Out my window, I see the lights of downtown. Reunion Tower is all lit up again, with its flashing red and blue and white lights. Why doesn’t it flash all the time? Why only at night? The building with the X’s is all blue again, not flashing. I wish it flashed like the Tower did. Then there’s the big building that houses the circus when it comes. But it’s so short and squatty, I can’t see it from here. Too bad we don’t have one big building that’s interesting to look at—no parks down there, no museums. Dallas really should at least have a museum downtown. It’d sure be a heck of a lot more interesting than this room. Sitting here day in, day out, day in, day out, day here, day there, day coming, day gone. Lots of sitting. The ceiling has about three thousand, four hundred and fifty seven tiles. I counted them. The wallpaper in here is from the eighties. The nurse told me. I asked. She looks like she’s from the eighties too, with her giant poof of hair and her scary lipstick. No person should wear bright pink lipstick. It’s scary. But she’s so nice, and she always brings me those little Famous Amos cookies…I’d take scary pink lipstick any day if I get Famous Amos. She even knitted me a wool hat for Christmas. My head’s always cold anyway. The wool feels nice on my skin. I wish I could wear it outside, instead of just around the hospital. I wish more people could see my hat that Miss Judy made me. I’m proud of my hat. Miss Judy says she’s proud of me. “You’re so strong,” she says. I don’t know what she means. There’s a football player in the room down the hall, with big muscles. He’s strong. Sometimes I’ll stop in and say hi. “Where’s your hat?” I ask him. “Isn’t your head cold too?” But he just stares at me, like I’ve said something wrong. Miss Judy tells me not worry about him, so I don’t. I go back to worrying about more important things, like why Reunion Tower only flashes its lights at night, and why Dallas has no museums. And why I haven’t left this building in days. Sitting here, day in, day out, day here, day there, day coming, day gone.

I figure I’ll try again. I walk down the hall to his room, determined. Today, I’ll find out what his name is, I tell myself. Today, maybe he’ll talk back. When I get to his room, I knock. I don’t hear anything. Should I come back? I push the door open anyway. He’s awake, sitting up in his bed, staring at his cell phone. What can be so fascinating about a little black rectangle? I walk over to the side of his bed and stare with him. He doesn’t notice me; he’s too intent on watching his little black rectangle. He’s watching some sort of football game, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. I see someone get tackled on the small screen. But that someone doesn’t get up like normal football players do—he stays on the ground, not moving. “Ow,” I say, “That has to hurt.” He jumps like I’ve crawled out from under his bed in a scary Halloween costume. I didn’t notice how shiny his eyes were. Were they that shiny when I came in? “What are you doing?” he yells, fumbling with the rectangle, trying to hide it. He blinks away the shininess, still fumbling. “I came to know what your name is,” I tell him. He stares at me, like he had stared at his telephone. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to say Matt or Mark or Jimmy. “It’s Luke,” he tells me. He seems unsure. “Do you not know your own name?” I ask. He smiles, and doesn’t look quite so panicked. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Luke.”

I start visiting him more and more. I ask new questions every day, like “What’s your favorite animal?” and “Do you like Famous Amos cookies? I know where to get them.” Then one day I ask about the video. “What were you watching that one day, when that guy got tackled by that other guy?” His goofy smile I have started to get used to turns into a frown real fast. “That guy that got tackled? That was me. That’s why I’m here.” It was my turn to stare at him. Then the questions started pouring out. Miss Judy says I ask too many questions, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. “Weren’t you wearing a helmet? Don’t you wear other protective stuff? Why’d he hit you so hard? Did you make him angry? Did you steal his Hot Wheels or something?” He waves his hands around, and my questions stop. “It was a bad play. I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, and he was coming way faster than I thought. He took me down, and I fell wrong. Well, I fell on my leg wrong.” I watch his eyes glance down, and mine follow. There’s a giant white blanket-looking thing wrapped around his leg. It doesn’t look right. I don’t like it. I just stand and stare. What can I say? I don’t know. He watches me while I watch him. I hope everything is a bad dream. I get bad dreams sometimes. This isn’t one of them. I back away from the bed slowly. “Jenna, I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” My back hits the door. I throw it open, still looking at the white thing eating Luke’s leg. I run smack into Miss Judy, who is standing in the hallway. “What’s going on here? Jenna? You look terrified.” I stare at the white thing until I can’t see it anymore, Miss Judy dragging me back to my room the whole way.

