Keeping Hope

Chapter 2

Music is filling my ears, classical songs you can dance to, like back in the 1800's. I look down at myself. I'm wearing a soft vintage dress just for the ocassion, with beautiful, long curled hair. I pull on a strand, felling the soft texture under my grip. It's real! YES! No wig for me! I smile extatically. If this moment couldn't get any better, a handsome gentlemen with dark brown hair walks up to me, offering me his hand.

"Would a lovely girl like you care to to have a dance with me?"

"Of course!" I'm dancing and twirling in this mans arms, no worries in the world.

"Hope."

The man speaks,"I think someone is saying your name." Are they?

"Hope?"

"Do you have to go?" the man asks.

"No I want to stay here", I say giggling. He leans me over into a dip, popping me back up, my hair in tow with it. Our faces are just inches away now, he's looking at my lips...

"Hope!"

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"Hope sweety, you need to get up early remember?" It's my mom waking me up for early treatment.

"5 more minutes..." I slur.

"Come on now Hope. Today is your first day of grade 12, your treatment is for 6:00am, then from there I will drop you off at school."

I lay there in my bed. This feels so comfortable, I don't want to go to no damn treatment. Heck! I don't even want to go to school. Everyone knows you as "the girl with cancer", treating you with so much respect it makes you sick, just because you have a disease.

"Let's go Hope." my mom says closing my door.

"I'm up." I whisper to me, myself and I. I walk to my ensuite bathroom, one of the many benefits of being an only child. Your parents spoil you rotten, especailly when they have an apt amount of money. I flick the light switch on, staring back at my ugly face in the mirror.

"Well don't you look beautiful this fine morning", I say to my reflection. In case you could tell, that sentence was wreaking sarcasm. The left side of my face has lines in it still from my pillow, and my hair! Oh the hair... gives me trouble ALL the time. Due to keimo treatments I've taken my whole life, my hair is paper thin. I mean skinny, mini thin. Atleast I still have it though right? I put my hair in a bun and slip my wing onto my head.

"Now that is more like it." If I didn't have a wig, I swear I would die, even though it's somewhat itchy. It matches my hair colour perfectly, a deep shade of brown, as deep as the Marianas Trench itself, with somewhat of side bangs on the right side. I do really admire the style.

"Holy Hanna! It's 5:15, why did you wake me up so early mom?" I say to myself. I throw on vintage pink skinny jeans and a jean jacket like top. Yes! The perfect going back to school outfit. Also, another benefit is having a wig, your hair always looks good.

I run down the stairs now, my backpack over my shoulder. I throw it on the bench in our grand entrance way, heading for our overly- large kitchen, if you ask me. Everything is stainless steel, with granite counter tops and expenive tile.

"Good morning Hope. You ready for your treatment?" my dad asks. Really? What kind of a question is that? I laugh to myself.

"What's so funny?"

"Dad, no effense, but that's such a ridiculous question. Like... really? I've been having treatment since I was 4, I am 17 now going on 18 in February. I'm pretty sure I'm used to it."