Chapter 6

By the time she checked in for the five-day stay, we had completed the Jupiter project, successfully deriving all the orbital periods of the Galilean moons to a very high degree of accuracy. We were off by minutes of the exact periodicity. Professor Adams gave an allowance of hours.

When I didn’t have classes to go to, I stayed with Autumn at the clinic as much as possible, even if there wasn’t a need for me to be there except as company. We finished putting together our Jupiter presentation quickly. After that, we mostly hung out. I donated my extra Nintendo Switch to her. We played a lot of Mario Party. I told her about my interest in World of Warcraft, which, fortunately, didn’t scare her off. She was fascinated by it and promised me she’d start a character one day. We even brainstormed a username for her. She wanted ‘MartianPoopPotato,’ but I expressly forbade it. So, she settled on ‘Astrodork.’

When we weren’t gaming on the Switch or shooting the shit, we would just sit there quietly, each of us doing our own thing. She would work through her Physics homework or read ‘Contact,’ tabbing the pages where she found a quote she loved, and I would study for the MCAT or work through an organic chemistry problem set. It may not have looked like the ideal study environment, but being near her and being able to glance over and see that she was doing ok put me at ease. If I were somewhere else, like the library, I probably wouldn’t be anywhere near as productive because I’d be too worried about her to concentrate.

Maureen was happy to have me visit her daughter as well because when I was with Autumn, she felt that she could slip away to do the other things she needed to do. It wasn´t that she was eager to slip away, but that, for close to a year now, she and Autumn had been such ceaseless figures in each other’s lives that some time apart from each other was a mental break they both needed.

As much as I admired Maureen’s unending commitment to her daughter, it still surprised me that there was no one else. During one of our quiet moments together in the hospital room, I mustered up the courage to finally ask the uncomfortable question. I asked it bluntly.

“Autumn, where’s your dad?”

“Busy with life,” she replied. An answer that came so quickly, I suspected she had long expected the question and had it loaded, ready to fire off whenever it came.

She lowered her book and, seeing that I still had questions, wound up her chest to tell the fuller story.

“He and mom divorced when I was really young. He was never a presence in my life. Well, at first, he tried to be, but then he got a job in France, then he got remarried, then got new children. Phone calls, letters, and gifts came for a few years, but eventually, nothing.”

She shrugged. “C’est la vie.”

“…does he know you have cancer?”

“Mom wrote him an e-mail. And a message on Facebook. Never heard back. Doesn’t matter. He’s not a part of my life.”

I didn’t prod further. Though I was surprised to see how indifferent Autumn seemed, it still sounded like the wrong can of worms to open now.

The five days went by quickly and much easier than I expected. Autumn had bouts of nausea from the chemo and some fatigue, but nothing bad, and she remained cheerful and optimistic the whole way through.

The following week, they would look at the cancer and give her the all-clear for the surgery, and only a few days after that, she would finally have the tumor removed.

‘Limb Salvage Surgery’ is an awful thing to call it, and it sounds like the sort of surgery they’d do to an android to weld arms and legs back on after being blown to bits by lasers. I couldn’t help but picture that scene in the Empire Strikes Back with a well-meaning but flustered Chewbacca attempting to re-attach C-3PO’s limbs. In reality, LSS was called that because it was a procedure meant to save the limb, whereas traditionally, they had always amputated. With today’s medical advancement, after the chemo had pared away enough of the tumor, they could simply cut out or ‘resection’ the part of the limb where the tumor was growing and replace the missing parts with bone grafts to retain as much as a functional leg as possible. LSS, followed by radiotherapy to finally kill off the remaining cancer, was the best possible course for Autumn. But, of course, what is life without setbacks?

On February 13th, two days before Autumn’s surgery, I got a call from her mom. It was late afternoon. I had just finished a class and was at the Brentwood PC room in the middle of a raid with Dani and some of the other guild members.

Her voice trembled, putting a terrible chill down my spine.

“Joey, this is Maureen. Is Autumn with you?”

“No. She’s not,” I replied.

“Did she tell you anything? Do you know where she could possibly be?”

