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        “Hey, Krys. Dressed for the weather I see," laughed Gwyneth McLaurin, my nurse. It was ninety-five degrees in the Long Beach area and I was wearing a hoodie, long jeans, boots with wool socks and a turquoise beanie which had become a staple of my wardrobe. “You ready for your treatment? Doc says it'll be your last.” Gwyn was an older, black lady with kind caramel eyes and a soft smile. She was fit yet still soft.

       "As ready as I'll ever be, Gwyn.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “I'm two months closer to death without hope."

       “Oh don’t say that, honey.”

       “Why not? It’s the truth. I’ve been through two rounds of chemo and radiation and all I have to show for it is a bald head, all of my bones poking through my skin, a serious case of narcolepsy, and the constant need to vomit.”

       "I’m sorry, honey. Let’s get this over with. Please state your name for verification purposes."

       "Krystal Osburn," I sighed.

       “And your date of birth?”

       “April twenty-fourth, nineteen ninety-six,” I droned.

       “I know, I know. But it’s necessary,” Gwyn apologized. I pushed up the sleeve of my black hoodie. “What’s that on your shirt?” she asked as she started my medicine. “Another heavy metal band?”

       “Yeah. My best friend’s brother has this silly band and they send me stuff all the time. I figured it might make me a little hipster wearing obscure band merch,” I laughed.

        “I don’t understand this whole hipster thing. I thought they had something to do with the hippies of my time.”

       “Oh. Em. Gee. No,” I laughed.

       “See, I don’t understand any of this new stuff,” she said as she finished up. "All done, sweetie."

       "Thank you. For everything."

       "It's my job, love."

       "Yeah but you don't have to be as kind as you are," I hugged her.

       "Yeah well, I learned to treat people how I want to be treated. It's easier than just bein mean for no reason, hun. Now be a good girl and go home to your momma," she hugged me. "I hope I don't see you back here again," she said with a tear in her eye.

       I hugged her before I rushed out of the clinic. I slid behind the wheel of my Shelby Cobra and sobbed my eyes out. I had always been in love with classic muscle cars. When I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the middle of my junior year, I knew I probably wouldn’t make it to college. I drained my entire college fund and spent it on my new baby.

       When I finally stopped sobbing, I drove home.