Petrichor

Breaking the Rules “Hello, you guys all know me pretty well. We’ve been going to group therapy together for a long time. I started coming right after my diagnosis, and you’ve all been a great help to me, and I lost my leg along the way, lost people I thought of as friends, became closer to my family—a lot has happened in the past two years, and I’m still going to need you guys, but I’m happy to say, that as of my last test, and the results I got yesterday, I’m clear on cancer,” Ian Reid says, standing at the front of the room, and his smile is like nothing Greg Jones has ever seen before. It’s like a flower slowly blooming under the light of the sun, and it’s not the first time Greg has seen that image in his mind when thinking about Ian since he joined this support group for anyone affected by cancer in anyway. The room applauds Ian’s announcement, and some people go to hug him or shake his hand, but Greg waits, waits for the group to break apart. Then Greg taps Ian on the shoulder and stops him before he goes for refreshments. Greg hugs him, making sure not to linger too long, not wanting to give away his massive crush in a room full of people, especially as some people in the group follow the rule of no dating among group members. Greg plans to break that rule, but not right away. “Thank you for not telling anyone after I told you. I wanted you to know because you’ve been such a great friend, but everyone else I wanted to tell all at once. I’m just so happy. I mean, you know my story.” He runs a hand over his short hair, only just growing back after he lost it all to treatment. Greg’s lost his, too, and it hasn’t grown back. Ian had broken his leg and found out he had bone cancer. He’d had to have the leg removed, and it was his mother who’d found the group for him. “If I can do anything at all for you,” Ian went on, “just let me know.” And that was exactly the kind of opening Greg had been hoping for. “Actually, I do have a favour I wanted to ask you,” Greg admits. “Of course, anything. You’re one of my best friends, Greg. You’ve helped me keep upbeat; you got me to go see a doctor when I was depressed. No one else convinced me to do that, not my family, not people I knew before the cancer. I would do a hell of a lot for you, even if it’s illegal,” Ian says, and he sounds so serious, it makes Greg feel strange. It’s hard to explain. It’s not like he didn’t know he was Ian’s friend, and he knows he’s helped Ian, but hearing Ian say it like that makes his insides flutter. “Why would it be illegal?” Greg frowns. “I don’t know, but you seem really nervous about it, so I figured you needed to rob a bank or something.” Ian shrugs. “As expensive as treatment is, I don’t need to rob a bank quite yet. But I am nervous; I have my first nude modelling job since—well, how do I put this delicately?—since they cut off one of my balls and I lost all my hair. And while the lack of body hair won’t be an issue, I am kind of worried about the rest of it. Everyone said they’re cool with it, but I don’t think this photographer has ever liked me, so it’d be reassuring to have a friendly face there.” “You want me to come with you?” “Yeah, if you’re free this Friday, I’d really appreciate it. I’ve regained the weight I lost during chemo, my muscle definition is almost back to what it was, but I had what you once called Fabio hair before. Now I’m bald, and no one apart from my doctors and my brother have seen my d**k since they removed my ball.” Greg is honestly terrified about the photo shoot but trying to play it cool. He’s been a model since he was a kid, and focusing on nude modelling since he turned eighteen ten years ago. He’s not modelled much since he got sick, and what he has done has been fully clothed, and he’s not felt as comfortable or as confident as he once did. He used to be the guy who loved having his picture taken, for work and when out with friends. He loved attention. He’d always been the good looking one in the group; he’s used to admiring second looks everywhere he goes. Now people look at him differently, treat him differently. He used to be beautiful, and people called him shallow for it. Now he has photographers and people telling him he’s brave for having his picture taken. Fighting cancer has been the hardest thing he has ever done, but he doesn’t feel like he needs a pat on the back from people he hardly knows; it feels condescending, especially since those people are nothing like the ones here in the group, who know exactly what he’s going through. “Why has your brother seen your d**k?” Ian frowns. “I was worried I looked weird with one ball and that guys would laugh at me when they saw it when I finally went on a date,” Greg admits. “I hope he told you it doesn’t matter. I’m not the biggest social butterfly, and I’ve never dated a guy who’s been in your situation, but I’ve been on dates since I lost my leg, had s*x since I lost my leg, so I understand how you feel, at least a little. I thought no one would be attracted to me, I thought it’d creep people out when I took off the prosthetic, but it hasn’t been like that,” Ian says firmly. “Thanks, but will you come anyway? It’ll just be nice to have a friend with me, if I freak out. You’re good at calming people down,” Greg asks. “Of course, I’ll come. Text me the details. I’m going to talk to a few people now, but try not to stress too much before Friday. Text me if you feel stressed. I’m here for you man.” Ian pats his back and heads off towards Mick, the man who runs their group. Greg hangs out a while longer, grabs a coffee, and talks to a few people, and waves to Ian when he leaves. He really hopes he’s not going to make a fool of himself on Friday.