《Molly Says》 Shes my Person Molly said she could stand on one toe for seven minutes. She said she once walked across Death Valley with only a sundress, T-strap sandals, and a sunhat. She said her parents met while working as spies in northeast Germany while spying for competing candy manufacturers. Molly said a lot of things. I could listen to her tell stories forever and not tire of her voice. One thing she said that would forever smolder in my heart was that she loved me. I''ve heard that phrase before and after Molly entered my life. She first told me she loved me when we were at the fair, spraying water into the mouth of a clown to win a $2.00 stuffed turkey (it was almost Thanksgiving), and as my balloon filled faster than the others, she whispered in my ear those beautiful, haunting words. "I love you." Of course, I acted as if she had just told me she loved yogurt or Yoo-hoo or some other inanimate object instead of me. I considered myself to be an imitation of a worthwhile companion. I was 23. So was she. I was starting my first year of graduate school. Molly was a free-spirited artist who made her living bartending at a place popular with college kids. I met her there one night while waiting for my blind date to arrive. It had been a relatively slow night for her, so she spent more time than usual talking with me while I waited. When my drink would start to run a little low, she would promptly refill it without question. My words were beginning to feel a little loose. Maybe I had been more than a little buzzed. Perhaps I finally found the kindred voice I needed for me to speak honestly for the first time in my life. Either way, Molly was perfect for me. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Did I mention she was far cooler than I was? She wore a leather jacket with patches of punk bands sewn to it and worn jeans unironically. She kept the jukebox going while we talked, playing incredible music I hadn''t heard before. I felt like I was peeking behind the curtain of a subculture I had always been curious about but never courageous enough to explore on my own. She helped me home after the blind date didn''t show. I lived a couple of blocks away at the time, so it wasn''t like I had to call an Uber and all that; she just accompanied me home. We talked about why someone would skip out on a blind date ¡ª why they wouldn''t even text ¡ª it seemed like we had been best friends since I first learned that I wanted a best friend. She was my person. I''ve always believed cats and dogs have a person, and people are the same way. I immediately identified her as mine. I get chills even now when I write the words: She was my person. Molly invited me to a closed bar event later that same week. I went, hoping we would connect as deeply as we had the first night. I didn''t want to think of her as being my one person if it were just the alcohol talking. When I arrived at the bar, the doorman couldn''t find me on the list. Of course, she would have forgotten about me by now. Why had I even gotten my hopes up? Molly suddenly appeared like a dream. My name wasn''t on the list. She listed me as "That one who got stood up and drank far too much, basically forcing me to go home with her." "How the fuck was I supposed to know who that is?" Gerry, the doorman, grumbled at her. "You weren''t. I couldn''t have made a perfect entrance to save the damsel in distress if the list had just said, ''Claire'' or whatever. Plus, and Jesus, kind of sorry about this, I totally forgot your name." Firsts, Some Wine, And The Never Ending Search Fast forward three months, and there we were, winning a cheap, stuffed turkey. I still have it. It''s kind of like my personal security blanket. I know it''s just a stuffed animal, but it is so much more than that to me. Anyway, she told me she loved me. I looked at her and spluttered out something far less than the appropriate response. The buzzer went off, and we were plus one stuffed turkey. We never needed anything more than that. We moved in together, or rather, she moved in with me. I was happy. She was happy. Everything was perfect. I got my Master''s degree and transferred to another school for my doctorate. She came with me. After I graduated, she threw the biggest party I have ever been to. She was my everything. We were 30. Molly had just dropped me off at home and ran to the grocery store for a bottle of wine and some fruit. I changed into comfy clothes, poured a glass from the previous night''s bottle, and settled on the couch with a blanket and a book. It was late fall, and the air was crisp. I turned on the fireplace to warm the living room a bit. When the phone rang, I had already finished my glass of wine and was looking forward to another one. Molly had slipped in the grocery store and hit her head. Another account said her face went blank as she was selecting vegetables and then dropped to the ground. All accounts confirmed that she had a seizure. I arrived at the hospital as fast as my Uber could get me there. She had already been taken into the Emergency Room and was off getting an MRI or a CT scan or something. I stood at the front desk, fighting back the tears and trying my best to remain calm. Words were coming at me faster than my mind could keep up. After several hours of waiting in the lobby, I was finally allowed to go back with her. She was alert, and her mood was light. She didn''t seem phased at all. I, on the contrary, was ready to throttle the next person who asked me if I needed anything. Molly took my hand in hers and laughed. