Blue Pollen

The heavy rain pouring from the darkened Heavens was louder than the thunder. The mild fog and the intensity of the rain were more blinding than the purple flashes of lightning– unless the bolts were in front of the cabin. I tapped on the windowsill, trying to match the sound of the rain. Even if trees surrounded us, the rain seemed to never stop despite the rainy weather going away. There were trees in my backyard, but not dense enough to be a forest. Sophia and I would go back there to eat the sandwiches we made before going there. After it rained hours ago, puddles collected upon the leaves would drop onto us. We called it the secondary shower. However, the cabin we were staying in was different. If the lightning struck the cabin, it might be set on fire because it was made by the world around it. Lightning can explode trees, but one spark can make a house go on fire. The woods were circling us into our personal heaven. A large pond took up half of our front yard, and the rocky dirt path was the only exit.

I looked at Sophia, who was sleeping on the couch, trying to save any energy she had left. Strands of her long brown hair covered her closed eyes like a veil of beauty. She was not smiling, but she was at peace. When we were teenagers, Sophia was diagnosed with a respiratory condition that weakened her lungs over time. Any illness would become life-threatening for her. Her parents confined her in solitude, purging the house's toxins and germs with bleach, Lysol, hand sanitizer, and anti-bacterial soap. There was a constant smell of hospital inside the house. I was one of only a few people allowed in the house because I was her childhood friend, and I lived on the same street, just a few places down. We used to go to school together, and her parents approved of me. I did my best to decontaminate myself by showering and wearing a new pair of clothes before going to her house.

Her parents didn’t know that we were in love.

Her feelings towards me began when she was fifteen, a few days before her diagnosis. We were crossing the road to a friend’s house after dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. The streets were mostly clear. There was a car far ahead of us, giving us time. Sophia was strangely quiet and had a coughing fit. My friends, Lenny, Elara, Bryce, and I all thought it was allergies until she fainted in the middle of the street. The car was coming closer and closer. She was still breathing, but her pulse was weak. Acknowledging that the vehicle may or may not stop and help us, I scooped her up, and we all hurried across the street. She was taken to the hospital. She was ‘fine,’ but her lungs were weakening. It was Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). Sophia didn't smoke; however, her grandfather had it during his life. She could still breathe independently, yet they would lose function faster than a healthy person. If she gets sick, she must be monitored closely because it gets difficult to breathe.

Sophia’s hospital room was small for one patient. The walls were white with the standard health items, and the floor matched the color of Squidward from Spongebob Squarepants– blue with brown and white specks all over. She was in this room for a few days before she was released. Monitors were hooked up to her, and I sat beside her with those movable chairs. The doctor didn’t complain that I took her chair. Around the evening of the second night of her stay, her parents left to go get food, aware I was in the room with her. She looked up at me with tired eyes. A breathing mask was over her mouth. Her oxygen level improved when she arrived– 80% to 86%.

“Callum,” she spoke with a croaky voice.

“Hm?” I responded. I wasn’t sure if she should be talking or not. The doctor didn’t say she couldn’t, but she had that mask on her.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For seeing me like this.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “It is okay. Everyone gets sick and needs medical attention now and then.”

“But I can’t go back to the girl a while ago.” Her eyes turned glossy. She sounded like she wanted to cry as well. “I know my parents would change my lifestyle. They always kept me away from school when I was sick. I hated being away from my friends.”

“Better than the ones that force their child to go school despite havin’ a fever.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I am not sure if my parents would let you see me as often anymore.”

“We live very close, Sophia. I am sure they wouldn’t mind. I will find ways to see you.”

“I don’t want to get both of us in trouble. Just try to get my parents’ permission to come over.” Her face flushed red. “I like you more as a friend, okay?”

My cheeks tingled, and I felt hot. To avoid assuming, I asked, “What are you trying to say?”

“I….love…you…”

My mouth dropped open, and I was speechless. The internal furnace cranked up to max. The whole room became a living room with a fireplace on a winter night. The hospital usually felt cold, but Sophia’s words warmed my heart. I initially thought she would live until her middle age– be with her for decades– until Sophia was diagnosed with colon cancer four months ago after she experienced unexplainable weight loss, change in bowel habits, and lower abdominal pain.

I wish everything would stop trying to kill her.

Doctors and parents tried everything, but the cancer was aggressive, and her lungs worsened. The cancer was too large for surgery to remove, so chemotherapy and medication were used to slow it down and ease her symptoms. She lost more weight, she grew weak, and she became sickly pale. Sophia saw her health wasn’t improving; she had enough.

Her dying wish was to spend time with me.

She didn’t want to stay cooped up in her house, yet she wanted a place with fewer germs. I recommended my father’s camp. We only go there once yearly during the summer and always clean it before leaving. We drove an hour to arrive here, and the camp was ten miles from the main road. By that time, it had started raining, making it all depressing at the start.

“Canvas,” I heard her soft, airy, weak voice calling behind me. I turned back to look at her. Her nostril breathing mask was slightly out of place, and she seemed sleepy. She sat up. She looked at the window and said, “I was hoping it was always sunny during the stay.”

