Who: Jackson (solo) Where: his room When: Tuesday, January 27, afternoon What: it's that time of year again, to find out if he's still alive Rating: PG for minor language
He hadn't forgotten about calling. He'd just... been busy so far all day. Classes. Studying. Then another hour slipped away that afternoon as the music claimed him and he sank into the melody he was picking out on his guitar.
It took a moment to realize that his phone was singing an entirely different tune.
He grabbed it, not even bothering to look at who it was. "Hey, Mom. Yeah, sorry, I was going to call you and I got wrapped up in this piece I was working on." He shuffled the guitar off his lap, inching back on his bed to lean against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. "Yeah, I'll email it if I get it recorded and it's worth anything. I know you want to hear all of it."
Music wasn't why she'd called. And wasn't what he wanted to hear about. Needed to hear about. Every year, this time, this day. She was talking about something, he wasn't even listening when he cut her off. "Did the results come, Mom?"
They'd taken a gallon of blood, he swore, like they always did. A small battery of tests that left him feel aching and poked and prodded. But it was necessary and would be necessary for the rest of his life. Every year. Just in case. While he was at Presley he just took an afternoon and quietly went over to get it done, the results going to his oncologist upstate. And then he waited.
And listened while his mother read the letter over the phone. Numbers that six years ago had meant nothing to him and now he knew exactly what normal ranges were and what he wanted to hear versus what he was afraid he'd hear her say. And when she was done, he was still silent, for a very long time.
"I heard you," he said quietly. "No, no, I'm happy. Five years. Yeah, I know. It's gone."
Not gone, not completely. It never really would be. But he'd been in remission for five years today, and that made it official. According to the oncologists, he was cured.
It didn't change anything. He still had his list to do before he turned twenty. Because you never knew. Life could change in an instant.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'll celebrate. I've got a date tonight." He laughed a little. "No lucky girl. It's a guy." He managed a grin; after everything they'd been through, Jackson's sexuality had fallen so low on the potential drama list that his mother had just ignored any problems it might bring. "Yeah, he's cute. Senior, but still younger than me, because well, yeah." No need to go into that again. "But it means he'll be graduating this year. No, I don't know what he's planning to do then; we're still just getting to know each other."
He stared at the ceiling, feeling weirdly disconnected from this conversation as he made his mother laugh by describing how tonight would be their second date, and the show in February their first. When she offered to send him money, he shook his head; not like she had it to send in the first place. "I'm fine, Mom, really. Just, take care of yourself. And yeah, I'll take care of myself, and I'll be safe. I've made it this long. I'm not planning on dying any time soon."
He flipped the phone closed and stared at it for a long silent moment.
He didn't plan on dying any time soon. And in the meantime, he intended to live every damned second of his life as much as he could.