Me And Earl And The Dying Girl Part 3

How did those get there?!

MOM.

Let me ask you-do you actually like looking at those? They look so fake.

GREG.

You know what this is? They, uh, have these new pop-up ads on Facebook, and they're basically just p.o.r.nthey just appear randomly sometimes- MOM.

Real b.r.e.a.s.t.s do not look like water balloons.

GREG.

It's an ad.

MOM.

Greg, I'm not stupid.

So it turns out leukemia is cancer of the blood cells. It's the most common kind of cancer that teenagers get, although the specific kind Rachel had-acute myelogenous leukemia-is not the normal kind for teens. "Acute" means that the leukemia basically came out of nowhere and is growing really quickly, and "myelogenous" has to do with bone marrow. Essentially, Rachel's blood and bone marrow were being invaded by aggressive, fast-moving cancer cells. I was picturing her in my mind, with her big teeth and frizzy hair, under this invisible microscopic attack, with all these screwed-up things floating around in her veins. Now I actually was getting really upset. But instead of crying, I sort of wanted to throw up.

GREG.

Does everyone know about this?

MOM.

I think Rachel's family is keeping it pretty secret, for now.

GREG.

alarmed So am I not supposed to know about it?

MOM.

acting a little weird No, honey. It's fine if you know about it.

GREG.

But why?

MOM.

Well, I was talking to Denise. And, you know, we decided that you were someone who could make Rachel feel better.

starting to nag Rachel can really use a friend, honey.

GREG.

OK.

MOM.

She can really use someone to make her laugh.

GREG.

OK OK.

MOM.

And I just think, if you spend some time- GREG.

OK OK Jesus Christ.

Mom gives Greg a sad and knowing look.

MOM.

It's OK to be upset.

I sat there, paralyzed by the problem of what to say. What can you possibly say to a dying person? Who might not even know that you know that they're dying? I made a list of opening lines, and none of them seemed like they would be any good.

Opening line: Hey, this is Greg. You want to hang out?

Probable response: Rachel: Why do you want to hang out with me all of a sudden?

Greg: Because we don't have that much time left, to hang out.

Rachel: So, you just want to hang out with me because I'm dying.

Greg: I just want to get in some Rachel time! You know! While I still can.

Rachel: This is probably the most insensitive conversation I have ever had with anyone.

Greg: Do-over time.

Opening line: Hey, this is Greg. I heard about your leukemia, and I'm calling to make you feel better.

Probable response: Rachel: Why would you calling make me feel better?

Greg: Because! Uh. I dunno!

Rachel: You're just reminding me of all those times you never wanted to hang out with me.

Greg: Hoo boy.

Rachel: Right now, you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my last days of existence. That's what you're doing.

Greg: Rachel: I have just a few more days on this earth, and you're smearing your barf on those days.

Greg: f.u.c.k, let me try this again.

Opening line: Hey, this is Greg. You, me, and some pasta makes three.

Probable response: Rachel: Huh?

Greg: I'm taking you out on a date. Greg style.

Rachel: What?

Greg: Listen to me. Our remaining days with each other are few, and precious. Let's make up for lost time. Let's be together.

Rachel: Oh my G.o.d, that's so romantic.

Greg: Greg: d.a.m.n it.

There just wasn't a good way to do it. Mom was asking me to resume a friends.h.i.+p that had no honest foundation and ended on screamingly awkward terms. How do you do that? You can't.

"h.e.l.lo? Who is this?" said Rachel's mom over the phone. She sounded aggressive and was kind of barking like a dog. This was standard behavior for Mrs. Kushner.

"Uh, hi, this is Greg," I said. Then for some reason, instead of asking for Rachel's number, I said, "How are you doing?"

"Gre-e-e-eg," oozed Mrs. Kushner. "I'm fi-i-i-ine." Boom. In an instant, her tone had changed completely. This was a side of her I had never seen, nor had I ever hoped to see it.

"That's great," I said.

"Greg, how are you-u-u-u." She was now using a voice that women usually reserve for cats.

"Uh, good," I said.

"And how is schoo-o-o-o-ool."

"Just trying to get it over with," I said, then immediately realized what a colossally stupid thing that was to say to someone whose daughter had cancer, and I almost hung up. But then she said: "Greg, you're so funny. You've always been such a funny kid."

It sounded like she meant it, but she wasn't laughing at all. This was getting even weirder than I had feared.

"I was calling to maybe get Rachel's number," I said.

"She. Would. Love. To hear from you."

"Yup," I agreed.

"She's in her room right now, just waiting around."

I had no idea what to make of that sentence. In her room, just waiting around. Waiting for me? Or for death? My G.o.d, that's bleak. I tried to put a positive spin on it.

"Livin' it up," I said.

This was the second brain-punchingly insensitive thing I had said in about thirty seconds, and again I considered closing my cell phone and eating it.

But: "Greg, you have such a good sense of humor," Mrs. Kushner informed me. "Never let them take that away from you, all right? Always keep your sense of humor."

"'Them'?" I said, alarmed.

"People," Mrs. Kushner said. "The whole world."

"Huh," I said.

"The world tries to just beat you down, Greg," announced Mrs. Kushner. "They just want to crush the life out of you." I had no response to this, and then she said, "I don't even know what I'm saying."

Mrs. Kushner had lost it. It was time to ride the wave or drown in a sea of crazy.

"Hallelujah," I said. "Preach."

"Preach," she crowed. She actually cackled. "Greg!"

"Mrs. Kushner!"

"You can call me Denise," she said, terrifyingly.

"Awesome," I said.

"Here's Rachel's number," said Denise, and gave it to me, and thank G.o.d, that was that. It almost made me relieved to talk to my sort-of-kinda-not-really ex-girlfriend about her imminent death.

"Hi, this is Rachel."

"Hey, this is Greg."

"Hi."

"Yo."

"I called the doctor and he said you needed a prescription of Greg-acil."

"What's that."

"That's me."