Page 47 of The Chemistry Test
O’Brien continues to interrogate him about whether that sort of lifestyle is really possible, and while someone else might fall apart at such questions, CJ relishes in it. And while people like me lean into conversations, CJ leans back. Letting his words take the lead.
Fitting together bits of medical info to reach the next big breakthrough isn’t too dissimilar to piecing together the parts of a character – at least according to CJ.
And again, he gives no reason for anyone to question whether it’s actually true.
According to him, CJ Taylor is going to have a place in medical research and be an actor on the side, and I don’t doubt him for one second.
He can do both. Or perhaps more importantly, he would enjoy doing both.
When I started my own university applications, even I had a couple of people calling me crazy.
Because how could I possibly do a degree and get a job when I can barely sit up until lunchtime?
Well, not by magic or miracle, that’s for sure.
But with enough careful planning and reckless optimism, why not?
Why can’t the world be our oyster and life be our own personal puzzle – as CJ so eloquently put it – just waiting for us to put the pieces together.
Why not? In the world we live in, it pays to be a little bit bonkers – to dream big and hold on to whatever scrap of unwavering hope that we can.
I scroll down to the comments to see what everyone else thinks as the host asks a question about the show’s special effects.
Half of the viewers are commending CJ for following his dreams, while the other half can’t get over the fact that while Arturo can see countless alternate realities, CJ is a mere mortal who needs glasses to see his own hand.
I didn’t realise he wore contacts while in character, and I wonder if it contributed to him not being approached by fans when we were together.
Like a Clark Kent sort of vibe – or, as someone’s pointed out in the comments, with glasses, he actually looks more like Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker than Andrew himself looks like Peter Parker. I mean, they’re not wrong.
I wipe my eyes on my scarf since it needs to go in the wash soon anyway and as I snicker, it momentarily tricks my body into thinking they’re happy tears.
Endorphins are powerful like that. But they’re also as fleeting as my laughter, and so I continue to push myself down this spiral – watching him posing for photos at premieres and various red-carpet events.
There’s even a clip of him on the Comic Con panel the year his Wikipedia photo was taken. And just as I expected, the more I watch, the more silly I start to feel – because if CJ hadn’t been dealing with depression over the last couple of months, this is the sort of stuff he would’ve been doing.
Not hanging out in coffee shops and learning how to use a wheelchair he doesn’t need.
I open the photo album on my phone and look back over everything we did together.
To me, it felt so exhilarating and fun, but I can see now how none of it would have seemed exciting to him.
Just normal, low-key stuff. Perfect for someone who’s struggling to be a part of the world.
Seeing all this, I feel like I’ve been naive and short-sighted. Or that I’ve majorly misread the signs. How could I ever fit into a life like this? Or had he just never planned for me to?
While he was depressed, CJ needed someone with low energy levels that matched his and I just happened to be there. A girl who had similarly depleted stamina, albeit for completely different reasons. In the right place, at the right time. So ... convenient.
And now that I’ve started to rip the plaster off, I feel like I can’t stop until I find out what he’s really like. When he’s not grieving. And not depressed.
I stumble across a channel called Just Josie, run by one of his co-stars on the show. On the main page, there’s a playlist she’s made of the two of them together, with far more views than anything else on her channel. This is what people come here to see.
And in every video, they’re doing something I can’t do. Literally every single one.
Tears well in my eyes as I watch them ice skate in New York City and then again as they climb Ben Nevis in Scotland. CJ takes the camera and points it at Josie, who’s holding on to the strap of his backpack for dear life.
‘How’re you doing there, Josie?’ he asks, as she pants behind him, red-faced. She smiles but doesn’t reply as he pans the camera around.
‘I started hiking by holding on to the strap of my dad’s backpack like that,’ he says, not looking at the screen.
And how can you blame him, in a place like that? The craggy terrain looks like they’re on another planet, with its myriad loose grey rocks and sporadic pockets of snow.
‘What I didn’t know then,’ he says, turning to Josie, ‘and what Josie doesn’t know, is that the strap is just like Dumbo’s feather.’
Josie looks up at him through damp brows, interested in hearing what he has to say.
‘I haven’t really helped you at all,’ he says, stopping and reaching out for her hand so they can climb the last few steps side by side.
Throughout the video, they both keep mentioning how uncharacteristically hot it is and so, when CJ turns the camera around, towards the infamous trig point, I feel relieved for them at the sight of so much snow.
‘This was all you, Josie,’ he says, and as they both put their hands in the air at the summit, all signs of exhaustion melt away.
CJ goes on to explain how, just like that, his love of hiking was born all those years ago.
The challenge, the adrenaline, the high – and how it continues to blaze inside you for ages afterwards, even as you cool off in a nearby lake, or warm your feet by a fire. Nothing can dull that rush.
Oh heck. The pit in my stomach gapes open. I didn’t realise hiking was his thing. He must’ve been gutted we couldn’t actually climb Mount Snowdon like he probably wanted to. Or more accurately, that I couldn’t. And I feel terrible for it.
But the video that really gets me is the one where they’re dancing together at someone’s wedding. Just dancing. And just laughing. Moving so freely that they could go on like that forever if they wanted to.
As they should, I think to myself.
I wipe my eye on my sleeve and notice how damp it is already.
I must’ve been doing it without thinking about it (so much for only getting tears and mascara on my scarf).
But now I can’t not notice the tears in my eyes and the way my throat is constricted by that familiar, muscular lump.
Because through it all, the main thing I’ve learned is that CJ is still the same person whether he’s depressed or not.
The difference is not who he is, but what he does.
And I can’t do any of the things he clearly loves to do.
How could I have ever had this person at the end of the phone?
Or more than that, in my room ? And in my bed. With me. It doesn’t make any sense.
I reach for my phone and turn off aeroplane mode, but there’s still no reply. So, I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.