Bones
September 5th
The phone chimes loudly, piercing the stagnant air of the kitchen and breaking the silence that always plagues the flat in the early morning. Remus looks up from his tea, which he still hasn't managed to bring up to his lips, and is met with the bold, bright name of Lily Evans. He lets out a groan at the sight, mostly because it’s seven o'clock in the morning, but also because he feels slightly sick from the long day ahead of him. Remus considers not answering at all—surely he can get away with one more day.
Remus has kept his promise to Lily so far—well, mostly. He’s texted her short updates, all technical with no personality. He’s sent her photos of the flat, which they laughed at for a little. He’s told her that the hospital is mostly just boring and that he’s kept to himself—typical things that aren’t out of the ordinary, to show that the time here won’t make him something he’s not.
He’s left out all the rest: how he can see his mother slowly beginning to fade in the short time, why he hates even glancing at the building across the road, the exhaustion that drowns him, and all these new feelings and emotions that are eating him away. Remus fears that one day, all that will be left are bones.
Remus swipes right on the last ring, attempting to figure out how to both lie and tell the truth to his best friend in the time it takes for her to realise he actually answered the phone.
“Oh my goodness, you picked up!”
Her voice comes out slightly crackly, like the phone wants to remind them of the distance. Remus lets out a small smile—it’s nice to finally hear a familiar voice.
“Thought this would be my last chance before you’d come kick my ass.”
She laughs, and suddenly he’s brought back home to the farmland and the many memories of his friends. A longing begins to ache in his chest.
“You wouldn't stand a chance against me, Lupin.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“Are you kidding me!?” another voice chimes in from the distance. “Lily would have you on the floor, Remus.” Giggles erupt from the other line, and Remus becomes aware of all the muffled noise in Lily’s room.
“Mary!?” he asks.
“Hey,” she sings.
“What are you doing there?”
“Hi, Remus!” comes another voice.
“Who’s that?”
“Marlene—shut up!—Sorry, annual first-day sleepover.”
“Oh, right—school.”
Remus never really cared much for it. He didn’t like most of the kids there, and he found the teachers boring and uninspiring. Remus left school last year; the decision came following a career meeting in which it was uncovered that Remus didn’t have the desire for tertiary education nor the exam scores. Remus still remembers the teacher who ran it, Mrs. Page, who talked too slowly and always ate cheese sandwiches during class. Had she encouraged him to try a bit harder or believed in him at all, maybe things would be different. Instead, she labelled him a lost cause and suggested he get a farming apprenticeship.
“Yeah, it came super fast. I’m a bit nervous but mostly excited. Can’t believe it’s my last year!”
“Only you would be excited for your final exams, Lily.”
“Ha-ha. So, what are your plans for today then?”
“I start chemo…” It goes peculiarly silent.
“...Hey, you’ve got this.”
Remus pipes up, “I’m also a little bit excited for today.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. No, not really.
“Yeah, because it means I’m—you know—one step closer to being finished with… all this.”
“Where’s all this positivity coming from?” she giggles. Remus shrugs, even though she can’t see him.
“Well, everyone’s missing you, especially Daisy. Peter said she’s been quite restless.”
“Tell him to feed her a handful of corn and she should start to perk up—she loves that stuff. Anyway, how is Pete?”
“He’s alright, haven’t heard much from him, other than that he and the twins are planning to buy a boat to take out on the lake.”
“Really? That sounds like something they’d do.”
“Don’t know if they actually will. It’s all talk with them. Remember when they convinced everyone they were getting a jet ski and it turned out to be this inflatable pool toy?”
Remus lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
There’s a faint call of Lilyyyyy and a loud thud from the other side of the phone.
“Ow—Mary!”
It goes quiet for a little while, with Remus listening to the mumbles of the girls arguing. When Lily gets back, her voice comes out in a quick huff.
“Hey, Remus, I better start getting ready. It was nice to hear from you. Call you later, yeah?”
“Sure, see ya.”
At least there was no talk of the hospital or how he was feeling, and he only managed to tell one white lie.
“Who was that?” His mother walks out of the bedroom in her nightgown, catching the last of his conversation.
