He was sitting in a chair in front

He was sitting in a chair in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window—in his chair. It was one of those papasan chairs with a vibrant blue cushion. He’d had it since he was sixteen, got it for his birthday just a few months before everything changed for him.
Charlie didn’t look up when I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. He never did.
The room wasn’t bad at all, rather spacious with a full-sized bed neatly made by one of the nurses, a desk I knew he never used, and a TV that I’d never, in the six years, seen turned on.
Sitting in that chair, looking out the window, he was so thin, beyond willowy. Nurse Venter told me that they had trouble getting him to eat three square meals a day, and when they tried to change it to five smaller meals, that hadn’t worked either. A year ago, it had gotten so bad they had to do a feeding tube, and I could still taste that fear, because I thought I’d lose him then.
His blond hair had been washed this morning, but it wasn’t styled and was much shorter than how he used to wear it. Charlie had favored that artfully messy look and he had rocked it. Today, he was wearing a white shirt and gray sweat pants, not even the cool kind. No, these had those elastic bands at the ankle, and God, he would’ve thrown a fit if he knew he’d be wearing them now—rightfully so, because Charlie . . . well, he had style and taste and so much.
Walking toward the second papasan chair with a matching blue cushion I’d bought three years ago, I cleared my throat. “Hey, Charlie.”
He didn’t look.
There was no disappointment. I mean, it was there, that “this isn’t fair” feeling, but there wasn’t a new wave of the breath-stealing dismay, because this was how it always was.
Sitting down, I placed the tote beside my legs. Up close, he looked older than twenty-two—years older. Face gaunt, skin washed out, and deep, unforgiving shadows under once lively green eyes.
I drew in another deep breath. “It’s ridiculously hot out there today, so don’t make fun of my cut-off shorts.” Back in the day, he would’ve made me change out of them before even daring to step out into public. “The weather people are saying the temps are going to be record breaking by the weekend.”
Charlie blinked slowly.
“Supposed to be really bad storms, too.” I clasped my hands together, praying that he’d look at me. Some visits he wouldn’t. He hadn’t for three visits, and that terrified me, because the last time he’d gone that long without acknowledging me, he’d had a horrific seizure. Those two things probably had nothing in common, but still, it caused knots of unease to form in my stomach. Especially since Nurse Venter had explained that seizures were fairly common in patients who’d suffered that kind of blunt-force trauma to the brain. “You remember how much I like storms, right?”
No response.
“Well, unless it spawns tornados,” I amended. “But we’re in Philly, basically, so I doubt there’ll be many of them roaming around.”
Another slow blink I caught from his profile.
“Oh! Tomorrow night at Mona’s, we’re closing the bar to the public,” I rambled on, unsure if I’d already told him about the plans, not that it mattered. “It’s a private party thing.” I paused long enough to take a breath.
Charlie still stared out the window.
“You’d like Mona’s, I think. It’s kind of trashy, but in a weird, good way. But I’ve already told you that before. I don’t know, but I wish . . .” I added, pursing my lips. as his shoulders rose in a deep and heavy sigh. “I wish a lot of things,” I finished in a whisper.
He’d started rocking in what appeared to be an unconscious movement. It was a gentle rhythm, one that reminded me of being in the ocean, slowly pushed back and forth.
For a moment, I struggled with the impulse to scream out all the frustration rapidly building inside me. Charlie used to talk a mile a minute. Teachers in our elementary school had nicknamed him Mighty Mouth, and he laughed—oh goodness, he had the best laugh, so infectious and real.
But he hadn’t laughed in years.
Squeezing my eyes shut against the rush of hot tears, I wanted to throw myself on the floor and flail. None of this was fair. Charlie should be up walking around. He should’ve graduated college by now and met a hot guy who would love him, and go on double dates with me and whatever man I dragged along. He should have done what he’d sworn he’d do and published his first novel by now. We would be like we were before. Best friends—inseparable. He’d visit me at the bar, and when it was needed, he’d tell me to get my shit together.
Charlie should be alive, because this—whatever this was—was not living.
Instead, one fucking night, a strand of a few stupid words and a goddamn rock had destroyed everything.
