Lock and Key

It's grammar school mathematics; two plus two is four. Four plus four makes eight and so on. I never had a mind for numbers and figures. That was Simon's dexterity. Numbers used to fall at his feet like lovers, as I always said. Funny thing was, the only lover that was at his feet was me, the coffee house savior who knew nothing but my guitar, a melody, and a hook. That was until I flunked math my senior year. That was until my savior came into form as a six-foot einstein. He thought his soul mate would be a quantam physicist, mine -- Bob Dylan. Who'd have thought that lady fate had an equation of her own?1

Senior Year, Seattle Point High School.2

It was raining that first day, as it normally is in Seattle. We see as much rain as we do Starbucks. I looked up at the clock and saw the second hand make 4:00. I sat in a desk better acquainted for a six-grader than an eighteen year-old covered in slang like "math blows", etc. I had to say I couldn't agree more. In a room with peeling wallpaper and laminated signs boasting the pythagorean thereom, the most interesting thing I found was my scruffy pink sneakers. By that time they were long exhausted by song lyrics and personal quotes graffiti'd with a spectrum of Sharpies. The quote on my left sneaker in green caught my attention -- "Never close your eyes because something precious might pass you by." A half-smile caught my lips as I remembered the source of this philosophy -- from inside a fortune cookie. That night dad and I had hurricaned an insane order of stir-fried rice, eggrolls, and orange chicken. Dad had handed me the cookie and said, "Here, Locks, this one feels like a winner."3

"Dad -- it's a fortune cookie, not the lotto. And besides, have you ever thought of the kind of people who write these things? It's probably a balding old man with three teeth in a basement somewhere combing his three hairs and --"4

"Locks," he interrupted, "just open it." And I did. And that precious piece of paper remained in the same place where I had put it that night for I had gone to bed; in my black book. Now, this wasn't a black book full of frat boy memories, absolutely not. No, I filled this book of nothing and everything. Every song, every memory, every photo, every word that I wanted to keep in case my memory ever failed me. I think of it as an insurance policy for my soul. The fortune is there, under a picture of Dad and I the day he brought me home my first guitar at age six. It's black and white and truly stunning -- Dad was a photographer. He was my best friend. He died last year of pancreatic cancer, and the memory still burns a hole in me like an ashtray. Still sitting in that ancient math classroom I didn't even realize that tears had begun to moisten the mascara on my lower-lid, the salty liquid taste lacing my lips.5

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Jasmine Lockley." My eyes, still stinging from my makeup (waterproof my foot!) I was met by the boy who would eventually save my life, but I didn't know it then. As anticlimatic as it goes, I didn't think anything of it. He was tall, that's the first thing that stood out to me. His hair was a light shade of red and terribly unruly, like a hurricane had decided to dance through it. He wore a tee-shirt that said, "Geeks Do It Better", Levi's a size too big, and sneakers to match mine, although his were brown, not pink (and not covered in scribbles.) But the most remarkable thing about him were his eyes -- they were a lucid green, like an elixir. 6

"Um, are you Jasmine?" He asked, not timid, his voice was actually deep and almost soothing. That shot me back to the present.7

I shot up from the desk, "Yeah, yeah, but for the sake of my well-being, just call me Locks, everyone else does." I extended my hand towards him. His right eyebrow curled, something that I would eventually learn to adore, and he wrapped his hand around mine. Like a well-thought equation, like a geometric format, like the forsaken pythagorean thereom, it just fit -- my hand in his. We must have stood there for what seemed like hours because it was an announcement on the P.A. system that snapped us out of it. 8

"Attention all students," an extemely nasal voice vibrated the speakers, "all afterschool activities have been canceled due to an electrical problem. Please exit the school in an orderely fashion and have a superb weekend, children..."9

My hand still enveloped in his, I looked up at him, "So..." I allowed my voice to trail off. I, the future Janis Joplin, the girl who knew nothing but words, was speechless. Luckily Mr. Scientist interjected.10

He gently removed his hand from around mine and half-grinned, "Well, Locks, we have two choices -- we can either blow this popsicle stand and maybe get some food, or we can keep our tutor-student relationship purely professional and reconvene when the school isn't frying down to bits in electrical mayhem. Which shall it be?"11

"Ah, food?" I stammered. I had no idea why I was acting like a complete lunatic, maybe besides the entire electrical mania -- yeah, that was it, an electrical problem.12

"You don't sound so sure, Locks. I promise you, I am not crazy. Here, even better," he removed his wallet from his backpocket and removed his drivers' license and handed it to me, "You can check for yourself that I am not, in fact, a criminal. I've never even gotten a parking ticket."13

