightmares. I hated ketones, hydrocarbons, benzene and alcohol derivatives.
Yet the very first class of my junior year in high school (I wasn’t condoned) was Chemistry practical. The teacher stood by the door as I walked in.
“Name?” She asked.
“James.”
“James what?”
“Bond.”
“Stop kidding. Give me your last name.” She gave me an annoyed look.
Why can’t these people understand? “Ma’am, my name is James Bond and it should be at the second or third on the list.”
It took her a moment to check off through the attendance list.
“You see that girl with blonde hair? She’ll be your lab partner for the rest of the year. No substitutions. No swaps.”
Jeez! Now I get a girl. I sulked off to meet my lab partner for the rest of the year; no substitutions or swaps.
“Hi, seems you’re my lab partner for the rest of the year, no substitutions or swaps?” I said. “My name’s Bond. James Bond.”
She nodded in disbelief. “Your name’s James Bond?”
“Yes. My parents are huge James Bond fans and my father’s surname just so happens to be Bond.”
“That’s interesting”, she laughed, “Pleased to meet you James, I am Emma Craig.”
“Well Emma if you ever need my help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I assured her.
Emma was gorgeous. We were merely five minutes into our experiment and I couldn’t help noticing her beautiful long blonde hair. “Emma.” I said.
“What?”
“Umm. Well, if it counts, I like your hair long.” I hoped I hadn’t freaked her out. I had only known her for five minutes and was already giving her creepy compliments. She smiled and returned to her lab report. I almost acted like 007. James, I told myself, you can never approach a girl like that. It wasn’t true. Half an hour later, the bell rang and while we were packing, she leaned a step closer. Her hair happened to brush against my cheek. She whispered something in my ear and hurried off to the next class. It was a green signal.
Next morning I couldn’t get to class quicker. Not for organic chemistry, but for Emma—my lab partner. She walked in with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail neatly tied by a ribbon; Emma, my non-substitutable lab partner. Who’d be a fool to swap her anyways? And this little ritual went on for months. Occasionally I’d drop my eraser or sharpener towards her side.
She would bend to retrieve it and I never missed her hair hanging loose. While she passed me the thing, I’d deliberately touch her hand—so cautiously, so softly that perhaps she had grown suspicious already. Only if she too dropped her sharpener someday. That never happened.
But she did invite me over to her house for dinner once, and we studied in her room afterwards. It then became a routine. Friendship took other shapes, our academic talks turned into personal chit-chat. Instead of chemistry, we started studying each other. She wasn’t just my lab-partner, well not anymore. Organic chemistry had led to love-chemistry.
One evening she introduced me to a song on her playlist; said it would be our song. Every time we heard it, she said, we would think of each other. It seemed like her appeal, for a kiss perhaps. I mean she was getting too romantic all of a sudden. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. What if she had thought me only as a friend? One wrong move James, and the bond will be gone.
But a pair like ours couldn’t be ‘just friends’. A day was sure to come. She loved me, I knew.
“Emma.” I called over to her.
“Yes?”
“Want to hear a secret?”
She nodded, turning around in her desk chair to face me. I advanced for her ears; no words produced. She just kept still, as if she knew and allowed me to make the move. The moment was one of a kind; honestly.
And then it happened. My first kiss. Our first kiss.
April came and went without a glitch. The next day I got to class, Emma was not in her seat. After school, I stopped by her house and rang the bell. She answered the door, called me up to her room and made me sit down.
“James, I went to the doctor today.” ...
The doctor had found something strange in her blood work. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, blood cancer, she said.
“Yes James. There is nothing I can do about it. The good news however is I’ve still got 85% chance!” Her optimism. I just loved it.
“Are you afraid?” I asked.
“A little. Yes. Are you?”
She knew my answer. My world had just lost its balance.
As days rolled along, Emma’s hair began to fall out. It started in small patches that she could easily hide by combing her hair differently. But soon the bald patches became too noticeable and she was instructed to get her head shaved. When I caught up with her the next day, her beautiful locks and silky curls were gone. “Do you want me to drive you home?” I asked.
The car ride was silent. When we got back to her house, she walked inside and her mother took one look at Emma’s nearly bald head and hugged her. They held together like statues, until Emma finally broke into tears. It was the last time I ever saw my girl cry.
The next day when Emma and I walked into school, jaws dropped.
People gradually figured what was going on with her. May came around; prom fever was in the air. Everybody was buzzing. I asked Emma to prom. She was mine. I picked her up at her house. She came down the stairs in a beautiful cornflower blue silk gown. We danced. We talked. We ate. We had a good time, together.
The last song of the night was ours. She was in my arms. We looked at each other and I whispered in her ear, as she had in mine. The words were different this time. “I love you,” I said. She looked up at me, smiled and rested her head back on my chest. It was the best day of my life. Yet deep within, my heart sobbed. If only I could buy her some more time. If only I could force the clock to stop.
But time wasn’t on our side. That summer, her cancer took a turn for the worse. A 85% statistical probability did not turn the coin. Prayers failed; Gods did not understand mathematics. The doctors couldn’t get her into remission. She lay feebly upon her hospital bed covered in blankets up to neck. A tired version of the Emma I had known only months ago. While returning from the cafeteria below, I had overheard the doctor’s inevitable words. I walked to the bed in tears, sat down and kissed her head, hoping to see my Emma smile once again.
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