MARY HAD BEEN SICK OF HOSPITAL WALLS
She complained about everything.
Hospital food.
Hospital gowns.
People asking whether she was tired every fifteen minutes.
Everyone treating her like she might break.
She wanted one normal afternoon.
Graduation was still months away.
Mary made me promise we would look for her dress.
“No dark depressing colors.”
“We haven’t even entered the store.”
“I already know what I don’t want.”
Ethan came with us.
He spent most of the trip pretending he would rather be anywhere else.
Mary tried on three dresses.
Then found the red one.
She came out of the fitting room—
and smiled.
Not the weak smile she gave nurses.
Not the brave smile she gave worried relatives.
Her real smile.
She turned once in front of the mirror.
“This one.”
Ethan laughed.
“You look like a fire alarm.”
Mary threw the price tag at him.
“You have no taste.”
We bought it.
ON THE WAY BACK TO WILLOWCREST MEDICAL CENTER, MARY ASKED ME TO STOP
There was a small garden beside the entrance.
Yellow daisies grew near the path.
Mary walked over.
Bent down.
Picked one.
“You probably aren’t supposed to do that.”
She grinned.
“Call security.”
Later, lying in her hospital bed—
she tucked the flower inside a book.
I had forgotten about it.
Until Ethan held that exact flower in front of me on graduation day.
My hands trembled.
“Where did you get this?”
Ethan looked down.
“Mary gave it to me.”
I stared.
“What?”
By then—
the laughter around us had started dying.
