A Collection of Stuff

Gracelyn

A/N I wrote this also ages ago and I had just read this book called Send Me a Sign by Tiffany Schmidt (who I met, had a workshop with and who signed my book,) and I was like, Well, I'm gonna write about cancer and I did. (And it sucks)

There were people around me. Dancing in the strobing lights all around us. Denying that it was impossibly hot in the gym and that they didn't sweat. Especially in strapless dresses that fell down an inch whenever you took a breath. I didn't fit in. I was wearing a long sleeve black dress, the only dress I owned. I bought it to go to a party. I never went to the party. Someone bumps into my side, making my stumble to the side ramming my shoulder into a senior. He lazily looks toward me and smiles, seeming to make an attempt to flirt with me, but I walk a step away.
Despite this being a high school dance the seniors and sophomores smuggled in beer and liquor and because of our extreme lack of parents and teachers at the dance there was a good amount of kids drunk. The parents and teachers knew there would be drinking and that's why they didn't sign up. The only teachers here are the two women at the from of the school taking money to get in. They are far from the action.
I look around me, my eyes straining for the exit but it's impossible to see because of the lack of lights and so many teenagers. I'm surprised my parents let me come. Heck, they forced me to come because if my "social impairment" and "health issue". It's not my fault social anxiety keeps me from wanting to meet reckless jerks called teenagers that went to this high school. I didn't want to meet them, even if the thought of it didn't leave me staring horrified at nothing.
My chest feels tight. I didn't fit in for a reason. I was socially awkward for a reason. People didn't want to hang out with me for a reason. A reason that sent my mother crying when she heard the news and my dad rub his hands and put his head against the wall in confusion and sadness. A reason that I didn't like. A reason that changed my life. That almost got me killed. A reason like cancer. The stupid disease it is, it gave me leukemia.
The blood cancer. ALL. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. The aggressive cancer that requires chemotherapy through a port that they put on to get to your heart. That makes you pale. Thin. Weak. Bruise. Weird. A freak. Not normal. Bald. The reason kids looked at your weird because you're the only one without hair. The pale one, the thin one, the bruised weird freak that goes to our school with cancer. The one who no one should talk to because of cancer. Because she's a freak.
I got the news in eighth grade. January 21st. Or was it February? Or was it December? Or was it November? I was bald by my birthday; May 16th. I had expected the picture perfect 14th Sunday birthday. But I didn't get that. In 9th grade I was cancer free. 10th, not so much. I got the news a week ago that there could be a reoccurrence. Great. So my mom in preparation, cut my beautiful almost shoulder length hair to a bob cut. A bob cut. Because of a possible recurrence. They needed more tests.
Yesterday I got the news. My leukemia journey that I expected was over, had wanted to be picked back up again. Chemo started on Sunday. It was Friday. My parent pushed me to come as a last party before cancer and chemo and hospitals started again. Before torture started again. Fantastic.
Suddenly someone near me grabbed my shoulders and threw me to the floor.
"You trying to steal my man bitch?" There a senior towered over me. My breath caught. I shook my head quickly, my hoop earring hit my neck and flew out, hit my neck. I slid backwards a few feet as the girl stepped away and kissed her boyfriend. I pushed myself up and glanced around again. I needed air. I needed it fast.
I made my way through the crowd and stumbled toward the gym exit. My long sleeve dress seemed to suffocate me, locking me in the humid atmosphere of the noisy, crowded gym. My lungs struggled to find air and my breath rattled through my throat. I grasped at the door frame and held it for a moment to catch my breath.
I took a shaky step forward and composed myself, and let go of the door frame. My hair brushed my cheeks and I reach end up to push it behind my ears as I walked toward the main hallway. I brought out my phone to call my parents as a drunk yelled from the gym. I sighed and clicked the Mom contact and it started to ring. I slowly approached the two women at the from of the lobby, the lockers with the American Flag painted on them seem to be blurs of our hate for other countries at this school. Snowland North High School has almost exclusively white american teenagers with an equal gender student body. The teachers were almost all white too except for our nurse, who was a nice young lady from India.
I nearly didn't hear my mother's hello. I snapped to attention and asked her what she said.
"Gracelyn? What wrong? Do you feel dizzy? Sick? Do we need to take you to the hospital?" My mother's automatic responses since the diagnosis in 8th grade.
"No, I'm fine. Can you come pick me up?" I asked as I sheepishly gazed around the lobby. The blue, yellow, and white Snowland High banner that draped across the three sets of double doors seemed to mock me with its vibrant colors.
"Can't you stay for another half an hour? Come on sweetie, you hate being in the hospital. You'll regret it." She said seemingly choosing her words carefully. She's was.
"I don't want to be surrounded by people who hate me mom. I don't like it here and you know that. Please come pick me up."
"Fine. I'll be there in 30 minutes." She said.
"Mom!" I yelled as she hung up. She could be the devil sometimes.