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "Surprise!" She looked at me with a smile that was barely covering a hidden sadness and sorrow that looked to be more than anyone should have handled on their own. Molly and I sat there in the emergency room for another four hours while she told me all about her diagnosis at 22. She knew her time was limited, so she decided to live the most positive, beautiful, giving, caring life she could. I was predictably angry. Why hadn''t she told me? I was in shock and completely wrecked. How could I have missed the warning signs? She had been mispronouncing words for a few weeks, had problems remembering where she had set things, and felt like she had some brain fog. She didn''t confide most of this to me at the time, but I should have noticed. Maybe if I had, things would be different. Hindsight can be one of the most underrated versions of evil ever created. I don''t know how many times I asked myself, "What If?" She wanted me to be strong for her. Her strength was unending. I had no choice but to step up to the challenge. We talked for hours. I was upset, angry, hurt, scared. Molly was sympathetic, which angered and upset me more. I needed time to think and clear the anger from my mind. While I was deciding my next steps, an orderly came in to take her to her room. I must have walked around the hospital 20 times before I made my way up to her. She was sleeping when I entered. The night nurses had asked me to be quiet but wanted me to see her. Molly told them to let me in no matter the time. I entered the room, which was decorated as any hospital room is, with medical machines, tubes, wires, and all sorts of medical instruments beeping and whirring. She was asleep. Her head was partially covered in a web of sensors that were connected to wires and were scanning her brain for something. I say something, but I really mean cancer ¡ª fucking tumors. She had known since she was 22 that she was going to die soon. Every day she lived was a gift. She tried so hard to block out any negatives and live life as fully as she could. She would hide everything for as long as possible before letting her art become her relief. Releasing her pain and anguish into her art led to a kind of cathartic realization that everything comes to an end, so why should she leave herself unfulfilled? Love, Anger, Pity, Moms, Haircuts, Decisions I felt her cheek as she lay there, connected to those wires. Her skin was warm like it felt every time I touched it. Tears ran down my face as I watched her sleep. Anger was being replaced by self-pity. I felt so bad for her but worse for me as I knew I would still be here after she was gone. There was a piece of paper pinned to her gown. I carefully unfastened the pin and opened the paper. It was her handwriting. I sat in the armchair next to her bed and read. "I know you are upset. I know you might even hate me for what I''ve done to you. You are the best and most important thing in my life. I was sure I would die alone at 23, but when you sat down at the bar that day, I knew I was going to make it through this. Your faith and absolute, unlimited love for me has kept me moving forward without any worries or fears. You saved me. My parents would have loved you! Probably more than me! I wanted so much for you to go your entire life without ever finding out I was sick, but that wasn''t meant to be. My symptoms came back, and I am forever sorry for the pain this has caused you. I love you and will do everything I can to make it through this for you, for me, and our turkey, Mr. Wishbone. This I promise to you. Every fiber of my being will fight to stay here with you. As my mother once said, after escaping the gulag in Russia, "Keep trying because you never know what might happen." Dad was in seminary school at the time. They had yet to meet. I love you and will do everything in my power to be here for another 60 years to be with you every day. My hand is always in yours, and my heart is always in yours. My love ignites ablaze again every time I see you." Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Two months after the initial hospitalization, Molly began chemo. The tumors in her brain were relatively slow-growing but were unfortunately located in remote regions, which made them inoperable. The diagnosis was crushing. Stage 4, no real chance of remission, three to six months to live. If trying chemo, may live for an additional 1-2 years or outside chance of remission. Complete remission never happened. Molly fought. She would spend hours in the bathroom, lying on the floor, lacking the energy to move, yet not letting me help her as she waited for the next bout of vomit to take her. Her body began to look frail as the chemo decimated it, and she lost 24 pounds in a little over a month. I held her hand, her hair, her entire body as she slowly disappeared in front of me. Friends would come by to check on us. She wouldn''t allow anyone but me into the room, so I''d relay messages to her. My mother would visit often, making sure we were eating, staying safe and clean, usual mother things. She stepped up in a way I never dreamed. We did one of those stupid photoshoots when we shaved her head. I wasn''t about to shave mine. My mother had other ideas. As I sat there, cleaning Molly''s locks off the floor, I heard the clippers turn on, then felt them as they smoothly, expertly cleared a swath of hair from the base of my skull to the top of my head. I was