“Lily.”
“Oh, good. How is she?”
“Fine. Starts school today.”
“How wonderful,” she beams, and Remus is left with that hint of disappointment. She never wanted him to leave school and subject the rest of his life to the farm. There is so much more of the world outside these fences, she’d said to him. Remus knew she wished he was a little more ambitious, a little braver. He’d come to like reading and writing and English literature, even though his teacher paid little attention to him at all. His mother had hoped he’d follow this passion and hated how her son fell to societal pressures at only sixteen.
“You should eat something. Big day ahead.”
Remus nods, wrapping his hands around his cup of tea and bringing it to his lips.
It is as cold as ice.
It’s 9:30 am on a Thursday in September, but Specialist Clinic E has never been busier. There are patients everywhere, most of whom Remus has seen before, but a few he hasn't.
Tubes stick out of people's arms, chests, and noses. Adults in their early twenties with beanies and wigs sit among the chairs. Teenagers with no hair at all stay close to their parents, and as much as Remus hates to admit it, it frightens him to look at them. Regardless, if you look close enough, everyone seems to have slight dark circles and droopy eyes—they’re all so tired, and so is Remus, and so is his mother.
Remus sits in his usual chair for approximately ten seconds before he’s up. He’s extremely restless today, and nothing seems to get rid of the itch better than walking around. His mother urges him to stay still, but Remus finds the waiting particularly excruciating and can’t find it in himself to stay in one place.
He goes to the bathroom, taking extra long to scrub his hands just to waste time. When he finally exits, Remus is met with a football barreling down the corridor of the waiting room, passing the receptionist desk and bouncing to land at his feet.
A boy, about Remus' age, runs up to it. He’s only slightly shorter than Remus and has a big mop of curly dark hair that bounces on his head as he surges forward, matching his deep golden-brown skin. However, his most distinct feature is the large circular glasses that adorn his face, which are becoming increasingly askew as he mutters apologies and bends down to pick up the ball. He looks up to meet Remus.
“Blimey, you are tall,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, Sirius said you were, but I don’t usually take his word—he’s pretty dramatic.” Remus cringes at the mention of being talked about, of being perceived at all, for that matter. He is startled by the frankness of the conversation with this boy, who he has no idea is. His expression must say it all.
“I’m James, Sirius’s friend,” the other boy says, entirely too happy and pleased for this hour and setting.
“Right… Remus.”
“I know, Sirius said you’d be here.” So he has been talking about him. This is why he should have never given him his name in the first place. Now Remus is going to have to deal with a bunch of people he never initially wanted to let into his life.
“Why’s he–” Remus starts, about to pressure James regarding this Sirius guy and why he’s taken him on as some charity case, when his name is loudly called.
“Remus Lupin.” He looks over to a nearby nurse in lavender scrubs, who is holding a bag of clear-looking fluid. “I have your chemo, would you like to come follow me,” she says with a soft smile.
James waves a beckoning hand. “C’mon, I'll show you the best seat.”
James pushes the big button on the wall, and the double doors fly open. They walk down the hallway, passing storage, the nurses' station, and treatment and private rooms. Then the space opens up. There are big comfy chairs scattered about—some lined up on the back wall, some facing the windows, others facing each other. A few tables stand with decorations, and there's a shelf filled with board games, books, and movies. James leads him around a small corner; two chairs face the floor-to-ceiling window, secluded from all the others.
The whole while, James goes on talking, playing with the ball as they walk and sit down. Remus isn’t sure what he’s saying; he catches fragments of "field," "running," and "morning" and assumes he’s going on about some kind of sport. Remus isn't sure why the people he’s met talk too much and don’t understand personal space or boundaries. Maybe it’s a city thing. He thought that once he found his seat, the other boy would politely leave. That is, until James flops down on one of the chairs and continues, very loudly, speaking.
“Not to be rude or anything," Remus interrupts, "but why are you even talking to me?” It was a nicer way, Remus figured, than telling James to fuck off, because he really wasn’t having it today.
James stalls, turning to face him.
