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A Parting Gift

What happens when an unlikely friendship galvanizes two people to chase their dreams?

By Alexis DentPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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A Parting Gift
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Shelly sat at the kitchen table and reached for her daily lifeline. While for most folks that would be a strong cup of coffee, Shelly relied on a different tool each morning: the small black notebook she took everywhere. Whether she was referencing her schedule for the day or journaling about her wildest dreams, this notebook had everything she needed to go out and face the world each day.

Today in particular Shelly needed the comfort afforded to her by her trusty notebook. As she looked down on her to-do list, she was confronted with the reality that she’d have to say goodbye to someone she really cared about today.

His name was Steve Auckman, and he was 29 and unmarried — just like Shelly. But unlike Shelly, Steve lived with a mysterious degenerative disease that rapidly decreased his quality of life from that of a sprightly young man to that of someone thrice his age. Shelly was matched with Steve about six months ago through a program that pairs volunteers with people facing terminal illness, and never did she think her desire to be a good samaritan would prove so impactful.

As Shelly began packing her bag and preparing for the day, she thought back to the first day she met Steve. He felt dejected that a program like this even existed, but he reluctantly joined at the encouragement of his parents — who thought Steve needed to try and gain some sense of normalcy back into his life. He lived a typical life until the age of 27. College. Recreational sports. Dating. Socializing. But that all changed when he became ill-stricken and the world started viewing him differently.

“It’s tiring when everyone asks the same questions,” Steve explained to Shelly on that first day. “Questions that I’d like answered as well. Questions that make it clear that everyone sees me as different. Questions that make me feel… alone.”

That response has stuck with Shelly since their introductory meeting, and over the past few months they developed quite a bond. While they’d initially engage in rather mundane chatter and Shelly would spend a few hours a week helping Steve with puzzles, that all changed a few weeks in when they bonded over their mutual love for journaling.

Steve kept a dream journal, and on a bookshelf in his living room existed an array of beautiful Moleskine journals that were color coded with years of his thoughts. Sometimes Steve would have Shelly pick an old journal, turn to a random page, and read the journal. They’d then postulate over what the dream meant. Sometimes they’d be silly. Sometimes they’d be serious. But they always had fun.

Soon they’d developed a real friendship, with Shelly stopping by frequently to spend time with Steve, even just for a few moments on her way home from work. She’d tell him about her aspirations to finally pursue a Bachelor’s degree so she could become a special education teacher — something she’d always wanted to do but didn’t have the money for after growing up in poverty. He’d tell her about his adventures in cryptocurrency or talk about his aspirations to run a marathon on all seven continents. But he’d never talk about his illness. Never. Until last week.

As Shelly locked her apartment door and headed to Steve’s, she continued thinking about this goodbye. The goodbye she told him she’d be dreading since he broke the news. The goodbye she simply didn’t want to have to say today. The goodbye that she didn’t want to risk being final.

When Steve mentioned he’d be heading to Brazil for an experimental stem cell therapy treatment, she was optimistic. She regularly journaled about her dreams for him to experience a miracle. For scientists to learn more about this enigmatic illness. For her to be able to cheer Steve on at races on all seven continents. Okay, maybe not Antartica, she joked to herself with a chuckle as she headed to her car. But definitely all the other continents.

No one knows if she will get that chance though, Shelly realized as the days droned on throughout the past week. Steve’s condition had been causing quicker degeneration than ever before and he was losing all autonomy. This was his last ditch effort to make his dreams come true, and Steve was willing to risk everything for it. So while Shelly was sad to lose her friend and had fears about an experimental treatment in another country, she realized that — for a man who created a library of every dream he has ever had — there is nothing more worth fighting for. That gave her some semblance of peace as she drove to wish Steve well on his journey to his dream.

~~~~~

As Shelly reached the 11th floor and the elevator doors opened, she took a deep breath. She stepped out and gained her composure in the hallway for a few moments, then went up to the familiar door at apartment 1107 and began knocking.

No answer.

No eager Steve, yelling that she could walk in.

Nothing.

Silence.

Shelly continued to knock voraciously, eager to see the kind soul who had become her friend over the past six months.

“He’s gone,” Shelly heard a woman say from down the hall.

She turned and looked at where the voice was coming from. It was a neighbor that Shelly had seen before but with whom she had never spoken.

“Steve. He’s gone,” the woman said again while peeking her head out of a door a few apartments down. “But he said he left you something on his countertop and asked me to tell you that the door is unlocked.”

Shelly gave the woman a gentle smile and a nod, and the woman retreated back into her apartment. Heartbroken at her core but grateful that Steve saved her the mourning associated with such an ambiguous goodbye, Shelly entered the apartment formerly occupied by Steve.

She saw it as soon as she walked in. Lying on the kitchen counter was a beautiful new Moleskin. Money was tight and she has been saving all her extra money for years in the hope of finally starting her degree at the state university in town. Consequently, her trusty little black book up until this point had just been a rotation of cheap journals from the discount store in her neighborhood.

Shelly teared up. This was so much nicer than the tattered notebook she’d been using for the past year, and it was a parting gift so seemingly simple yet so metaphoric that better days were up ahead. Not just for her, but for Steve as well.

She held the notebook in her hands; it felt like promise. And, she was certain, its fresh pages would smell like promise too. Eager to embrace the scent of fresh pages ready and waiting to be nurtured with lists and hopes and dreams, Shelly grabbed the elastic closure and opened the notebook.

The empty pages cascaded in front of her eyes and opened to a page that had already been written on. She recognized Steve’s handwriting, and could no longer fight back tears. Steve had been struggling to write for the last few weeks, so this was undoubtedly quite an endeavor he had undertaken to surprise her. Shelly began to weep as she faced the reality that Steve was gone — and that she may never see him again.

December 15 was the date at the top of the page. My college application deadline, she thought to herself. He remembered.

Shelly wiped the tears from her eyes so she could clearly read Steve’s note. Figuring it was probably a supportive message wishing her well with school, Shelly took a deep breath and read what was on the page.

I hope we cross paths again one of these days. In fact, I am confident we will. But no matter what happens, I want you to know that you changed my life. When everyone counted me out, I could count on you.

We all need a good friend. Thank you for being mine.

By the time Shelly finished reading Steve’s farewell note she was in tears again. This time fully weeping, particularly once she noticed what was on the opposing page. Delicately taped was a personal check — and all of a sudden Shelly was one step closer to her big dream, too. Issued from Steve’s bank account, addressed to the local university, and signed by Steve himself for $20,000. On the memo line it said, “for Shelly Hartbury’s tuition.”

happiness
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About the Creator

Alexis Dent

Author. Founder of XOJuliet.com. Using this platform to further practice my craft.

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