I looked down at the card in my hands and did something incredibly stupid -- I laughed. Not just a gentle, polite laugh, no this was like full on hyena cackling. I was soon gasping for breath. The poor kid just looked at me like I was a crazy lady.14

"Erm, mind if I ask what is so funny?" I was still laughing like an idiot, now bribing tears from my eyes. I gasped out the words, "I'm.. sorry... it's... your... face..."15

He rubbed his chin and rolled his eyes, "I used to say to myself -- Simon, one day someone will understand that you had been stung by a bee right before your picture was taken and they won't laugh until you feel as small as that tiny insect that caused your face to swell like a circus."16

I stopped laughing immediately, "I'm sorry, I really am. However, I think you'll understand in about two seconds." I reached into my over-sized carpet bag and retrieved my license. From the second it touched his palm, laughter shot from his chest like a slingshot.17

"Wow -- I thought mine was bad!" he gasped, and I had to admit he was right. The picture was taken on my sixteenth birthday, the day that dad had decided to reward me with a perm -- yes a perm. My whole life my hair had been flat as a board, so the two of us thought it would be an ingenious idea to add some volume to my locks. Very terrible idea. My hair ended up looking like Medusa in Tahiti, taking on a lifeform on it's own. Although Simon's face was swollen in his picture, at least you could see his face. My hair had eaten mine. Both of us now able to respirate correctly, we sat on top of the desks. 18

"Thank you, Locks," Simon grinned.19

"For what?"20

"For showing me that all great things come in pairs." He arranged his picture next to mine on the table and it just fit. The bee-stung boy and the jungle-haired girl. We never did end up going out for food. We ended up sitting on those desks until the nasal P.A. lady had hunted us down and kicked us out. That was the beginning.21

Freshman Year, Washington State University.22

"Ergg," I mustered, incomprehensible words were the only thing I knew in the morning, "what time is it?"23

Simon, with his arms wrapped around my waist and snoring lightly in my ear just grumbled, "erdunno." I wiggled a little, removing his arm from the trenches of blankets and sheets to look at the watch i'd given him on his birthday. My vision still blurry, I rubbed them raw and the little hands of the watch came into focus; 8:47.24

"Noo!!" I shouted, as I scrambled out of the sheets, the cold shooting up my bare legs, as I was clad in his infamous 'Geeks Do It Better' shirt, (they really do, might I add) and a pair of his boxers. I hurriedly wiggled into a pair of jeans and shouted at Simon to wake up. He just turned on his side and buried his face in the pillow, his red hair spilling over the white linen. I searched the desk next to me with only one leg in my jeans and found the marker on my desk and threw it at him. It made direct contact with his ear lobe. His green eyes shot open immediately. 25

"Locks, what was that for?" He grumbled. 26

My leg found its way inside my jeans and I smiled as sweetly as I could, "Sorry to interrupt any erotic fantasies you might be having about me, but our first class starts in approximately ten minutes."27

He still looked half-asleep, completely adorable I might add,"Oh." He yawned, scratched his stomach and layed back down. Seconds past before he was out of that bed like spitfire, "OH!" He tripped out of bed and immediately went on a hunt for his pants. His lips found mine and he smiled amidst the chaos, "Good morning, darling.
How did you sleep?"28

I pulled his Washington State hoodie over my head and laughed, "Quite well, Einstein, and by the way, I really think that these late-night study sessions are beginning to do the exact opposite to my grade."29

He laughed with me, "Well then, I guess we shall have to extend our sessions to a little hands-on education as well." I knocked him in the stomach and found my bag.30

"I think I had enough 'hands-on' education last night, thank you very much." He kissed me one more time, he really was insatiable. 31

"You're welcome." He threw on a green sweater I had bought him for Christmas because it made his eye color 'pop' and he grabbed his books. We hurried out his room and started pounding our sneakered feet down the corridor. Welcome to the world of higher learning.32

With only seconds to spare I had made it to my History of Ancient Rome class and immediately fell into a stupor of boredom. I allowed my mind to wander to my favorite educational subject, well, somewhat educational -- Simon. The past year and the half had compeltely transformed both of us, I believe. It started that first day in the classroom back in Seattle Point High School and it really blossomed into something beautiful that I never would have anticipated. On our first actual date Simon took me a the Astronomics Obersvational Lab downtown (apparently he had connections, when in fact, he just had an uncle.) It was really breathtaking -- besides being able to view all of nature's beauty within a small scope of the eye, I had this incredible person to share it with -- Simon Keys. 33

