I buy a laptop from a place Billie tells me not to. It comes with a charger and a year's warranty. I'm told to keep the receipt in case I need to return it. I have a box in my cupboard where I keep all of the receipts from my purchases. I don't put it there. Billie tells me to leave it in the box. And I do. All the receipts are messed up and there's no order so I decided to put it in the laptop box.
The laptop runs for six hours straight, and I write ten thousand words that night. I sit at my desk until sunrise. The government garbage services collect bins on Mondays. I got outside and roll the bin out of the yard. Inside the house, Billie is in her room. She's cleaning out her cupboards.
What are you doing? I ask her.
Spring cleaning.
It's the middle of winter. I don't tell her that. I want to know what brought on the change of heart.
What inspired you?
Well, with you buying all of this new stuff, I just realized that we have a lot of useless stuff. Did you know you still have the box from your first phone?
The one I keep all of my receipts in?
No, she says. The other one.
How do you know that?
I cleaned out your cupboards, too.
The garage truck sounds like a vacuum cleaner outside. It trundles along the street picking up bin after bin. When it goes quiet, I roll the bin back into the yard. Billie follows me outside with a black bag.
That's the last of it. You don't mind that I threw away your laptop box, right?
I pause. I kept the receipt in there.
Why would you do that?
You told me to!
I mean, you bought the thing yesterday. What are the chances of it breaking?
I follow her back inside the house. My laptop does and I have to sit by the outlet in the kitchen while I work. Billie passes me with a bowl of Rice Crispies. Her leg gets caught in the charging cable. The cord rips from the input and snags her leg.
Fuck. She falls to the ground. Her rice crispies went flying across the room.
I put my laptop down. Shit, Billie. Are you okay?
I don't know. My leg hurts. Shit.
We get in the car and I drive her to the day hospital. She moans about her knee hurting.
I sit in the waiting room while gets her leg strapped up. The doctor gives her pain pills that she had to take three times a day after each meal. When we get home, she goes to her room to take a nap.
I sit down by the wall outlet and plug in my charger. The battery is flat. I wiggle the charger in the input. Nothing happens. I remove the cord. The pin is crooked. I can't tell if this means the charger is broken.
Billie? I yell from the living room. She doesn't answer me. I go to her room and sit by her bed. I shake her awake.
What's wrong?
Can I use your laptop charger?
What's wrong with yours?
I think it's broken.
You bought it yesterday.
Can I just use your charger? Please.
Sure. It's in my cupboard.
I take it from her cupboard and go back to the living room. I plug it into the wall socket. My laptop is on fifteen percent. The input of her laptop doesn't fit mine. Somehow I can't make any sense of it. I want my laptop to go back to before she tripped really badly. I feel the kind of regret I feel when I didn't realize things were as bad as they were.
I get up and search Google for laptop Mecer laptop chargers. It goes for almost five hundred on Takealot. Five hundred.
Billie goes for a checkup a week later. The doctor says that her leg isn't healing the way it should and that she's going to run some tests to see what's the matter. She gets another bottle of pain killer and a doctor's note for work.
What do you think is wrong with my leg? She asks me. We are on our way to the mall to buy a new charger for my laptop.
I go to Cash Crusaders and I'm told they only sell universal chargers.
What does or go for? I ask the shop assistant.
About five hundred, she says to me.
Five hundred? Can I see what it looks like?
She shows me a display case with a charging cable that looks like it's been injected with steroids. It comes with a million cables and inputs. I leave the store.
At Cash Converters, the store clerk tells me that they have run out of universal chargers and that they have no idea when they are getting any more stock.
Well, we don't really get any stock. But you know what? There's this place across the street that sells laptop parts called PayCheap. What don't you check there?
Billie says she can't walk on her leg anymore. I leave her in the car and go across the road to PayCheap. The man tells me that it's one fifty for a universal charger. I pay for it. The relief I feel overpowers the regret I felt the day before.
Billie buys a few groceries. I'm anxious to get home and test the charger. She tells me that everything will work out for us. I find it difficult to accept that.
At home, I sit by the wall outlet. The charger doesn't come with any instructions and Billie and I spend half an hour figuring out how it works. I plug the input into my laptop. It works. I sit and watch the laptop charge.
Billie tells me to help her clean the kitchen. Washing the dishes distracts me from compulsively checking my laptop while it's still in charge. We have dinner after. She made chickpea stew.
I take my howl to my room and eat over my laptop. I work right through the night.
Billie has an early shift the next morning. I drive her. She tells me that she put my laptop in charge when I fall asleep the night before. I thank her.