“No. I didn’t hear from her today. Is she ok? What happened?”

I heard a soft, pained moan from the other side. Then a sniffle. Her voice cracked as she replied,

“She ran off. The results weren’t good, Joey.”

Without explaining to the guys, I logged out of the game and sprinted out of the PC room with my phone to my face.

“I’ll find her,” I said.

My Honda Civic was in the parking lot. I jumped in, turned the key, and was off. I could only think of one place she might be.

A great relief washed over me when I saw the figure on the crest of the hill painted by the light of the golden orange sunset. A telescope pointing upward. A figure was hunched over it, making the necessary adjustments for optimal viewing.

I got out of the car and ran up that hill.

“Autumn!” I cried. “What the hell? Your mom called. She doesn’t know where you are. How’d you lug your telescope all the way here by yourself?”

She glanced at me. Her eyes were red. Her lips trembled. She wasn’t wearing her beanie.

“I took the bus,” she replied.

I found her beanie at my feet. A flimsy, limp grey shape in the dirt, flecks of grass, and dead Eucalyptus leaves stuck to it. I picked it up and brushed the grass and leaves from it.

“It’s frigid right now,” I said. “You should put your beanie on.”

She shook her head. “Won’t help anything.”

I extended it to her. A flash of a scowl snapped across her face. She swiped the beanie from my hand and flung it angrily. It flew, spinning to the bottom of the hill.

Tears welled up in her eyes. One droplet came loose and glided down the curve of her freckled cheek. With a tightly balled fist, she wiped the rest of the tears away before they could fall, then she proceeded to adjust the telescope’s azimuth.

I approached her cautiously and sat beside her. I wanted to console her. I wanted sorely to hug her. But apprehension and pure fear of hearing what could possibly put her in this mood froze me in place. I was too afraid to even breathe, as if to breathe was to open the floodgates of unwanted truths. Even the crickets weren’t singing. Maybe they felt the same way.

Finally, when she had finished training the telescope to its intended target, she slumped back. Her face softened.

“Tonight’s the night the comet comes closest to Earth. Not sure if we’ll be able to see it from here with all the light pollution. Some of the guys on the forum are certain you can’t see it from the middle of LA, but this is the best I can do.”

The vivid memory of that day she showed me the artistic rendering of the comet on the laptop flashed through my mind. I remember that day clearly. It was a sunny day. She was so damn excited about the comet. I didn’t know she had cancer then. If I did know, how would I have felt? Would I be here now? Or would I have kept my distance?

“Joshua Tree is the place to be, huh?”

“Yep. But mom wouldn’t let me go. Too close to the surgery. Can’t take any risks.”

“Your mom said the results weren’t good,” I replied quietly.

Her eyes went to the ground. Her lips drooped.

“The chemo didn’t work like they expected. The tumor didn’t shrink much. They have to amputate my leg to stop it from spreading.”

I choked up. Tears watered my eyes.

She choked up too. “Joey, I have to level with you. I’m a little scared.”

I grabbed her into a tight hug. She hugged me back, and we held each other tightly. I nuzzled my face into Autumn’s neck. I wanted to tell her everything would be ok, but those words got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t say them. Instead, all I could do was cry, so I cried.

At that moment — that long, long moment that I wish would just stretch out into infinity so that I wouldn’t have to worry about whatever trajectory life was taking Autumn on — I opened my burning eyes and looked up at the darkening sky. I looked southeast, in the direction the telescope pointed, and saw nothing. Not even a single star. The haze was too thick. When it gets dark, the city lights will reflect too brightly off the haze. I doubt she’d ever catch a glimpse of that comet.

That’s when it hit me. I knew what now must be done as if nothing else could be done.

I released the hug. I looked into Autumn’s eyes, held her by the shoulders, and said, with a matter of speaking that forced an undisputable belief into myself, “Autumn, you’re going to beat this cancer. And we’re going to Joshua Tree to see that comet.”

“I have a tent in my dorm room and sleeping bags. Joshua Tree is only a two-hour drive. It’s six now, which means we’ll have plenty of time to see the comet tonight.”