“You really wanna know?” There it is, there’s a catch—always is.
“Yes,” he replies, suddenly intrigued.
“Sirius took you to the roof.” Remus looks at James strangely, who lounges on the chair as if this is his home, tossing the ball from hand to hand. “He's never taken anyone there before. I mean, we have together. Threw a few small parties and get-togethers in the years, but he’s never let someone see it the way we do, calm and in all its glory.”
“So?”
“So, it means he sees something in you, and because of that, so do I.”
Remus considers it for a moment. It was a nice thing to say, but most likely utter bullshit. He doesn't want to linger on the topic of him, so he attempts to change the subject.
“You two must be close mates, then.”
“Brothers, actually.”
“Really?” Remus says, surprised. “No offence… but how?”
James laughs. “None taken, mate, and I would tell you, but I don’t think it’s my story to say.”
Remus nods understandably and a moment later, there’s a yell of:
“James Fleamont Potter!”
The boy in front of Remus groans and covers his face. “I have told you about being back here. What are you doing harassing my patients?” The nurse before him carries the same joyful face as her son, with radiating eyes and silky dark brown hair and skin.
“What? Mum! I am not harassing them.”
“Well,” she looks at the information on the medicine she’s holding, “poor Remus here doesn’t look too pleased with you.” She looks at James pointedly but not too seriously, a hint of a smile appearing on her face.
“I was just waiting for Sirius…”
“He’s downstairs with your dad. The imaging department is taking a while, why don’t you go keep them company?”
He gives an annoyed huff before pulling himself up and kissing his mother on the cheek.
“Hey, Remus, meet us upstairs when you’re done.” She gives him a stern look. “That is, if you’re feeling okay,” he adds.
Remus is grateful when he turns around and finally leaves.
“Sorry about him. He can be a lot at times. I’m Euphemia, one of the nurses, but you can call me Effie.” She begins to fiddle with the pump machine on the long IV pole beside the chair. “Alright, have you had any nausea medication today?”
“Yes, ondansetron at nine.”
“Okay, great, you’re due for another in the next hour, and I'll push through some cyclizine before we start.”
“Okay,” he says, suddenly feeling incredibly small. His mother, who was caught up talking to another doctor, finds him now and sits down beside him, placing her hand in his.
“And please, don’t feel pressured to see my sons after. Your body is working incredibly hard and needs rest.”
Hours pass, and in the end, Remus doesn’t go.
The first time Remus saw a dead body, he was five years old. It was a bitter day in winter, and he clung onto his mother’s hand, not daring to let go out of fear she would leave again—a habit from the anxiety that came with Remus’ first year of school. The snow at his feet was speckled with red, like the juice of the overripe cherries that fell and stained the floor on the farm. But it wasn't summer, and there weren't any cherry trees near. So Remus stayed confused as his eyes followed the trail.
The fox was strung up by its tail, nailed upon the fence. It was stiff—though from cold or death, Remus didn’t know. At first, it looked peaceful, as though it was asleep, like the bat in the storybook they read at school. But then the rest registered in his mind: the hole of where an eye should have been, the mess of organs that stuck out from its head, and the pool of cherry-red blood at the bottom. He cried. He kicked and screamed and begged his mother to fix it, to make it better. She couldn’t, and she didn’t.
Death meets him again two years later, in the form of his father’s crumpled body on the floor of the shed. In lifeless eyes and a tired stare. He was still there, still him, in his rutty jeans and red flannel with his familiar graying stubble still visible. But it wasn't really him, because he was gone.
Remus thinks he looks a lot like that now. He catches glimpses of himself as they walk back to the flat, scared to look too long. He sees his sunken expression, showing the world how tired his body already is. Remus is a living corpse, a skeleton without a spirit. He wishes someone would pick up the pieces and tie him together, make him human again, or else just dig him a grave and bury him under the willow tree and feed the rest of his soul to the birds.
He can almost feel the chemo coursing through his veins, infecting him and destroying the little good he has inside of him. He can’t focus on the book he’s trying to read in bed, so he’s taken to scribbling words in the margin:
What am I but rotting flesh and decaying bones?