‘Brain Damage, that’s awful Kayla. How did she get brain damage? I mean cancer can’t directly cause that can it?’ My stomach churns.
‘Well, her mum told my mum that the radiation therapy continued to radiate around her brain even after they stopped it. Mum described it as being like taking something out of the microwave. It continues to cook for a while.’ She pauses for a moment to look out the bus window at the greenery that surrounds us before turning back to me, ‘We’ll never have her back, the real her I mean. She’ll be this monster forever and there is nothing anyone can do about it.’ Her eyes fill with tears and I can tell she is trying fiercely to hide just how upset she really is.
‘Yeah, it’s crap. What did she do to deserve this? What did we do to deserve the treatment we get from her?’ I stifle a scream and this time it’s me who looks out the window.
A memory flashes through my mind of a much younger Jasmine and I. I’m sitting on the steps of our grade four classroom in tears and Jasmine’s there comforting me, telling me my grandfather will get over his throat cancer. She is holding me, tight tears streaming from her eyes as she’s feeling my pain as a good friend should. I haven’t seen those caring tears in a long time, just tears of rage.
‘I feel selfish Olivia,’ Kayla says jerking me back to reality. I turn to look at her. Tears now freely trickle down her face; her attempt to hold them back failing.
‘Why? You’re not a selfish person,’ I say, putting a comforting hand on her knee.
‘I just want my best friend back.’
‘That’s not selfish.’
‘No, that’s not the selfish bit, let me finish. I’m too busy thinking about how it affects me to think of how awful it is for her. Surely it has to be worse for her.’ Kayla is barely able to speak through her sobs.
‘Yeah, probably. In fact, probably much worse. Though I think we have the right to think about ourselves. After all, it’s not fair that I have nightmares about her killing me. And it isn’t fair that we have rocks hurled at our heads.
‘You have nightmares about her killing you?’ She looks horrified.
‘Bloody hell and I thought I had it bad.’ I look at her in amazement as Kayla never swears. I am kind of impressed in an odd way. I love how Kayla never ceases to amaze me. There’s a long silence as we both look out the window. We’re now coming up to the Puffing Billy line. It runs metres above the road and when the train is going over head we’re forever having little kids wave at us. We love waving back but right now there is no Puffing Billy in sight; it’s too early in the day. But I’m not really taking this in because I’m thinking of the person Jasmine was when I first met her: loving, compassionate, funny and supportive.
Then I think of what she has become and I feel even more unwell. I think back to the time when some CD’s went missing from lockers and Jasmine accused me of taking them, even though some of mine were stolen too. She grabbed me, wrestled me to the ground and then made death threats against me as my friends pulled her off. Not long after she wrote ‘Die, die, die’ on the bus windows and pointed at me. She glares at me in class, stalks us at breaks, hurtling abuse whenever we make eye contact. I reflect on how she dressed the last casual clothes day. She was more suited to walking down St Kilda Road with her cleavage practically hanging out and clad in the shortest skirt that barely covered her bum. Now I see her as an evil, scary slut who makes my daily life a living hell.
After thinking this the guilt kicks in again because I know it isn’t really her fault but I still can’t help feeling angry at her.
‘You know what else Jasmine’s mum told my mum?’ adds Kayla breaking the long silence. ‘What’s in some ways even sadder?’
‘No what?’
‘That sometimes she wishes Jasmine had died of the cancer.’ I don’t know what to say to this. As awful as it sounds I can understand that in some ways losing her daughter altogether would probably have been easier than watching her turn into someone she doesn’t even know anymore, and such a difficult person at that.
‘Well all I can say is that I’m so glad we get a break from her at school today and don’t have to spend this half hour bus trip with her,’ states Kayla as our secondary school looms before us.
‘That’s providing she doesn’t turn up later,’ I say as we pull up in front of the school. We grab our bags and clamber down the bus steps, hug each other goodbye and separate for our homerooms.