I don’t visit him for days. I have no idea how many days it was that I don’t visit. I sit up staring at the downtown lights, knowing that I’m sick of them, but still watch them anyway. Miss Judy convinces me that I need to apologize. “People don’t stare at you,” she tells me. “You shouldn’t have stared at him. And you certainly shouldn’t have run away.” I walk down the hallway as slowly as possible. I imagine I am a turtle, walking down that hallway. But turtles are so small, so I almost get run over when Luke rolls out of his room in a wheelchair. “Hi,” I say. My voice sounds funny. I’m still afraid he won’t talk to me—that we’ll be back to where we were before I walked into his room, with him watching that video. He smiles though. So I smile back. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, still smiling. “I’m going home today. I’d hoped you would come to see me off.” My stomach kicks around. He’s leaving? “You’re leaving?” I say, the smile on my face absolutely gone. “The doctor told me I was clear to go home. I’m out for the season, but I can go home.” Where to stare? I ask myself. I settle for the floor. It seems the most logical place. Then I get the floor all wet, with the saltwater that trickles down my face and drops off my nose. “I’ll come back and visit!” he says when he sees me smearing my tears around the floor with my shoe. I don’t say anything. I’m too interested in the floor to look at his face. “Jenna. I’ll be back.” And with that, he squeezes my hand, and rolls away down the hall.

He kept his word. He did come back and visit. Even though it took him three months to do it. But I can’t blame him—he’d had a broken leg. He drives up to the curb in a shiny black sports car, and I just have to smile. It’s taken weeks to convince Miss Judy to let me go, and even longer for Miss Judy to convince my doctor. But here I am, standing on the curb, going on my very first date. Actually, I probably shouldn’t even call it that. But it makes me smile to think it was a real date. I had even asked Luke if I could wear my hat Miss Judy gave me. He told me, “absolutely.” My stomach kicks around again, but in a good way this time. Luke told me we’re going to dinner, and then somewhere else after for a surprise. I don’t remember where he said we were eating, or what in the world the surprise could be. I don’t really care. Miss Judy hugs me, whispers, “Be good. Have fun,” in my ear, and we’re off. Driving through the streets of downtown, I see things I had never known about, and never seen before. I see a massive park on my left, and unknown buildings on my right. There are more bright lights than I have ever seen out my window. Luke pulls into the parking lot of Spaghetti Warehouse, and I just about cry from joy. Italian is my favorite, and the hospital cafeteria doesn’t know how to make a decent tomato sauce at all. Luke orders almost the entire menu. We leave out the seafood— neither of us are big fans. Our waiter, Laura, keeps coming from the kitchen with more food than I’ve ever seen at one time. I like her. She smiles at us every time she comes to the table, and brings me the best spaghetti and meatballs I’ve had in a while. No, the best I’ve had ever. Stuffed, and feeling like oversized teddy bears, we climb back into his car. “Ready to be surprised?” he asks. I just nod and smile. Who wouldn’t be ready for a surprise? Well, I guess that’s kind of me. I’ve never been ready for surprises.

We drive through the streets of downtown, laughing as I try to find a decent radio station, and only come across Luke’s pre-saved Pop and Country. I’m almost nervous about the surprise he has planned—I’ve always hated surprises. From that first day with the doctor up until now, I’ve absolutely hated them. But I know Luke’s surprise won’t be anything like the previous surprises I’ve gotten. He pulls into the parking lot of a building I’ve never seen before. I couldn’t have seen it from my window—the hospital is facing the wrong way. But this building is a sight. It fills my want for “one big building that’s interesting to look at,” and that makes me smile. Again. For the millionth time tonight. We pull into the parking lot, and Luke looks at me. “I wanted you to know there was a museum downtown, and I wanted you to see it. Miss Judy told me you’ve always wanted to see one. So here we are.”

I thought about Luke for a long time after that date. I thought about how I had never had as close a friend as he was to me. I thought about how we first started talking—me barging into his room, unannounced. I thought about how he had left, but promised to come back. I thought about how he did come back. And now I think about what my doctor and Miss Judy told me a few days ago. How my “state of health is deteriorating,” and how I can’t leave the hospital. How I can’t have any visitors. How I can’t see Luke. I didn’t take it well. Cut off from my best and closest friend? Of course I didn’t take it well. Day in and day out I sat in my room. FBC blood tests are run (which stands for Full Blood Count, according to Miss Judy), and bone marrow samples are taken. I can’t see Luke. The doctor is met with and talked to about my treatments, and notes are furiously scribbled. I can’t see Luke. The hospital grows gradually colder, and some days I can’t even walk to the cafeteria alone. I can’t see Luke. Everything I need starts being brought to me by Miss Judy or some other nurse, because I can’t walk anywhere by myself. I can’t see Luke. I can be visited by Miss Judy, my doctor, and any other nurse in the entire hospital, but they still won’t let me see Luke. It’s been months since our outing. And I haven’t seen him. Haven’t seen him, haven’t heard from him—nothing. Miss Judy tells me not to focus on his absence, but what else can I focus on? I’ve already counted ceiling tiles, already asked about the crusty, peeling wallpaper. So I sit here day in, day out, waiting for the day that they don’t need any more samples, don’t need to take any more tests. And I wait for the day I can see him. The day Luke comes back again.

For once, I can’t think of a question to ask. Nothing new sparks an interest—everything is the same as it’s always been. The doctor and the nurses, they’re the ones asking all the questions now—they’re the ones who need answers. Me, I just sit back, waiting for the answer to my one question I’ve been asking every day for what seems like months. When can I see Luke? When can I see my best friend?