Received: from ip199.ip-176-31-147.eu ([176.31.147.199]:56119 helo=powerremovermole.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cRkBA-00085Q-2P for lojban@lojban.org; Thu, 12 Jan 2017 10:32:56 -0800 Date: Thu, 12 Jan 2017 11:31:33 -0700 To: Message-ID: Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii From: "Sherry Gibson" Mime-Version: 1 Subject: Get rid of any mole within minutes: This stuff works amazing 9305176 X-Spam-Score: -1.2 (-) X-Spam_score: -1.2 X-Spam_score_int: -11 X-Spam_bar: - an a half hour Right, well, there was that, too. He smiled with half his mouth. The day of the existentially fraught free throws was coincidentally also my last day of dual leggedness. I had a weekend between when they scheduled the amputation and when it happened. My own little glimpse of what Isaac is going through. I nodded. I liked Augustus Waters. I really, really, really liked him. I liked the way his story ended with someone else. I liked his voice. I liked that he took existentially fraught free throws. I liked that he was a tenured professor in the Department of Slightly Crooked Smiles with a dual appointment in the Department of Having a Voice That Made My Skin Feel More Like Skin. And I liked that he had two names. Ive always liked people with two names, because you get to make up your mind what you call them: Gus or Augustus Me, I was always just Hazel, univalent Hazel. Do you have siblings I asked. Huh he answered, seeming a little distracted. You said that thing about watching kids play. Oh, yeah, no. I have nephews, from my half sisters. But theyre older. Theyre likeDAD, HOW OLD ARE JULIE AND MARTHA Twentyeight! Theyre like twentyeight. They live in Chicago. They are both married to very fancy lawyer dudes. Or banker dudes. I cant remember. You have siblings I shook my head no. So whats your story he asked, sitting down next to me at a safe distance. I already told you my story. I was diagnosed when No, not your cancer story. Your story. Interests, hobbies, passions, weird fetishes, etcetera. Um, I said. Dont tell me youre one of those people who becomes their disease. I know so many people like that. Its disheartening. Like, cancer is in the growth business, right The takingpeopleover business. But surely you havent let it succeed prematurely. It occurred to me that perhaps I had. I struggled with how to pitch myself to Augustus Waters, which enthusiasms to embrace, and in the silence that followed it occurred to me that I wasnt very interesting. I am pretty unextraordinary. I reject that out of hand. Think of something you like. The first thing that comes to mind. Um. Reading What do you read Everything. From, like, hideous romance to pretentious fiction to poetry. Whatever. Do you write poetry, too No. I dont write. There! Augustus almost shouted. Hazel Grace, you are the only teenager in America who prefers reading poetry to writing it. This tells me so much. You read a lot of capitalG great books, dont you I guess

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Whats your favorite Um, I said. My favorite book, by a wide margin, was An Imperial Affliction, but I didnt like to tell people about it. Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you cant tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal. It wasnt even that the book was so good or anything; it was just that the author, Peter Van Houten, seemed to understand me in weird and impossible ways. An Imperial Affliction was my book, in the way my body was my body and my thoughts were my thoughts. Even so, I told Augustus. My favorite book is probably An Imperial Affliction, I said. Does it feature zombies he asked. No, I said. Stormtroopers I shook my head. Its not that kind of book. He smiled. I am going to read this terrible book with the boring title that does not contain stormtroopers, he promised, and I immediately felt like I shouldnt have told him about it. Augustus spun around to a stack of books beneath his bedside table. He grabbed a paperback and a pen. As he scribbled an inscription onto the title page, he said, All I ask in exchange is that you read this brilliant and haunting novelization of my favorite video game. He held up the book, which was called The Price of Dawn. I laughed and took it. Our hands kind of got muddled together in the book handoff, and then he was holding my hand. Cold, he said, pressing a finger to my pale wrist. Not cold so much as underoxygenated, I said. I love it when you talk medical to me, he said. He stood, and pulled me up with him, and did not let go of my hand until we reached the stairs. We watched the movie with several inches of couch between us. I did the totally middleschooly thing wherein I put my hand on the couch about halfway between us to let him know that it was okay to hold it, but he didnt try. An hour into the movie, Augustuss parents came in and served us the enchiladas, which we ate on the couch, and they were pretty delicious. The movie was about this heroic guy in a mask who died heroically for Natalie Portman, whos pretty badass and very hot and does not have anything approaching my puffy steroid face. As the credits rolled, he said, Pretty great, huh Pretty great, I agreed, although it wasnt, really. It was kind of a movie. I dont know why s expect us to like movies. We dont expect them to like movies. I should get home. Class in the morning, I said. I sat on the couch for a while as Augustus searched for his keys. His mom sat down next to me and said, I just love this one, dont you I guess I had been looking toward the Encouragement above the TV, a drag of an angel with the caption Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy (This is an old argument in the field of Thinking About Suffering, and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries, but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not in any way affect the taste of chocolate.) Yes, I said. A lovely thought. I drove Augustuss car home with Augustus riding shotgun. He played me a couple songs he liked by a band called The Hectic Glow, and they were good songs, but because I didnt know them already, they werent as good to me as they were to him. I kept glancing over at his leg, or the place where his leg had been, trying to imagine what the fake leg looked like. I didnt want to care about it, but I did a little. He probably cared about my oxygen. Illness repulses. Id learned that a long time ago, and I suspected Augustus had, too. As I pulled up outside of my house, Augustus clicked the radio off. The air thickened. He was probably thinking about kissing me, and I was definitely thinking about kissing him. dering if I wanted to. Id kissed s, but it had been a while. PreMiracle. I put the car in park and looked over at him.




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