Covetous

Covetous- Chapter One

I originally wrote this story for a contest. It was written in about nine days. I'm revising it as I go along and post it. I would love to know what you think. Essentially, I got annoyed with all of the twilight wannabe stories that are on the market right now. I decided to write my own with a twist. If you are looking for a perfect, happy, twilight ending, this story probably isn't for you. You've been warned ;)

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Everybody knows about cancer. Lung cancer, brain cancer, breast cancer, prostate cancer, the list goes on. Same thing for heart disease and diabetes. You say it once and people get the gist. No muss, no fuss; here’s how the conversation goes.

Concerned Individual: Hey, what’s wrong?

            Sad Individual: My _________ is sick.

Concerned Individual: Oh no, what’s wrong?

Sad Individual: They have _______ cancer.

Concerned Individual: I’m so sorry. I’ll wear a ________ ribbon for support.

People understand those diseases. They know how to react, and, for the most part, they understand at least a little bit of what the disease does. Things aren’t always that clean cut though. Here’s how the conversation goes for me.

Concerned Individual: Hey, what’s wrong?

Me: My dad is sick.

Concerned Individual: Oh no, what’s wrong?

Me: He has Werner’s Syndrome.

Concerned Individual: Oh… what’s that?

Cue the uncomfortable moment, because I really don’t what to get into it. However, I feel bound by the (unwritten but ever present) rules of social convention to give an answer, so I decide to give a brief one.

Me: He doesn’t age at a normal rate.

Concerned Individual: Oh, so is it kind of like that movie with…

Me: No, it’s nothing like that. What happened in that movie was impossible; this is real life.

I really hate that movie. Everyone thinks that it’s adorable and sad and that they can use it to relate to me, but I hate that movie. And even worse, that movie has caused me to break the rules. I snapped on the concerned individual, and they don’t know how to react to this development.

Concerned Individual: Oh… well… I’m really sorry about your dad. I’m here if you need me.

Me: (out loud) Thanks (in my head) for completing that completely unnecessary routine with me.

The best is when people come back the next day and spout off information that Google taught them the night before.

Concerned Individual: Did you know that…?

            Me: Actually, yes, I did. I’ve been living with this my whole life. I think that I know the information.

It doesn’t normally take people that long to figure out that I’m not looking for their support. Nor do I particularly care for their sympathy. When teachers ask me why I push help away, I tell them that I don’t need it, and that’s the truth.

It would have been different if my dad had been diagnosed when I was a teen. But he wasn’t. In fact, he was diagnosed when he was a teen; fifteen to be precise. So he’s known since he was younger than I am now that he probably wouldn’t make it to 50, and I’ve known for almost as long as I can remember that my daddy was different.

My parents could have done things one of two ways. Option one: try and hide the disease for as long as possible until some undeterminable age where they thought that I was ‘ready’. Option two: Be straight up with me, and tell me gently from a young age that daddy wasn’t going to be around forever. Thankfully, my dad isn’t the type to lie for the supposed good of his child, and my mother is a blind follower. So, yes, concerned individual, my father is dying. No, he doesn’t have long left. And yes, I am petrified. Is that enough for you?

My mother has tried a few times to get me to see someone about what she calls, ‘some anti-social personality issues’, which basically means that she finds my brand of sarcasm to be off-putting. She also seems to think that I ought to be majorly messed up by my dad. I think that she just wants me to join the crying sessions that she holds on a regular basis with Kaitlyn, my younger, more impressionable sister. Thanks, but I’ll pass.

As for life outside of the family, well, that’s where things get interesting… minus the interesting plus the dull. After an eternity of being absolutely nobody, I am now a grade 12 nobody, which is infinitely better than a grade 9 nobody. Just kidding. People know me, and I know people. I have my group of friends, and unlike most angst-filled teenagers, I’m content with my place in high school.

While it’s true that I dislike being known as the girl with the dying father, I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t used it to my advantage on occasion, and I don’t lie… much. Don’t judge me. Sometimes things come up, and work doesn’t get finished, and well, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? My lemonade just happens to keep me out of trouble and in my teachers’ good books.

So that’s me, in a nutshell, or a nuthouse, depending on how you look at it. The only thing is, sometimes things change. Times change, situations change, and, more frequently than we would like to think, people change. That’s where the best stories come from. Change.