“Yeah, uh, me too,” I replied casually. I walked to her, knelt down, and readjusted her mask. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can’t call for help in the middle of the trees.”

“Yes, I am sure,” she replied tiredly. Her eyes slowly blinked. She was in between going back to sleep or waking up.

“If anything goes wrong, I am still driving ten miles to dial the emergency number.”

Sophia shook her head. “No, let me enjoy this time–”

I interjected, “Mom told me to call them if things worsen.” Sophia couldn’t call for help when she was hacking her brains out, or she couldn’t breathe. The only time she could was when the flare-up started with mild symptoms. She still tried not to fuss about it, thinking it would pass. It always didn’t go that way, especially the incident during the night out with my friends.

“I know my body well; I know my condition keeps getting worse, and there is a gut feeling I know it won’t get better. I don’t want to die in a room I was kept in. I don’t want to die in hospice care. I prefer to die somewhere I dreamed of, in peace.” She breathed heavily as she spoke.

I gently brushed the strands of her hair out of her face. “Save your voice, Soph; you must save your breath.”

She asked softly, much quieter than before. “Do you still believe that I can be saved?”

“Yes,” I confidently nodded.

“I wished so too, but I see my final days, Canvas; however, if fate changes to let me live, I still wish to be with you. This may sound old, but I will still love you in death.”

A weary smile rose on my face. Sophia smiled back. She scooted away, inviting me to sit down on the couch with her. She asked, “Can you please share more of your digital drawings?”

Since I met her, Sophia has called me Canvas because of my interest in guitar and digital art. She told me my nickname in secret because she thought she would get made fun of or scolded for calling me that, but I think it was adorable. It was close to my actual name- Callum. I sometimes preferred Canvas over Callum myself.

I showed her my new illustrations from IBis Paint and Fire Alpaca that I saved on my phone. Most of my work was designed with charcoal and grayscale because I liked the texture and sharpness it gave when drawing fictional people. Sometimes I roughly sketched with a pencil, then drew over with a black pen and painted with color. Sophia admired both of those styles of mine. She smiled ear to ear whenever I sang her tunes from my guitar or re-created the rhythm from other songs.

Eventually, the rain finally let up, but it was night, so we stayed inside and went to bed. We slept in separate bedrooms in our cabin. Sophia thought that the one bedroom with the pet pictures was cute. My aunt was a fan of cats and dogs, so she took pictures of her pets and their offspring, posted them on the walls and shelves, and made stuffed animals. Sophia and her family used to have a Siberian forest cat, Frosting. Frosting was a good and quiet cat. With company, he hid. He got used to me from my frequent visits, and we would have meowing conversations. He died two years ago from an intestinal infection. The bed was twin-size, too small for our liking, so I stayed in the room with a deer’s head on the wall.

The sky was partly cloudy and windy when daylight arrived, blowing pollen. Pollen usually came around during summer, but it arrived early this year. It must have been the warm weather. The first thing I woke up to was Sophia playing in the pollen outside. Whenever I walked out in the warm fuzzy snow, my allergies made me sneeze and my eyes itch, but ironically, she did not seem bothered by it. She loved picking up pieces and petting them with her fingertips. She sat near the pond, not minding the damp grass from yesterday’s rain.

I walked up to her and hugged her. It did not take that long for my allergies to kick in. I tried my best not to scratch the heck out of my eyes. “Sophia, why are you playing with the pollen? Doesn’t that make you sneeze?”

She shook her head with a smile. She responded, “Pollen is so soft, and the reminder of spring, the awakening of warmth.”

“And the awakening of allergy season,” I said as my nose perked up before sneezing.

She chuckled. “Yeah.”

She looked at the pond. “It’s a beautiful place to hold a wedding here. I always wanted a wedding by a lake, but the pond is a good substitute.”

“Want me to simulate a wedding ceremony?” I asked her.

Sophia looked at me with an opportunistic smile. “Yeah!” She beamed.

Noon arrived. The sun shone through the partly cloudy skies, warming into the seventies– perfect weather. I stood by the pond, waiting for Sophia to get her ‘wedding dress.’ I offered to help her get changed, but she rejected it, telling me it was a surprise and she could do this herself. I still believed she could handle herself; I always worried her health would deteriorate rapidly. One minute, she would be fine; the next, she would be choking on her mucus or sick from cancer treatments.

The door flailed open like large wings, revealing something glorious to remember. Sophia was in a floral dress going down to her ankles with white and blue lilies popping out on her dress. A flower crown was placed on her head to replace the wedding veil. She excitedly hurried towards me. We held hands. The wind blew more pollen in our direction. I silently wished it was pink leaves from what I saw in anime or normal leaves, but they were still growing back.

I pretended to speak in a deeper voice to impersonate a priest. “Sophia Marianne Riker, do you take Callum as your wedded husband?”

“I do,” she said, trying her hardest not to giggle but failing.

The ‘priest’ turned his attention to me. I imagined him as an old man in priest robes standing beside us, but he would be standing on the pond like Jesus walking on water. “Callum Zehmeer, do you take Sophia as your wife?”