He was the one person who was able to take my mind from the haunting memories of my father and be able to look at life with new eyes. He said that attraction was a complicated mathematical equation with variables and constants. I said it was pretty simple: you + me = good. He laughed at that one, but it was true. Although Simon got accepted to M.I.T. at the end of senior year, he said he couldn't go. When I asked him why he just looked and me and smiled and said, "Me - you = not good." 34

I laughed but it was something I still felt guilty about, although Simon continually reassured me that this was what he wanted. It's what I wanted -- I loved him, like you fall in love with a melody, like a song saves your soul, it's pretty inescapable.35

The first time Simon told me, we were sitting in my room, where I was absently painting my toenails and he was dilligently doing his homework (pedicures definitely took seniority in my book.) I could tell by the look on his face that he was getting frustrated, ( you could tell by looking at his right eye brow, it scrunches up and begins to look like a caterpillar.) I did what any sane girlfriend would do and I tackled him on the bed. I kissed him on the nose and spoke in my most astute voice, "It's simple mathematics, my dear boy. Just multiply the binomial by the factoral variable and divide it by the percentile..." He cut my non-sense rambling with his lips, which was great because I was running out of non-sense math vocabulary to blurt out. When his lips left mine (several) minutes later, he smiled up at me.36

"I have a surprise for you," he said with a mischevious grin.37

"Please don't tell me it's a calculator," I said, completely deadpan.38

"Nope, nope," he said, rolling off the bed and onto the floor where he grabbed my blue Fender acoustic, my baby. I just stared in confusion. Normally I was the one to break out the guitar and start strumming, not Simon. Transfixed, I rolled off the bed and sat across from him on the carpet. He absently started plucking strings and his eyes met mine. "Okay -- promise not to laugh?" I just nodded as a response. His long fingers began strumming a simple three-chord melody -- "Blowin' in the Wind" by Mr. Bob Dylan. He sang the lyrics so hopelessly off-key, but what made it all that more beautiful was that he sang it for me. 39

"How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind..."40

I'd never told him this, but it was my favorite song because my dad used to sing it to me when I was a young girl, and the melodies from his lips made me feel like a child again.41

When he finished singing the last lyric of the song, he smiled softly and his eyes met mine, which were lined with tears. He seemed to notice this and it sent him into alarm, "Whoa, Locks, I'm sorry. I know my voice is terrible, it's just that I know it's your favorite song and all." I closed the inches between us and removed the guitar from his hands. I crawled in his lap and I wrapped my arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "Locks?" he asked quitely. 42

My eyes met his, so uncertain and believing that his terrible voice had disgusted me to tears. He was so wrong. He brought his hand to wipe my tears and I leaned into his hand. "Thank you so much, Simon. It was beautiful."43

As totally cliche as it is, Simon kissed me softly once and whispered against my lips, "Yes, you are. Locks, I love you." Bam, there it was, stealing the breath from my chest cavity was the most incredible thing he'd ever said to me. 44

I smiled amidst my tears, "I love you, too, Simon." That was it -- like a contract in stone, we belonged to one another. So that brings us to the present, where instead he took a full-ride at Washington State to major in Biochemical Engineering whereas I was still undecided about my major. In the meantime, I got stuck in these lackluster classes about ancient Rome and Mesopotamia and such. Truly engrossing... not. 45

From the back of my mind I heard my professor's voice resonating in my ears, "Ms. Lockley, if you are going to talk in class, I would much prefer it if it was perhaps relevant facts."46

I lifted my head from my notebook, swearing to myself for falling asleep on the spiral wire binding. That would definitely leave a mark. All eyes were on me and I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks.47

I stammered an apology, "Err, sorry Mr. Wallace. Won't happen again." His eyes just leered behind his oval spectacles and he returned to his ramblings. Seconds later, I went back to sleep.48

Later on, still groggy from my Ancient Rome naptime, I unlocked the door to my door and hit the light. It had been awhile since I'd been there, thanks to all of my 'studying' with Simon. I dropped my backpack to the floor without haste and crawled underneath the covers. 49

It must have been hours later when I heard a hard knocking on my door. My mind still flooded and hazy, I couldn't trigger the strength to move. Closing my eyes again, I heard a faint jingling of keys and the door to my room opening, the pool of light from the hallway spilling on my bed.50

