I always hoped I’d get a seat next to them—

 

After so many hours in that chair, you look for anything to make you smile.

Most days I came prepared with things to occupy my mind.

 

I carried a book of Kate Bush’s song lyrics, called How to Be Invisible, which had been nearly ruined once when I spilled an entire canteen of water in the bag I packed to take to the hospital.

 

But once every two weeks, a great friend who sat with me on those days, peeled open the warped cover, pulled apart sticky pages, and read to me until the drugs put me to sleep.

 

On days I went alone, I ate pieces of a pot brownie in front of the chemo nurses and watched 80’s New Wave music videos until my taste had changed, and it was over.

 

But on the days I had the energy to believe things were okay, and the bright sun shining through the window still meant today would be good, the way it used to—

 

I could look out across the big, blue sky from behind a glass on the third floor. Look out over all the clouds and trees; the way you look at something you love, but can’t always keep.

 

I looked for any sign to believe there was still goodness, which is how I began to hope for a seat near the butterfly window. They were just small stickers.

 

There were purple ones, and some blue. Sometimes they’d be stuck all over the nurse’s cart, which carried needles and pills, and the protective suit they wear during administration. 

 

Wherever I’d find them, I tried hard to believe they were a sign of good luck. Not luck for anything in particular. I never liked to hope too much for anything then.

 

That way, if it didn’t turn out, I would never have lost what I’d hoped for to begin with. But I did hope for a chair next to the butterfly window. And if I didn’t get it, I’d be okay.

 

It would have been the same day, next to the same trashcan full of vomit, tangled in the same lines that pumped the same poison, under the same heaviness that loomed over,   

 

But I always hoped to find them there-- my little blue and purple somethings to believe in.