I closed the Bible with tears in my eyes, unable to finish the psalm.
Somehow I knew she’d underlined it for me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said numbly, staring into the dim light of my bedroom lamp. My mom and I were sitting on my bed. It was coming up on the end of January, the most difficult month of my life, and I knew that in February things would only get worse.
“I know this is hard for you,” she murmured, “but there’s nothing you can do.”
“I don’t mean about Jamie being sick—I know there’s nothing I can do about that. I mean about Jamie and me.”
My mother looked at me sympathetically. She was worried about Jamie, but she was also worried about me. I went on.
“It’s hard for me to talk to her. All I can do when I look at her is think about the day when I won’t be able to. So I spend all my time at school thinking about her, wishing I could see her right then, but when I get to her house, I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can say to make her feel better.”
“Then what should I do?”
She looked at me sadly and put her arm around my shoulder. “You really love her, don’t you,” she said.
“With all my heart.”
She looked as sad as I’d ever seen her. “What’s your heart telling you to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe,” she said gently, “you’re trying too hard to hear it.”
The next day I was better with Jamie, though not much. Before I’d arrived, I’d told myself that I wouldn’t say anything that might get her down—that I’d try to talk to her like I had before—and that’s exactly how it went. I sat myself on her couch and told her about some of my friends and what they were doing; I caught her up on the success of the basketball team. I told her that I still hadn’t heard from UNC, but that I was hopeful I’d know within the next few weeks. I told her I was looking forward to graduation. I spoke as though she’d be back to school the following week, and I knew I sounded nervous the entire time. Jamie smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, asking questions every now and then. But I think we both knew by the time I finished talking that it was the last time I would do it. It didn’t feel right to either of us.
My heart was telling me exactly the same thing.
I turned to the Bible again, in the hope that it would guide me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked a couple of days later.
By now Jamie had lost more weight. Her skin was beginning to take on a slightly grayish tint, and the bones in her hands were starting to show through her skin. Again I saw bruises. We were inside her house in the living room; the cold was too much for her to bear.
Despite all this, she still looked beautiful.
“I’m doing okay,” she said, smiling valiantly. “The doctors have given me some medicine for the pain, and it seems to help a little.”
I’d been coming by every day. Time seemed to be slowing down and speeding up at exactly the same time.
“Can I get anything for you?”
“No, thank you, I’m doing fine.”
I looked around the room, then back at her.
“I’ve been reading the Bible,” I finally said.
“You have?” Her face lit up, reminding me of the angel I’d seen in the play. I couldn’t believe that only six weeks had gone by.
“I wanted you to know.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I read the book of Job last night,” I said, “where God stuck it to Job to test his faith.”
She smiled and reached out to pat my arm, her hand soft on my skin. It felt nice. “You should read something else. That’s not about God in one of his better moments.”
“Why would he have done that to him?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Do you ever feel like Job?”
She smiled, a little twinkle in her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“But you haven’t lost your faith?”
“No.” I knew she hadn’t, but I think I was losing mine.
“Is it because you think you might get better?”
“No,” she said, “it’s because it’s the only thing I have left.”
After that, we started reading the Bible together. It somehow seemed like the right thing to do, but my heart was nonetheless telling me that there still might be something more.
At night I lay awake, wondering about it.
Reading the Bible gave us something to focus on, and all of a sudden everything started to get better between us, maybe because I wasn’t as worried about doing something to offend her. What could be more right than reading the Bible? Though I didn’t know nearly as much as she did about it, I think she appreciated the gesture, and occasionally when we read, she’d put her hand on my knee and simply listen as my voice filled the room.
Other times I’d be sitting beside her on the couch, looking at the Bible and watching Jamie out of the corner of my eye at the same time, and we’d come across a passage or a psalm, maybe even a proverb, and I’d ask her what she thought about it. She always had an answer, and I’d nod, thinking about it. Sometimes she asked me what I thought, and I did my best, too, though there were moments when I was bluffing and I was sure that she could tell. “Is that what it really means to you?” she’d ask, and I’d rub my chin and think about it before trying again. Sometimes, though, it was her fault when I couldn’t concentrate, what with that hand on my knee and all.