"Jasmine?" Simon asked. He only called me Jasmine when he was trying to annoy me or if he was really concerned. He came to the side of the bed and leaned forward towards me. "Locks? Come on sleepyhead, open your eyes." Forcing my lids to open, I was met by his eyes only inches from mine.51

"Hey," I said, my voice raspy from sleep, "what's shakin?"52

He let out a nervous sigh and brushed a lock of hair from my face, "You had me worried there for a minute. Maybe I did keep you up a little too late, huh?" He kissed my forehead. "So I guess you want to stay in tonight, hm?"53

I nodded faintly and mumbled, "mhhmm."54

He smiled lightly, "Okay, sounds good. Move over." He tried snuggling next to me but I halted him by bringing my hand to his chest. 55

"No, you go ahead and go out." I sounded like a hundred-year old woman, "I'll just stay here and catch up on some sleep, because as you pointed out, I have been studying so hard lately."56

He wasn't convinced, "Are you sure? Because I am always down for an all-night snuggle fest."57

I leaned up and hugged him, "Seriously, Simon, it's fine. I'm sure you are just dying to go test some theory anways. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, promise."58

His eyes caved in, "Alright, young lady, but I expect to see you at breakfast at ten a.m. sharp."59

"It's a date." I kissed him on the cheek and snuggled back into the covers. He edged off the bed and before he closed the door and heard him say 'I love you.' The was my last thought before I drifted back to sleep. During the night, a pain in my abdomen had me turning fervishly, trying to make the pain stop. It could have been cramps, but I hadn't had my monthly for quite a long time thanks to a beautiful thing called birth control pills I had gotten as soon as Simon and I had began our 'all night study sessions.' I wrapped my arms around my stomach, as if I were trying to hold my insides in. All of this without avail and the only thing I dreamt of that night was fire. The fire burning down to my veins.60

The next morning was no better as I sat with Simon in the cafeteria with absolutely no apetite. Even after he tried to bribe me with my favorite; chocolate sundae with brownie and marshmellows. I was only able to spoon a couple of bites before the pain convulsed again. I blamed it on cramps and excused myself back to my room. The throbbing continued, even as my eyes closed again.61

After a few weeks of this pain-staked routine, a sinking feeling surfaced in my stomach that wasn't the pain but something bigger than that -- what if I was pregnant? And just like that I was gasping for breath. Oh man, I couldn't -- wouldn't -- be. Every time Simon and I had been intimate, we had protected ourselves everytime. I brought my cold palm to my forehead that felt like hot embers and tried to gain some calm. I needed to do something. Simon was on his way to really making something of himself. I, on the other hand, was an undecided songwriter with nothing but her guitar and a faded black book full of memories. Memories of my dad, memories of dreaded high school, memories of falling in love -- the memories were all there. I wasn't about to add motherhood to it.62

The next morning I sat cornered in blistering white walls, frozen in a paper hospital gown. The walls were lined with several medical degrees, awards, and news clippings. A plaque on the wall read, "The Office of Dr. Richard M. Newerth, M.D." Well, that was comforting. Maybe I had seen Dirty Dancing one too many times but the image of the clothes hanger as an operational tool was a haunting image for me. My fingers clenched the sterile hospital paper I sat on and waited for a decision that might change my life. It had been hell trying to convince Simon that I was out buying some new sound equipment, some new strings. He offerred to take me, keeping in mind my state of fatigue lately. I just shrugged him off and told him I needed some fresh air. Hesitantly, he had agreed.63

So here I was, sweaty palms and clammy skin waiting for my acclaimed doctor of doctors. As if my prayers were answered, a middle aged man with a kind smile and a clipboard. "Ms. Lockley? I'm Dr. Newerth." I looked at the grin painted on his cracked lips and I saw that the smile did not reach his grey eyes.64

"What's wrong? What wrong with me?" I asked, my frail voice hardly more audible than a whisper.65

"Ms. Lockley, I can't say anything conclusive until we have run more extensive tests..."66

I buried my head in my hands and begun to sob, "Oh my god. I am pregnant. How could this happen..." My words were mumbled by my fingers.67

Dr. Newerth cleared his throat, "Ah, Ms. Lockley, you aren't pregnant."68

I looked back up at him, wiping my swollen eyes, "I -- I'm not? Oh God..." my voice trailed off as my thoughts caught back on, "so, hold on a minute... if I'm not pregnant, what's wrong with me?"69

Dread now lined Dr. Newerth's irises, "Ms. Lockley," he said, closing the door once again, "we need to talk."70

Weeks later there was one incontrovertable truth that I had to swallow down like a bitter pill...71