I held up my hand to stop her from speaking. “The comet’s not coming back for another seventeen hundred years. I’m guessing we’ll be dead by then, so this is our only chance. Do you want to see it or not?”

“Then that settles it. Come on, help me get your telescope into my car. And put your damn beanie on.”

A smile grew on her face. She sniffed, wiped the remnants of her tears from her eyes and her cheeks, and said, “ok. Let’s go.”

We lugged her telescope down the hill to the car. Placed it and its tripod carefully into the trunk. Autumn found her beanie, put it back on her head, and when we got into the car, I called her mom.

“Hi, Ms. Campbell. I’m with Autumn.”

“Oh, thank God. How is she? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. But we’re um…”

I glanced at Autumn. She nodded knowingly.

“…We’re going to Joshua Tree.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, then, “No, you are not, young lady. What are you even thinking? She cannot afford to get sick before the surgery, Joey! You are bringing Autumn home right now.”

I was never a rebel. So, saying what I had to say next was very hard for me. I grimaced as I replied,

“Sorry, I can’t do that. There’s a comet we gotta see. It’s our last chance. I’ll drive safely. And I promise you, Autumn will be back home tomorrow.”

A heavy, nervous sigh. Then, “can you please put Autumn on the phone?”

I handed the phone to Autumn.

“Hi, Mom,” she said sheepishly. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Her mother spoke but couldn’t pick out what she was saying, only that her voice was gentle. Judging by the growing happiness on Autumn’s face, it seemed like we were going to be given the green light. Finally, Autumn smiled and said, “I love you too, mom,” and hung up. She gave me a thumbs-up and bounced up and down excitedly in the seat.

We stopped by the dorm. Ran up to my room and grabbed the tent, the sleeping bags, some headlamps, two one-gallon Poland Spring water jugs, and all the granola bars I could find in my room. We packed it all into my car and were on the road in less than twenty minutes.

We were lucky with the traffic. Of course, we had to get through the short stretch of the eternal traffic jam on the 405 and the 10, but I cut up north to the 210, and even before we reached Pasadena, the traffic had thinned, and I was able to really punch it (safely like I promised Autumn’s mom).

Driving on that highway eastward, the white highway lines flitting beneath us rapidly, with Autumn sitting in the seat to my right, I felt exhilaration, like I was standing spread-armed on the edge of a precipice, the moment before hopping off to fly across a great divide.

“We’re like Thelma and Louise,” I said.

“Don’t they drive off a cliff at the end?”

“Oh. Yeah, they do. Ok, bad example, but you know what I mean.”

Autumn chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

She connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth, and we created a road trip playlist, each taking turns to add a song.

The first song was hers. Walking in Memphis. We both knew the lyrics and belted it out.

♪Put on my blue suede shoes, and I boarded the plane! Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the middle of the pouring rain! ♫

By the time we were on the 15 towards Riverside, we were singing Starship’s ‘We Built This City.’

♪ We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll! ♪

As we passed through Riverside, it was ‘I’m With You’ by Avril Lavigne.

♫ It’s a damn cold night! Tryin’ to figure out this life. Won’t you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new? ♪

The LA glow faded like a sunset, and the stars started to show up in a clear dark sky ahead of us.

The longer we drove, the sappier the songs got, and the more we let our voices soar (terribly). We sang along with Sara Bareilles to her song ‘Gravity.’

♪Set me free, leave me be! I don’t wanna fall another moment into your gravity

As we got onto the 62 and caught glimpses of our first Joshua trees, it was Jack Johnson singing ‘Constellation.’

♪ It was just another night with a sunset and a moonrise not so far behind to give us just enough light to lay underneath the stars♫

I wanted to keep driving. I wanted to keep singing songs with Autumn. I wanted this to last forever. To be real, as cool as it would be to see the comet, I was kind of dreading it. To see it would mean the night would end. Then tomorrow, we would have to go back to LA, then Autumn would have to have her amputation and continue her fight with cancer. While in this car, that reality didn’t exist.