stunned. Molly found it hilarious, and Mom said I had to accept it because laughter is better than all the chicken soup in the world. When she was done I hoped I would make an attractive shaved-headed woman. I looked ridiculous. Molly looked absolutely stunning. Even in her emaciated, clean-shaven, cancer-ridden state, I got butterflies whenever I''d catch her looking at me. After three months, there were signs of progress. The tumors she was fighting had shrunk to half their size, which was great news. They were back to the same size as her initial diagnosis at 22. The doctors considered slowing the chemo treatments and letting her live as she had before. We discussed it over the weekend. Molly had been feeling better and was able to eat more than a couple of spoonfuls of soup. We decided that stopping the chemo was the best option. If I had a time machine, I would go back and plead with her to reverse that decision. Instead, I sit here in tears and write this. Airports and Drug Sniffing Dogs We decided to take a trip to celebrate her diagnosis and my new position at a firm in Washington DC. She wanted to go to Europe. I wanted Tahiti. She won out. We planned a trip to Amsterdam, Paris, Vienna, and end in Budapest. There would be several stops along the way, but we planned to spend at least a week in each of these hub cities. The tickets were purchased, and bags were packed. Her doctors gave her three months'' worth of medications, preparing her in case we were stuck somewhere. We read the flight time wrong and arrived a few hours early, so we sat in the lounge waiting. Molly was so excited. I''d never seen her so happy. We were ready to begin our adventure when we heard her name called out over the PA system. "Molly, please report to the gate at once." We looked at each other, a shiver simultaneously running through us. Walking up to the counter, we saw the gate agent and no less than four armed police officers. They also had a K9 officer. I wanted to pet the poor thing as soon as I saw it. I''ve always felt that using dogs as a police force is animal cruelty. "Ma''am, would you mind coming with us?" They approached Molly and took her by the arms. I started to protest until the third officer took me along with them. We were led off the main terminal into a small office with a desk, four chairs, a water cooler, and a stapler. Molly immediately sat down and asked to see her attorney. "I''m right here, Molly," I said. "I mean the attorney that got my mom out of the Gulag." "Oh, okay." The officers looked at each other and then back at her. "We brought you in here to see if you could answer a few questions we have." "Like what?" She asked, irritated. "Don''t answer them, Molly." "Why are you taking several thousand dollars worth of cancer medications to Europe with you? Did you know international drug trafficking is a felony?" "Oh, that?" She laughed. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. They looked confused. "I have cancer, you fucking assholes. Thanks for drawing attention to it. Oh, and for embarrassing us in front of the other passengers on our flight." She was pissed. I thought it was sexy as hell. "Ma''am, we...umm, we didn''t realize. That seemed like a large amount of medication for a vacation. Thank you for answering our questions, have a good, safe trip." We got up and left. As we were sitting down in the lounge, the fourth officer caught up to us. "I''d like to apologize again for that. We were out of line. We''d like to offer you this as a small gesture to make up for our mistake." He set an envelope on the table and quickly exited the room. Molly opened it and spilled the contents onto the table. It was $783.25. All the money they had on them. She started to cry. A Side Note I''m going to try to piece our trip together from my memories and the letters she wrote me. That will be the most difficult part. I''ve kept those letters sealed for over 20 years. I just haven''t been able to bring myself to open them. It''s as if once I do, I''ll have to admit that she''s truly gone. Also note this was in 1998, a few years before the Twin Towers and heightened restrictions at airports. Amsterdam The flight was uneventful. We left DC at 5:30 p.m., arriving in Amsterdam at around 7 a.m. Molly gave a letter with the money to a flight attendant with instructions to return it to the redheaded police officer at the DC airport on her return trip. I stayed behind and tipped her $100.00 to ensure that happened. We were tired, a bit ornery, and ready to start our vacation. A quick ride from the airport brought us to the central station. We planned on staying in the city, so we got a cab to take us. It turns out it was only a few blocks, and the driver ripped us off, but that''s fine. They need to make a living. Arriving at our hotel was beautiful. We checked in, stepped into the room, and almost immediately fell asleep, or at least I did. Three hours later, we went exploring. "Here we are. Amsterdam. I''ve dreamt of coming here since I was old enough to dream. The old buildings, ancient streets, smells of delicious foods and weed everywhere. I am blessed to be here with you. Thank you for this. I know you will take me to the Rijksmuseum when you wake up, then Anne Frank''s house. We could just sit at a cafe and watch people walk by until the end of time, and I would be happy as long as I was doing it with you. I know my time is short, but that doesn''t matter. What matters is that I know you have the strength to move on to conquer this