I had cancer.72

The news had hit me like a brick to a window, shattering my soul to pieces. I had pancreatic cancer, exactly what had killed my father. After the shock had left my body, the only thing that was left within my chest cavity was one haunting truth -- I had to leave Simon. This truth burned in my heart more than the cancer did. According to the doctor, th cancer hadn't spread from my pancreas because we had caught it so early on. It wouldn't be easy, however, to fight it. It would take months of chemotherapy, countless bottles of pills, and a miracle. The doctor had been brutally honest with me -- in the last year alone, only about 600 of the people who were diagnosed had survived the cancer. And I was about to become another statistic, whether I liked it or not. And to think, my greatest fear was giving birth to a child to share with the man I loved. Now, I had to give him and the hope and ever doing so up like smoke. Now I had to take any ounce of strength in me to lie with every fiber in my skin -- I had to leave Simon. I wasn't going to be the dead-weight to sink him down anymore.73

It was raining that day too. It's always raining in Seattle. I had asked Simon to meet me under the bridge in the memorial park across from campus. The temperature had dropped and I snuggled into the cashmere sweater I was wearing. My breath escaped my mouth and lingered in the air in front of me. Then, through the cascades of water, I saw Simon, jogging through the rain. By the time he was only inches from her under the bridge, he was drenched. He was wearing a dark green teeshirt and clung to his sinewy frame and black jeans. His hair was matting against his forehead. His eyes glowed like starlight. He really was beautiful, which was going to make this sting all that more.74

"Hey gorgeous," he smiled, showing all of his beautiful pearly whites, even his dimples were endearing. He came in for a kiss but I halted him by bringing two frail fingers to his lips. he stepped back, a little unsettled, but he still smiled. "Okay, okay, I get it. Don't want me to get you soaked, although, may I say that wet might be a good look for you, that and..."75

"Simon," my voice sharp like glass stirred the air between us. "There's something I need to tell you, but --" my voice gave out, my vocal chords sensing the dreaded words my mouth was about to deliver like a plague. "I'm not sure how to say it."76

Simon's brows furrowed and he tried to gather me in his arms, but I wouldn't let him. "Locks, what's going on? What are you trying to say, baby?"77

I started to cry, the tears stinging my already frozen cheeks. I bit my tongue, I had to stay strong. I was doing this because I loved him. "Simon -- I'm so sorry. I love you s-s-so much," my voice trembled. 78

Simon started shaking. I don't know if it was from the cold or from my words, but either way it scared me down to my bones. He grabbed my face in his cold hands and wouldn't let go. I couldn't bring my eyes to meet his, I couldn't. "Locks, just tell me, baby. Whatever it is, we can get through it -- together."79

I shook my head, the only physical strength I had left. "No.. no.. Simon, I can't. I have to tell you this... I - I - I'm seeing someone else."80

"What? Jasmine what are you talking about? You can't be -- "81

"Yes, yes I am," I said, my voice raising to a desperate soprano. "And -- I choose him. I can't be with you anymore, Simon. I am so sorry..."82

His hands wouldn't seize their shaking, "You're sorry?" his voice quaked. "No, no, you're lying. I love you, you love me, you wouldn't... Locks.." his voice sounding as pleading as his eyes.83

I removed his hands from my face and collapsed on the ground. The pain had returned, surging through my veins like the stinging virus it was. I clutched my stomach instinctly. My eyes remained lowered to the wet pavement, "It's already been done, Simon... goodbye."84

He had started crying by this time, "Goodbye? No, Locks, there's something you're not telling me, I know it." He lowered to his knees and raised my lowered head with his hand. I made the mistake of looking into his eyes, the droplets from his wet hair mixing with the frosted tears from his eyes. "Tell me you love me, Locks. Tell me you're making this all up and we can pretend this never happened." His voice was so distorted, "Tell me!"85

It took the last ounce of power within her to push him away, "No, Simon! No -- it's true, there is someone else. I don't want you anymore, so leave already. I hate you, Simon! I hate you.. -- " with that last word, my frail figure collapsed against the cement wall. It was like my heart had been squeezed in the palm of the devil. Like my chest cavity had caved in like an earthquake. The last thing I heard was Simon shouting for help. And then, there was blackness.86