I paused. Sophia tilted her head, eager for me to say something. A big grin came across my face. I went back to my normal voice– “I do.” Sophia would push me into the pond next to us if I waited any longer.

“I hereby pronounce you as husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And this was our first kiss. The kiss was soft, sweet, and quick. My hands wrapped around Sophia’s waist as I held her up. She had enough energy to leap into my arms. It made the gust of wind blissfully warm. The kiss lasted no longer than ten seconds, although it felt like a minute. I would savor this forever. I had never kissed Sophia on the lips before to avoid saliva getting into her mouth, only on her hands, so she could wash it off. Her parents never saw us kissing. All three of us were protective of her. I was somewhat rebellious by sneaking in a kiss or two. At the pond, no one was holding us back or seeing us. We could relax a little but never get too carefree.

Sophia lets go, her smile still the wildest I've ever seen. “If my mom were here, she would kick your butt,” she teased.

“Kick her son-in-law? That’s not mother material,” I go, sharing the same mood.

The reception was just us. We stayed up until the waning moon was at its climax. We danced, spinning around and around, playing gentle music saved on my Spotify. Within the last hour, I played romantic tunes on my guitar.

The clouds were mostly gone for the next two days, letting the sunshine through, yet Sophia started to have coughing fits and wheezing. I kept her inside and nearby. She covered her mouth while holding her hand on her chest. She coughed into a napkin if she felt mucus coming out, which appeared to be crimson. I watched her, worried. Her legs shook while standing. Only her bed was an option for her.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think being the pollen all day triggered it. I sometimes get delayed reactions,” she explained with a nod.

“Allergies don’t make you cough up blood.”

She reluctantly paused, staring at me. Sophia sighed before saying, “It could be my disease… getting worse, like I said…”

My gut, brain, and heart ached otherwise. I sensed it was beyond allergies, yet Sophia was trying to tone down her symptoms, so as not to make her family worried about her, but we had every right to. A part of her could still be in denial that she would die soon, hoping one day, there would be a magical cure for her health; however, her hope was fleeting into acceptance as her days drew nearer. I, too, saw death was not in weeks but in days.

I was sadly correct.

She woke up close to midnight, unable to breathe despite her breathing mask. She was heavily gasping for air like she was choking. Her breaths sounded croaky and miserable. She was violently shaking with her eyes widening, panicking. I could read Sophia’s thoughts by the terrified expressions on her face: When will this end? Am I going to die like this?

“I’m going,” I notified her as I picked up my phone.

She placed her hands on my phone, pushing it down. She furiously and apprehensively shook her head, begging me not to head out. Even if her life was on the line, she still refused to call for help. I saw her skin slowly turning blue, matching the same pace as I became pale to her despair. I tried to max out what the oxygen mask could give her, but she still struggled to get in the air. I… love… you, she mouthed before she passed out, going limp on the bed, already looking lifeless. Her pulse was there but weak and fast.

I still dialed for her.

The clear skies with the sun shining were clouded by my brain, not even registering the loss. Sophia died around six in the morning; she was intubated and never woke up after passing out at the cabin. The autopsy confirmed that her cancer had spread into her lungs, heightening her COPD. She was twenty-three years old when she passed, three days before her twenty-fourth birthday.

Why are life’s cards so cruel to the kind and warm souls on Earth?

The funeral occurred on Saturday morning. I watched the clerks lower her casket into a dug hole, sealing her into a dark place close to her tombstone. Even in death, she is still trapped in this dark world. I still begged forgiveness from her parents for taking her, only for her not to come home. They didn’t blame me. Sophia was right– she knew she was dying and wanted to be with the one she romantically loved as if she had a long life ahead of her. She missed the days when she felt normal. She didn’t have to worry about her health and was freer. It was a blessing to her before everything spiraled at a young age.

It was her final wish.

I sat in front of her grave with my guitar in hand. Today was supposed to be Sophia’s birthday, and I still wanted to celebrate it. Birds chirped in the trees– no ravens or crows. The cemetery looked so peaceful during the day. No other funerals were happening. I played the same tunes on our wedding night. The pollen was still somewhat heavy, and there was no need for a jacket. My eyes were set on the strings of the guitar. Looking at her name on the tombstone was hard, not fully accepting that she was gone.

A hair of pollen softly landed on top of her grave. I stopped playing the guitar because the color of it was odd. It appeared blue, like the flower designs on Sophia’s dress on our simulated wedding. I touched it, feeling the softness that Sophia loved.

It could be just the flower it leaped off from. I tried to shrug it off, knowing this was my first time seeing blue pollen.

My sight focus expanded as the wind softly blew the pollen on the ground, creating an oblate heart around the grave. All of them were sky blue– Sophia’s soul flew around in the rays of sunshine. If she could talk in the wind, I would hear her whisper, “Keep playing, Canvas.” I continued playing my guitar. The wind stopped, leaving the heart intact. As I finished the tunes, I could hear the sound of a young girl laughing with joy in the echoes. No child was in sight to produce that noise, and it matched Sophia’s laughter. Why would there be laughter in a graveyard, a place of mourn?

“I love you, Sophia,” I said out loud, feeling like she was still here– her essence, along with the pieces of our final times together.

.