grief. You will be able to find your next Molly. Sure, she won''t be as cool as me, but that''s almost impossible to achieve. I love you with my entire everything. Molly PS There''s an apple pie place in Amsterdam that''s supposed to be one of the best in the world. I''d recommend it while we''re here, but I fucking hate apple pie. Take Holly, or Julie, or Sammy, or whomever you bring back to Amsterdam." Bruges and Paris Amsterdam was amazing. I remember eating pot brownies with her and hiring a girl in the red-light district to strip for us. We felt so bad for her that we offered to pay for a semester at a university if she would stop being a whore. So much for the red-light district being fun, right? After the stripping hooker, we had to get out of the city. We went to an amazing tulip festival, saw some windmills, and spent way too much on "authentic" Dutch wooden clogs. Those are the most uncomfortable things I''ve ever ruined my feet with. After spending the night in a smaller countryside village, we caught a train to Bruges, Belgium. What an incredible place - I felt like I had time-traveled back to the 12th century, only without the famine and cholera. Molly was tired, so we stayed at the hotel for an extra day. She slept for 18 hours but was feeling better when she woke. Next stop, Paris. To be honest, I was starting to fear that we had made a mistake. I could tell Molly wasn''t feeling as well as she said she was. We were pushing too hard. I was going to break the itinerary in half at least, if not cancel outright and take us home. I knew she''d be so angry with me, though. Maybe we could see a doctor in Paris. "Bruges is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The swans made me remember that the world is full of wonder. So much more than just what we experience day to day. There is a place that I would want to visit again and again. Christmas in Bruges would be amazing. Please tell me you will come back here. If you don''t, it will break my heart. I will haunt you if you don''t. I swear I will. I know this isn''t going to end well. I can feel it. I don''t mean this trip; I mean this fucking disease. It has me. I''m trying to fight it, but I have so little left. People say they survived cancer and they fought every day, all day. Fuck that. I feel like I am fighting every day all day to keep food down and not fall on uneven roads. If that''s what they mean, I''m St Joan of fucking Arc. If they mean actively trying to fight off my cancer, I''m closer to St Jude. You''re going to be okay without me. You''ll see. Everything has been leading to this. Hopefully, after we get home, I can go in my sleep. You won''t even know I''ve gotten worse until I''m gone. I love you more than anything. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Molly PS People say they like souvenirs. They don''t. Don''t waste the luggage space." Paris Paris was a blur. Molly acted as if she didn''t want to stop for a second. We went to the Louvre, ate at every cafe in the city, I think, saw the Moulin Rouge, and had angry locals tell to fuck off seven times. Molly counted. She said her aunt was once in Paris and was told to fuck off 93 times in an hour. She said it was during the Vietnam War. Her aunt was wearing an American flag shirt. According to Molly, she wasn''t wearing anything else. Molly said there was a hole in the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was put there by her great-grandfather''s friend during a game of Parcheesi. According to her, the Parcheesi game got out of hand, shots were fired, and a hole was blown in the top of the cathedral. I wish I had checked before it burned down. We went to the cathedral in hopes of attending mass. We weren''t allowed in because Molly''s bag was too large. She walked away, stuffed it up her shirt, stowed it around on her back, and hunched over. You know where I''m going here. They didn''t laugh. Our stay was lovely. We drank far too much wine. It tasted fresher than the tap water and was cheaper than the water at the cafes. The days went by too quickly, and it was soon time to head to Vienna. I was excited because I had always wanted to visit Vienna. We left Paris on a rainy Tuesday evening by train. "Paris - What a wonderful, beautiful city. So full of life, death, love, sadness. I loved my time with you here. I thought the usher at Notre Dame was going to punch me in my hunchback. That would have been hilarious. The best part of the trip was looking at a random piece of art at the Louvre with you and acting as if it were a truly important work. The crowd that gathered was astounded at our "knowledge" of the artist. I had never heard of them. By the way, when did you decide that wine was meant to be consumed by the gallon instead of the glass? That was some Olympic-level consumption there! As they say, "We''ll always have Paris!" Love you forever Molly PS I went on a camping trip with a close friend of Alan Ginsberg when I was 17. She was rather dull, but I found a rattlesnake in my shoe in the morning, and my coffee was gone. She swore she had never heard the poem Howl. I hitchhiked back to San Francisco from there." Mourning Sickness The following morning, Molly felt a bit off. I wasn''t sure if it was the wine or cancer, but I didn''t want to tempt fate. I called and found a clinic we could visit that would see travelers. Once we arrived in Vienna, we went straight from the station to the hospital. They were quick to run bloodwork and some scans. Before too long, they admitted