Breathless by Lurlene McDaniel

looking from the candles I’ve lit for Travis.
    “Do those candles help God see you?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Did God speak to you?”
    My face goes hot because he’s taunting me. “Please don’t make fun of God.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Or of me and what I believe.”
    “I’d never make fun of you, Emily. God, maybe. Never you.”
    This doesn’t reassure me. “Then what’s your problem?”
    “I don’t get how you can keep asking God for something that isn’t happening. Is he deaf? Why doesn’t he answer?”
    Haven’t I asked the same question? Why doesn’t God answer? I don’t want Cooper to see my confusion, so I sling my book bag over myshoulder and head outside into the parking lot to his old tank of a car.
    We drive in silence, until Cooper says, “There is no answer, is there? Travis has cancer and your God’s pulling the strings and he doesn’t have to explain himself, right?”
    “Maybe he has another plan,” I say in God’s defense.
    “Then what good is he? To have the power and not use it to help people? God’s a fraud.”
    “Don’t say those things!”
    “Why not? If he’s real, if he’s listening, maybe he’ll get mad and turn his attention away from Travis and onto me.”
    His words splash cold water on my anger. When he pulls up in front of my house, he says, “Tell Travis I’ll catch him later.”
    I feel his eyes on me as I leave the car, as his offer to substitute himself for Travis follows me through the front door and into the light.
    At the dinner table on Sunday night, Travis asks, “Mom, would you put a DNR on my chart?”
    She looks startled. “Where did you hear about a DNR?”
    “In the drip unit.” That’s what he calls chemo. “From a woman with cancer.”
    “Is this an inquiry or a request?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Yes, it matters.” Mom puts down her fork. “Do you know what one is?”
    “It means they won’t revive me if I die.”
    My stomach seizes. I glance at Dad, then back at Mom and Travis.
    “I won’t do that,” Mom says.
    “But I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s what I want.”
    “Now, you hear me, son. So long as you’re alive, we’ll never sign a DNR on you.”
    “But if I won’t get better—”
    “As long as there’s brain activity, people are kept alive. That’s medical protocol. We don’t kill people who have the hope of recovery.”
    “What kind of hope have I got? I’m not getting well, and I don’t want to be hooked up to a bunch of machines that tie me to a bed for the rest of my life.”
    “Ventilators help a struggling body breathe. They’re wonderful machines.”
    “And feeding tubes? Are they wonderful too?”
    “If it’s necessary. A person has to have food and water.”
    “Why? Why hang on if I’m never going to get better?”
    Mom throws down her napkin. “You don’t know that. New treatments come along every day.”
    “But don’t I get a say-so?”
    “This isn’t up for discussion,” she insists.
    Travis reins himself in. “I don’t want to go on life support.”
    “If you’re alive, there’s hope. I will never give up hope. And neither should you. Do you hear me?”
    They stare each other down.
    Dad steps into the fray. “It was only curiosity, Jackie. Wasn’t it, Travis?”
    Seconds tick away before Travis says, “Sure.”
    More seconds pass, the only sounds coming from silverware clicking on plates. I’ve lost my appetite, and I’m pretty sure everyone else has too.

C OOPER
    T he first time Travis tells me what he wants me to help him do, my brain goes numb. He tells me again, and it’s like I’m watching those airplanes hit the Twin Towers on TV reruns of 9/11. Like this can’t be happening. “What did you say?”
    He repeats the words patiently and I know this is no drill. This is real. This is my best friend asking me to help him die.
    “That’s crazy talk.”
    “Not crazy.” He’s holding a pillow against his chest, and every few minutes he buries his face