When I get back home, I turn on my laptop. The screen reads AUTOMATIC REPAIR IN PROGRESS. I call Billie and she doesn't answer. I text her, asking when she goes on lunch. She tells me in an hour. I drive to her work and wait for her in the back.
What's the matter? She still has her leg in a brace. She hobbles when she walks.
My laptop keeps turning off.
What do you mean?
I think there's something wrong with the battery, I tell her. The charger fucked it up.
Can't you just return it?
You threw away the receipt. Remember?
You need a receipt for that?
Billie gets her leg scanned and the doctor tells her that the bruising is getting worse. I drive her home. She tells me that she's taking a few days off work. We sit in the living room and watch documentaries about kids with bone cancer on her laptop.
What? Does your family have a history of cancer or something? I ask her.
No. I don't know. What does that even mean, right?
Right.
She falls asleep and I wonder how it is she can sleep when things are so stressful right now. Her leg rests in my lap. I get the urge to unstrap her cast and examine her leg. I've watched almost half a days worth of bone cancer documentaries and I know what the signs are. I don't touch her leg.
I search Google for foods that prevent cancer. Berries, broccoli, tomatoes, walnuts, grapes, and other vegetables, fruits, and nuts. We don't have any fruits in the fridge. I dig in the freezer for a bag of mixed veg. The bag reads that you have to cook from frozen. It makes no sense to me, but I follow the instructions anyways.
I stand by the stove and the broccoli, cauliflower, and chopped carrots float around in the greenish water. It looks gross. But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Right?
I spoon the vegetables over bowls of leftover rice from the fridge. I wake Billie up and give her a bowl. The internet says it's good for preventing cancer, I tell her.
She starts crying. And I think she's crying because, just like me, she's freaking out about getting cancer. We are turning twenty-one in a month. People who are this young aren't supposed to get genetic illnesses. We are supposed to eat badly and stay up all night.
What did the doctors say? I ask her.
I don't know. I think I have another checkup at the end of the week.
Do you want me to go with you?
I think so.
I drive her to her next check-up. She tells me to in the car. I ask her if she's sure. She says yes. I watch her go into the day hospital. There's nothing on my phone that distracts me enough from watching people enter and leave the hospital. I check my Goodreads. I'm told that I have to read one and a half books a week to keep up with my reading goal for the year.
The book I'm currently reading is Yellowface by R. F. Kaung. It's brilliant but I'm a slow reader and everyone is spoiling the book for me on my Instagram. Only I can't stop reading the spoilers because I'm getting nowhere in the book.
Billie returns to the car about an hour later. I've read twenty percent of Yellowface. I'm laying in the back of my car. She gets into the passenger seat. I sit up. She looks calm. I can't tell if it's the kind of calm that comes before the storm or if it's controlled excitement. Good news or bad news?
The doctor says that the bruising is fine. It's just because of all of the swelling. I think she said it's because of the cast they put on.
What does that mean? I ask her.
It's not cancer, she says.
It's not cancer.
Do you want to get ice cream? she asks.
Yeah, sure. We should get the ones with berries, I say. It prevents cancer.
We probably should.
Wait? Do you even get ice cream with berries in it? she asks.
I don't think so. Do you want to buy some before we get the ice cream?
Yeah, okay.
We get blackberries and cherries from Checkers on our way to the ice cream place. Billie gets vanilla ice cream with blackcurrant sauce. I get chocolate ice cream. We sit in the car and scoop berries into our ice cream with the tiny spoons we got from the shop. Billie tells me that the ice cream tastes weird and I agree.
It kind of tastes like yogurt, she says.
Right?
I think we bought frozen yogurt.
I think so, too.
We end up eating the yogurt anyways. I drive us home. Billie goes to her room and takes a nap. I throw out the frozen yogurt cups and do the dishes from last night. I sit in the living room and finish the list of documentaries on Billie's laptop. It feels indulgent. The idea of forgetting about the people who are affected by this disease just because my best friend is cancer free. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel really bad. I feel relief. I search Google for the best way to deal with guilt and I am told to find ways to make amends and give back to others. I sign a petition on Instagram that has nothing to do with bone cancer.
I sit by Billie's bed. Hey, I say to her. I think we should join a charity.
What are you talking about? she asks me, turning her back to me.
I don't know. I feel like we should be grateful for the hand that we were dealt and give back or something. You know? I tell her.
You're not making any sense right now. Just let me sleep. She pulls me blankets over her head.
Can I sleep in your bed?
Sure. Don't hog the blankets.
Okay.
I lay in bed beside her and stare up at the ceiling. I don't know when I fall asleep. I wake up to an Email notification on my phone.