In addition to all that, Beth moved in with us about a month later, due to a bad breakup. The three of us were our own little family, all of us so much a part of each other. And Jake was finally living his dream of playing in a band and performing on stage. Ten Years Gone grew promisingly, playing out every Wednesday at the coffeehouse and the club. They played paid gigs and recorded their first album, Palmetto Ska. Everyone was relatively happy, and the future was brighter than it had ever been. And then Jake couldn't wear his artifical eye anymore.
Jake was born with a cancer called retinoblastoma. His left eye had to be removed, and radiation therapy seriously damaged his right eye, causing him to lose all his vision before his teens. The doctors had said he would be prone to other cancers later in life. He noticed the tumor in his eye socket even before we'd moved out of his mom's house, but said nothing. He'd been back and forth to doctors most of his early life, and he was a little traumatized because of it. It wasn't officially diagnosed until months later. It was a very vicious sarcoma. After a CT scan, when the doctors brought us all in, they couldn't even tell us just how bad it was. All they could say was that they would try and make him comfortable. I don't think they were used to saying those words to a 19 year old.
Ever since it became visible to us I'd begged him to tell his doctor, to go to the hospital before it was too late. Looking back, I think he knew it already was, and was trying to protect the rest of us from false hope. It's a saggitarius thing. We didn't really talk about it directly, but he knew I was scared, and he held me while I cried. I said I would curl up and leave the world if he died. He told me not to, that he knew I could be stronger than that, that I had a lot of love inside me to give and that I shouldn't cut myself off. I made him promise that he would wait for me in the Waiting Zone. I don't know if he was scared, or had just accepted it. But none of us knew just how bad it was.
When he lost consiousness one afternoon and couldn't be woken up, even though I screamed his name, it was too soon, none of us were prepared. As we waited for the ambulance I fought back my tears, and I whispered "don't leave me yet, Imzadi, it's too soon." But I felt bad for saying it, he couldn't help it. I tried to stay as strong as I could, mostly for his mother, even though she had her whole home town to support her, and all Beth and I had was the band. He was on a breathing machine in ICU the rest of that day and all of the next. We sat in the parking lot with the band that night, talking and laughing, remembering good times and stupid shit. Allen went up for coffee, and came back down with the saddest look I'd ever seen on his face, and he told us that Jake was gone. We all rushed upstairs, and I led them into ICU. The tubes had been removed from his mouth and the machines were silent, and he was still and his lips were white. I kissed his forehead and said "I love you Imzadi." I left the room and sat in a chair outside, and prayed to whatever powers were listening to keep him safe in the Zone until I get there. And the band surrounded me and hugged me, and I told them of the Waiting Zone, and that now we had to get them famous. And as we headed to the store for some much needed alcohol, we all agreed that he had been down in the parking lot with us the whole time.
That night I had to start relearning how to sleep alone, without his arms around me or his chainsaw snoring lulling me to sleep. I talked to him in the darkness. He was a strong spirit. He was messing with Beth, moving her watch and such, and she suspected he was getting some prompting from her brother Tommy. He was able to communicate to her that he didn't even remember going to the hospital. And he came to me one night and made love to me, and it was one of the most unique experiences I'd ever felt. I laughed myself to sleep that night, saying "feel free to make a habit of that." His funeral was crowded with people who didn't even know him. The minister made a big deal about him being blind in life, and now he was in a place where he could see. But all I could think was that he saw me better than anyone ever has. I felt like a scapegoat for his family's pain, which I could understand and forgive. The thing that hurt the most I think was that, despite that I'd lived with them for over two years and considered them my in laws, I was not listed with the family in the bulliten for the service. Beth and I couldn't possibly stay in that apartment, in that town, so we moved closer to the band to support them, rather than giving up and moving back to California.