It's a strange thing, dying that is. You feel nothing and everything. They say your entire life flashes before your eyes, but in all reality it's the moments that haunt you the most that float extisentially in your soul. My mother, who had died giving birth to me... the first songI had learned on the guitar, The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" ... my father taking pictures of me climbing trees... the last time I saw my father's lungs fill with air... and the first time I fell in love. I thought of Simon, holding my guitar, his arms wrapped around me when we slept, the way I felt when we kissed. That, there, was heaven, knowing a love that deeper than all reality. A love that I would carry in my arms eternally...87

88

Seattle Hope Hospital.89

Words, empty words, sang in front of me in meaningless strands of syncopation...90

"... Doctor, we have a pulse!"91

"...Hurry, raise the charge -- keep it steady..."92

Like liquid thunder, an electrical shock surged my body and once again I felt like I was on fire... but I felt... does that mean?... 93

"...Pulse is rising, beginning to stabilize... her chest is rising..."94

As if the words summoned me like a string puppet, oxygen swam into the depths of my arteries, my veins, and the taste of death began to subside from under my tongue.95

"...we have her... secure the I.V. and stabilize her... we're all in for a long night..."96

My body began to quake, shaking fervently, coughing a bitter liqid that tasted like blood. With gasping coughs my eyes met the blinding light for just one second -- then there was darkness again.97


When I awoke, I knew I was in the hospital. The white walls glowing as an echo of heaven. WIth I.V.'s running in my arms and the faint beeping of a heart rate monitor in the backround. Simon was in the chair next to my bed, Science Journal Magazine sprawled across his lap. He looked so serene, his long eyelashes giving him the beauty of an angel -- my angel. And I had tried to hurt him. I deserved the tumors growing in my body. My dry throat scratched along my larynx and I began to cough weakly. Stirring out of sleep, Simon's eyes immediately met mine.98

"Locks?" he asked in disbelief. He immediately rose from his chair and came to my side. "Locks... I -- "99

My raspy throat only alotted three words to escape past my lips -- "I love you." And my eyes rolled shut again.100

The next few days passed in a haze. Doctors and nurses rolling in with new elixirs to inject in my veins. Not that I was complaining... I was just so sublimely happy to have a second chance. And the whole time I was unconcious, Simon never left my side. For my moments of conciousness I saw the grief lining his beautiful eyes and the stubble on his chin, and he was still the most incredible thing I have ever seen.101

One morning, when I finally had regained most of the strength in my voice, I called out to my angel, "Simon?"102

He was there, as he always was, "Hey, beautiful. Long time no see." Although there was grief on his lips, he still smiled for me.103

"Simon, i'm so sorry..."104

"Ssh, there's no need to explain.."105

"Simon," I cut him off, "please, let me." I took a small sip of my water on the table right next to me. "Simon, i'm sick. I found out a while ago, and.. I didn't know what to do. You have such a bright future in front of you, and I didn't want to ruin anything for you. It still hurts me that I let you stay here instead of going to M.I.T... So I lied, and it nearly killed me..."106

He laughed lightly, "Yeah, it nearly did. For a second there, I lost you, Locks, and I never want that to happen again. You are the only good thing in my life, and I don't care how many ways you multiply it, transfigure it, whatever -- you + me = the only thing I will ever need. Locks... I know how sick you are, I spoke to the Doctor while you are unconcious and he and I talked about a lot of options you have."107

"Options?..." I asked weakly. I will still in disbelief that he could still love me after all the horrible things I had done to him. "What options?"108

He clasped my small hand in his, the brittle bones enveloped in his warmth, "Chemotherapy and a lot of promising medication seems to be the best route. And Locks, I will be there the whole time, as you long as you want me here."109

I started to tear -- I really had become such a sobber, "Simon -- you saved my life. As far as I know it, you're my angel... there's no mathematics about it, baby. Only God."110

Simon's lips framed into a half-smile, "Funny thing was, before I met you, Locks, I never believed in God. Only science, only something tangible and attainable."111

I clenched his hand firmer, "And now?"112

"...And now, I believe there has to be something more... to bring you back to me."113

And that's how it was. Our soundtrack hadn't ended -- it was only beginning. We had been through the night drive songs, the ballads, the slow dances, and the heartstring jerkers. We had sung the blues and we had been in the lowest of low. We had gone to hell and came back again.114

I'll be starting chemo soon and we're not sure how it's going to turn out. All I know is, I have my guitar, I have my guy, and I have love under lock & key. That's what Simon and I are - a lock and a key. Simon's face is the last I see before I enter the operation room, and it's the only reassurance I need.115

You see, it's grade school mathematics, but as you know, I never had a head for numbers, but I always had a heart for Simon Keys. It was as simple as 1, 2, 3.116