Molly, and I was pacing back and forth in her room. A doctor who spoke English with a German accent came in and, with the kindest, softest bedside manner I''ve ever encountered, gave us the worst news we''ve ever received. The cancer had grown back with force. It metastasized and spread throughout her system. There was no fighting this, just making her comfortable. We cried. I asked the doctor how this could happen after such a promising, hopeful diagnosis only four weeks earlier. He talked about the unpredictable nature of cancer and how it can change from a slow growth rate to a more aggressive type. Once it metastasized, all rules were off. I had to step out of the room for some air. She watched me go but was too weak to protest. I should have stayed. Of course, I should have. Do you think I don''t know that? It''s one of my biggest regrets. The time it took for her to tell me she felt a bit off on the train to her being admitted was less than two hours. I went to get some air two hours after that. She couldn''t lift her head off the pillow when I returned 15 minutes later. Her last words to me were: "Is Vienna pretty?" Three hours later, she lost her fight, and I lost my person. "We''ve been on this train for what feels like forever. The constant rocking is starting to get to me. When was the last time a cancer chick threw up in the hallway of a high-speed train in Europe? Time to reset that counter. Of course, I''ve been miserable all night. I haven''t wanted to wake you because you''re so beautiful when you''re asleep. I see the worry on your face. There''s nothing to worry about. We know the outcome. You just need to know how much I love you and how much I want you to move on when I''m gone. You shouldn''t be alone. You deserve the best this world has to offer, and I cannot be that person. Tell your new person how much you love me, and set the standard right off the bat. I love you, Molly PS I don''t have a story." If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Into the Mystic Our time may have been cut short, but I know she and I will be together forever in the mystic. Van Morrison may have been talking about a sailor excited about coming home to his girl. Still, I see that song as a far more extensive dialogue concerning the meeting of those lost before with those they left behind. Molly is my person. It has been over 20 years since she left, and I haven''t felt any sort of kindling of that fire that kept my heart so warm for so long. When her light went out of this world, the flame she lit in me dropped to a smoldering ember. I didn''t think about it anymore. Love was the one thing that I would not experience again. It''s been decades, and I still haven''t been able to tell anyone about our last fateful weeks together. Her letters have left me broken all over again. I love and miss her with a pain that can never be mended. Late that fall, I sprinkled her ashes in all our favorite places. I revisited Bruges, though I stayed away from Amsterdam and Paris. I''ve never been back to Vienna, nor do I see that in my future. Molly says things to me in my dreams. I listen as hard as possible but can never remember what she said when I wake up. I have one last letter that she wrote to me. It''s not in her handwriting. The doctor gave it to me a few hours after she passed. These are her final written words to me. Maybe they''ll shed a little more light on why Molly cannot be replaced. I love you, Molly, and I miss you with every fiber of my being. I wake at night and reach over to feel you by me in bed, only to be reminded that I am alone. I will see you again in another life. "Jillian, I know I''ve never used your full name, but it seemed important here. I''m dying. I hope to see you again before it happens. When you read this, I''ll be gone, and you''ll be sad. You better be sad. If not, at least fake it for a few days, for my sake. I can feel myself going fast. Short and sweet. I love you. You love me. Mr. Wishbone needs you. He''ll be a wreck without me. Don''t forget to pay for the parking every month or they''ll tow my car again. Oh, right- maybe sell my car. Put a stop on my CD club too. When you hold my memorial, I want you to play Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. Close the show with shiny, happy people. Buy a dog. Go out more. Move to the woods somewhere. I love you. Be well. Take care of yourself Molly PS The doctor is cute; maybe see if he''s single. (I''m not)." It''s been over 20 years. I''ve been waiting for my time to come so I can see my wonderful Molly once again. It hasn''t happened yet, but I know it will someday. She always said she wanted me to find someone else, to start living my life for me. I haven''t been able to do that. I''ve written her a letter that I think will help me move on. "Molly, You''ve always had my heart and always will. There''s a comfort in knowing that I can always feel your love. Mr. Wishbone is still here. He looks a little worse for wear, but he''s holding on. I''ve been trying hard to move on for so many years and haven''t been able to. You have me completely. There''s never a point that I don''t feel you with me. That''s where the problem lies. I need to be able to move on to lead my own life. I need to let you go. I don''t know how, but I think the first step is going to be when I step foot out the door today. I love you forever and always, Jillian" It turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day. I think there''s still some life out there for me to find.