terminal

Change of State

Aviana, just six years old, had never had to pack her bag,

not unless she was going on vacation to a beautiful beach -

oh! her favorite color is the almost-white of the sands after

a long day of flying in a plane; this isn't that kind of trip;

Aviana, the middle sister of three, a year older than her

sweetest and bestest friend, Little Lilly, pure as a petal;

and also seven years younger than her parents' firstborn,

the eldest daughter, Brynn, a reckless passion of a girl,

as maternal as the matriarch of their home, a heart as

big a the sun in the sky, the anchor of Aviana's tiny heart;

This trip, alone without her sisters, Aviana has books,

picture books with popcorn words, sounds she bounces

around in her mouth as her parents chatter about the travel:

when will they stop? where will they grab lunch? bathrooms?

She also packed dolls to play pretend, each doll is one of

her sisters arguing about who gets to drink the last chocolate

milk box left in the snack shelf, since Aviana packed two -

her parents didn't know that she did it, but their voices made

Aviana feel scared, so, just like she heard on the television,

when they watched their 'grown-up' shows - liquid courage:

chocolate always made her feel brave - Brave Aviana!

If her parents had a say-so, though, isn't it just a sugar buzz;

When they finally get to the doctor office, there's a word -

Aviana reads it out loud slowly, "Can - cer?" with the

second 'c' makes the same hard sound as in 'can,' which

her dad corrects lazily, without much thought: "Cancer, Avi,"

which sounds more familiar when the second 'c' sounds like

the letter 's' instead - cancer - she's heard of that, Aviana thinks;

She asks her father, "Doesn't cancer hurt people?"

It isn't her father that answers, though, making fists at his sides;

Instead, her mother grabs her shoulder and does her fake smile:

"It's not cancer until they say it's cancer," and Aviana doesn't get it,

she doesn't know why her mother says that nobody has cancer

when they are at a doctor's office that seems to work on only that;

"How far did we drive?" Aviana poses another question, just wanting to

have a conversation while they walk through the humongous lobby,

when her father fields this answer this time, "Four hours," and even

Aviana knows how long that is, it's how many hours have passed

after she gets back from lunch recess when she's in school, she gasps-

"Did we go to a different country? That's a really long time,"

Her parents laugh, but her mother assures her, "No, we're just one

state away from home. We would need to take a plane to a different

country, like for vacation," which reminds Aviana about packing her bag,

It feels like a storybook she read once, as her mind rolls back to

the morning routine when she left the house without her sisters in tow;

As Aviana looks at her parents, talking with the ladies behind the tall counter,

their faces look sad, with lines she's never seen before, and wet eyes -

She hasn't seen them cry before, and it makes her wonder if the person

that doesn't have cancer until the doctors say they have cancer - is it her?