it came in the mail today, that little piece of paper of intent lined by her swirling round-a-bout way of writing and garnished with lace, from that girl from so long ago with the red hair and brown eyes and pale skin and the promise of high school seniors to be wed if we remained as we were when we were 28, the girl from the photo in second grade after first communion next to me, two foot tall in a tailored suit with elbow patches and her in that little yellow sundress with a ribbon in her hair. it was just a letter of intent, to spread the joy, to inform of a wedding planned and your requested presence in a church in the trees atop a hill next to a mountain at sunset on the outskirts of boise, idaho with friends and family cheering accolades spreading the joy, just a letter of intent trimmed in lace with black and white photos of endearing love attached, reminders of the love they wished to spread, and i wanted to call and say i'd be there, in attendance, cheering and sharing, reliving old memories and laughing and crying, probably, and drinking too much on the dance floor. may twenty-eighth, that was the day selected, two thousand and five. and i wanted to call her and accept and thank her for the invitation, or the intent of invitation as it were, and to say i'd keep that date open and the week before and the week after if she needed, because it would be the least i could do. and i found myself, when she answered, i just sat there breathing and she said my name, questioningly, and then i found myself telling her about how three years ago i went to the doctor because i kept having this ringing in my ear and how they found something in my lung that shouldn't be there and i heard her breath, real deep, and i told her about how i went to the doctor's again last week because i had been passing blood and suffering from serious depression and i was worried about everything and about how they found not just something else, but two something elses and one was as big as a plum, and i told her how i thought they described it as a plum, not as a can of beans or a small fist, but a fruit because a fruit might not make you as scared and i'm not even sure how much she understood because i was bubbling and breathing heavy and speaking in these giant gulping gasps and i just really wanted to be there, to share in the joy and the happiness and the love, but i had cancer, and i was dying, and it wasn't going to go away this time. and i heard her switch the phone from ear to ear, arguing with me, telling me i could get better, and i let her try to convince us, i let her try to convince me, but really it was just to make us feel better because we couldn't really be convinced, not really. and afterward, when i laid back in my bed, i replayed it all in my head, about how i just wanted to be there, just to see her happy and see her eyes shine and feel the warmth of the love coming from her skin and to be part of that, but how i couldn't, because i'm dying, and as hard as i try, i cannot convince myself otherwise and i'm terribly sad, because i want to be there and i don't want to be dying, i want to be there to see her smile a smile because she can't help it. i wanted to be there and i can't. and i'm fucking scared. i really am. i really fucking am.