Look at her eyes. Look how different they are. How the light catches in the chocolate depths, making them glimmer. How they crinkle at the edges, softening her face. How happy they look.
This is new.
Her eyes used to be dull. No light. No glimmer. Tired eyes. Sad eyes. Heavy eyes. No happiness. Constant worry. Constant pain.

But now she laughs, and she sings “To The River” and “Sugar” and “Shut Up and Dance” in weird voices and sometimes sounds like a monkey but it’s okay because she’s happy.

I’ve only really known Molly for a little over a year. Maybe close to two. But it’s only been this past year that we were really friends. I mean, when you sleep in the same bed with someone on a journalism trip, you kinda have to become friends. The four of us that roomed together became inseparable.

I remember that summer evening when Molly invited me to come to a Studio B comedy with her. It was the first time we did something together, just the two of us. She picked me up, and halfway down Kings Road, she turned to me.

“Hey, did I tell you? My dad has cancer.”
I didn’t know what to say. What do you say back to that? “I’m sorry? I hope he gets better? Do you need me to do something?” But what could I have possibly done? So I just mumbled something, and I think she understood. I knew she didn’t want anyone to pity her. But I’m glad she told me.

Thus began Molly’s long journey with cancer. Late nights up worrying. Long drives to the hospital. Having to take off her shoes when she got home so she didn’t bring germs in. No friends while dad’s home. Unexpected cancelations because cancer trumps all plans. Having to face the possibility that the tumors in his brain could take his life.

We did the best we could as friends. I smiled with her when good things happened. I listened when they weren’t good. I let her be irritable because I knew that she needed to be or she’d explode. She asked us to pray, and I did. Every single day. I watched her face, and I could always tell how things were going by her eyes.

Her eyes. I look over at her in her Pathfinder, watching her make the monkey noises as she laughs and sings and wears off her sugar high from the Bahama Bucks we just ate. We watched her best friend sing. She had just kissed a boy. And most of all, her dad was cancer-free.

No more worry. No more stress. And I can see all this happiness, all this giddiness and joy in those beautiful brown eyes and I can’t help but smile, too, because sometimes things really do work out. Sometimes prayers are answered.