The things we can't control

Chapter 18

I unlocked the front door to my average sized house and stepped inside. The television was on; I could hear the quiet voices that came from it. Must be Ben, I thought with a pleased smiled. I placed my keys in a bowl that sat on a small table beside the front door. I then heard Ben giggling and a very recognizable chuckle. I followed the faint noises with a curious expression and was met by my "family" watching TV. My dad, my mom, and little Ben were squished together on one couch. Dad noticed that I was standing near the entrance of the living room. "Alice, you're home. There's room on the couch." He invited. Mom turned her head and paused the Netflix kid's movie, "I heard about what happened in gym class, are you okay?" She questioned, with some sincerity.

"What did Dr. Faro-"

"Favro." I corrected.

"Right, what did Dr. Favro say?"

An image of Doctor Favro speaking to me about the "breathing machine" came to my head. I let out a heavy breath, "I'll be fine." I didn't give mom enough time to say anything back. I had homework to do and I was extremely tired. As I walked up the stairs, the television went back on, and my feet felt as though they were filled with sand. Which was the feeling I always felt in my lungs.

I got to my room, flicked up the light switch, and harshly threw my back pack to the side. I covered my face with my hands and pushed my thin fingers through my thick hair. Fucking hell mother fucker I'm tired. What stopped me from sleeping for the rest of the day was an argumentative essay I had to write, a presentation I had to prepare for, and a monologue I had to memorize. Why did it matter? What future would it help? Jesus, all of this stopped mattering when the tumor made a home in my lung. Now it's got a neighbour tumor in the other lung.

I sat on the bed and opened my laptop.

I swear, I only get pity homework. My teachers don't want me to feel like I'm the kid who's going to die before they graduate, so they treat me like the students who will graduate.

I opened Microsoft Word and typed "Computers Are Friends" as the title of my argumentative essay.

I mean, it's considerate of them. But pointless. What's the point of writing this essay? Despite knowing I'd get a high mark because I'm good at argumentative writing.

I looked at my bag which was across the room.

"Ugh," I mumbled.

I stood up and retrieved it, using more energy than a normal person would.

I don't know how much longer I can fight, or whatever.

I pulled out the one page monologue from my binder. It was about a girl who was schizophrenic, but the audience wouldn't know until the end. I went over it silently first, then rehearsed the first few lines.

"Kevin tells me I'm beautiful more than mom does.

"He tells me she doesn't love me. I know, she doesn't.

"Kevin loves me.

"And I love him.

"He's the only person who knows me.

"Yesterday, I bumped into Kevin after school.

"People don't notice him, just like they don't notice me.

My phone began to ring.

I placed the script down and looked at my phone which was faced down on the bed. I took a few steps and grabbed it.

"Hey." I answered with a raspy voice.

"How are you feeling?"  He asked.

"Better." A silent chuckle escaped my lips.

"That's good to hear."  I knew he was smiling. "That's great."

"Hey, I'll see you tomorrow okay? I would love talking to you but this homework won't do itself."

He chuckled and I imagined what his face looked like. I smiled and bit my lip softly. "I love you."

"I love you. Good luck with that homework."

"Good night."

"Sweet dreams."

The line disconnected and I tossed the phone somewhere on my bed. I picked up the monologue and held it in front of me.

"Take two." I said aloud.

With emotion this time.

I cleared my throat and held the paper in front of my stomach.

"Kevin tells me I'm beautiful more than mom does.

"He tells me she doesn't love me. I know, she doesn't.

"Kevin loves me.

"And I love him.