I opened my eyes, hoping he’d be looking at me, but he wasn’t, and all I could do was pull it together. Reaching down, I slipped a folded sheet of watercolor out of my tote. “I made this for you.” My voice was hoarse, but I kept going.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dia duduk di kursi di depan jendela lantai ke langit-langit yang besar — di kursinya. Itu salah satu kursi-kursi papasan dengan bantal biru bersemangat. Dia punya itu karena ia enam belas, got it untuk ulang tahunnya hanya beberapa bulan sebelum semuanya berubah baginya.Charlie tidak mencari ketika saya melangkah ke ruang dan menutup pintu di belakang saya. Ia tidak pernah melakukannya.Kamar tidak buruk sama sekali, agak luas dengan tempat tidur berukuran penuh yang rapi dibuat oleh salah satu perawat, sebuah meja yang aku tahu dia tidak pernah digunakan dan TV yang saya belum pernah, dalam enam tahun, melihat diaktifkan.Duduk di kursi itu, melihat keluar jendela, dia adalah sangat tipis, melampaui langsing. Venter perawat mengatakan bahwa mereka mengalami kesulitan mendapatkan dia untuk makan tiga kali makan sehari, dan ketika mereka mencoba untuk mengubah ke lima makanan kecil, yang tidak bekerja baik. Setahun yang lalu, itu sudah begitu buruk mereka harus melakukan tabung, dan saya masih bisa merasakan rasa takut itu, karena saya pikir saya akan kehilangan dia kemudian.Rambut pirang telah membasuh pagi ini, tapi itu tidak ditata dan jauh lebih pendek daripada bagaimana ia digunakan untuk memakainya. Charlie telah disukai yang terlihat berseni berantakan, dan dia telah membuainya. Hari ini, ia mengenakan kemeja putih dan abu-abu keringat Celana, bahkan yang sejuk. Tidak, ini punya mereka karet gelang di pergelangan kaki, dan Allah, ia akan telah dilemparkan cocok jika ia tahu ia akan memakai mereka sekarang — memang seharusnya begitu, karena Charlie... baik, dia punya gaya dan selera dan begitu banyak.Berjalan menuju kursi papasan kedua dengan Pencocokan bantal biru saya telah membeli tiga tahun yang lalu, aku membersihkan tenggorokanku. "Hei, Charlie."Dia tidak tampak.Ada tidak mengecewakan. Maksudku, itu ada di sana, "ini tidak adil" perasaan, tetapi tidak ada gelombang baru mencuri nafas kecemasan, karena ini adalah bagaimana itu selalu begitu.Duduk, saya meletakkan tote samping kakiku. Dekat, ia tampak lebih tua dari dua puluh dua-tahun lebih tua. Wajah kurus, kulit mencuci keluar, dan mendalam, tak kenal ampun bayangan di bawah mata hijau yang hidup sekali.Saya menarik napas dalam-dalam yang lain. "Itu ridiculously panas luar sana hari ini, sehingga tidak membuat menyenangkan dari celana pendek cut-off saya." Kembali pada hari, ia pasti sudah membuat saya mengubah dari mereka sebelum bahkan berani melangkah keluar ke publik. "Orang cuaca mengatakan temps akan menjadi catatan melanggar oleh akhir pekan."Charlie berkedip perlahan-lahan."Seharusnya menjadi benar-benar buruk badai, juga." Saya menggenggam tangan bersama, berdoa bahwa dia akan terlihat pada saya. Beberapa kunjungan yang dia tidak. Ia tidak untuk kunjungan tiga, dan bahwa ketakutan saya, karena terakhir kali dia pergi lama tanpa mengakui saya, dia tidak punya kejang mengerikan. Kedua hal mungkin tidak ada kesamaan, namun masih, itu menyebabkan knot kegelisahan untuk membentuk di perutku. Terutama karena perawat Venter telah menjelaskan bahwa kejang yang cukup umum pada pasien yang akan menderita trauma tumpul-force semacam itu ke otak. "Anda ingat betapa aku seperti badai, benar?"No response.“Well, unless it spawns tornados,” I amended. “But we’re in Philly, basically, so I doubt there’ll be many of them roaming around.”Another slow blink I caught from his profile.“Oh! Tomorrow night at Mona’s, we’re closing the bar to the public,” I rambled on, unsure if I’d already told him about the plans, not that it mattered. “It’s a private party thing.” I paused long enough to take a breath.Charlie still stared out the window.“You’d like Mona’s, I think. It’s kind of trashy, but in a weird, good way. But I’ve already told you that before. I don’t know, but I wish . . .” I added, pursing my lips. as his shoulders rose in a deep and heavy sigh. “I wish a lot of things,” I finished in a whisper.He’d started rocking in what appeared to be an unconscious movement. It was a gentle rhythm, one that reminded me of being in the ocean, slowly pushed back and forth.For a moment, I struggled with the impulse to scream out all the frustration rapidly building inside me. Charlie used to talk a mile a minute. Teachers in our elementary school had nicknamed him Mighty Mouth, and he laughed—oh goodness, he had the best laugh, so infectious and real.But he hadn’t laughed in years.Squeezing my eyes shut against the rush of hot tears, I wanted to throw myself on the floor and flail. None of this was fair. Charlie should be up walking around. He should’ve graduated college by now and met a hot guy who would love him, and go on double dates with me and whatever man I dragged along. He should have done what he’d sworn he’d do and published his first novel by now. We would be like we were before. Best friends—inseparable. He’d visit me at the bar, and when it was needed, he’d tell me to get my shit together.Charlie should be alive, because this—whatever this was—was not living.Instead, one fucking night, a strand of a few stupid words and a goddamn rock had destroyed everything.I opened my eyes, hoping he’d be looking at me, but he wasn’t, and all I could do was pull it together. Reaching down, I slipped a folded sheet of watercolor out of my tote. “I made this for you.” My voice was hoarse, but I kept going.