The Greatest Showman #749 – Warm and Moving

Adam's world had become a blur. His diagnosis was real. Cancer, chemo—the pain that gnawed at his body daily, the vulnerability of his bare scalp in the cold Seattle breeze—nothing was helping him numb the ache. He was no longer the indifferent person he once was, no longer calm in the face of the world's chaos. His life had been turned upside down. Yet, despite the storm swirling around him, he couldn't feel anything.

He tried—oh, how he tried—to feel something. He tried to be angry, to mourn, to connect with the people around him. But the emotions simply wouldn't come. Kyle, using his cancer as an excuse to chase after girls, didn't faze him. His mother's relentless care for him, even as her own health began to fail, didn't stir him. Rachel, who betrayed him and moved on with someone else—he felt nothing. When Rachel tried to explain herself, when Kyle angrily condemned him, he still didn't feel it.

He was walking this battle alone—cancer, chemotherapy, and the crushing loneliness that accompanied it. He walked through the streets of the city, numb, disconnected, as if the world was moving around him while he was stuck in place. A girl showed interest in him while he was out walking the dog—he didn't feel it. Kyle dragged him to a bar, where they flirted with girls, drank, and whatever else, but none of it mattered. His body, weak from the treatments, rejected food, and his weight continued to drop. Still, he didn't feel it.

Cancer had become a part of him, seamlessly integrating into his life, twisting it bit by bit. Yet the emotional rollercoaster that should have come with it—anger, sadness, fear—was absent. He knew these emotions existed. He should have felt them. But instead, there was only numbness.

Tessa watched Adam sitting quietly at the bus stop, waiting for the bus. Without Rachel to drive him, he now relied on public transport, and it seemed to hit Tessa harder than she expected. His thin shoulders, pale lips, and the vacant look in his eyes—cancer had erased the vibrant Adam she once knew. There was no grand emotional display—no cathartic release of feelings—just this pervasive numbness. It was as though he was a hiker trudging through an autumn landscape, surrounded by the vast, indifferent wilderness, bearing the weight of his journey alone.

On the way home, Catherine forced Adam into her car, concerned for him. When he looked at the mess inside, his expression showed clear distaste, and she noticed.

"Sorry about the mess. I'm not good at keeping things tidy," she muttered, a little embarrassed.

"I can see that," Adam replied flatly, his eyes still locked ahead. The sarcasm in his voice hung in the air, but there was no amusement in his tone. Catherine awkwardly twitched her lips into a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"If you need me to stop or anything—like for chemo—or if you feel nauseous, just let me know," Catherine added, a little uncertain. Adam's response was a hoarse "Thanks," but his posture remained stiff. The tension hung in the car, and the silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable.

The ride continued in a strange kind of quiet. The contrast between Adam's stoic expression and Catherine's anxious one created an odd but amusing dynamic. They exchanged a few words about not having a car—Adam explained he didn't even have a driver's license. "It's too dangerous," he said, deadpan. "Probably the fifth leading cause of death."

Catherine's surprised reaction sparked a brief laugh, but it quickly faded. The humor didn't reach Adam. He was still emotionally distant, though a flicker of something—regret, maybe?—passed through his eyes.

Then, in a moment of awkwardness, Catherine asked, "But what about the bus? After chemo?"

Adam's response was matter-of-fact, almost numb: "Usually, Rachel picks me up… but we broke up."

The matter-of-factness of it all hit Catherine. "Oh," she said, glancing at Adam's still face. There was no trace of anger or sadness in his words, just an acceptance of the fact. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, worried.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Not really. It's fine. We're just friends right now. You're giving me a ride as one."

Catherine hesitated, her mind turning over her own heartbreak. "Actually, I just broke up with someone too. It feels pretty awful," she admitted, and when Adam gave her a brief, apologetic response, she laughed it off.

But then she added, "I still check his Facebook every day to see if he's with someone else... It's pathetic."

Adam's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Awkward," he remarked dryly.

It was a strange moment of connection, brief but genuine. Catherine quickly changed the subject, turning on the radio to break the silence. The awkwardness between them lingered, but there was something unspoken, something tender in the shared discomfort.

"Stop," Adam suddenly said, without warning.

Catherine panicked, pulling over. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?" She looked at him with concern, but Adam didn't answer right away. Instead, he opened the door, leaned down, and picked up the trash scattered around his feet.

"I can't stand it anymore," he muttered, walking off with the garbage in hand. He headed toward the nearest bin, leaving Catherine standing there in confusion.

"Are you serious?" she asked, hurrying after him. "Adam, wait. You don't have to do this. That's my dinner in that bag!"

The sight of Adam holding the trash, then walking to dispose of it, created a moment of absurdity, and laughter rippled through the screening room. Tessa watched, clutching her stomach from the laughter, but her heart felt strangely full too. There was warmth, however fleeting, in their exchanges.

Afterward, Adam's journey toward healing seemed to take another turn. Rachel, now on the outs with her career, tried to come back into his life. But Adam was resolute: "Get out of my house." He had already begun to reclaim his life, rejecting her, throwing away her reminders, and focusing on moving forward. He embraced his therapy, chemotherapy, and slowly began to open up, despite the emotional numbness still haunting him.

And then came the blow: Mickey, a cancer patient he had grown close to, passed away. Adam watched the news, stunned. His own journey—fighting, surviving, living—felt like it was on the edge of something much more uncertain than he had imagined. The volcano in the news was a metaphor, a rumble of something bigger on the horizon.

As Adam sat there, trying to digest it all, he couldn't help but wonder if this numbness, this emotional void, was something he could ever truly escape.