The World Through Various Eyes

[18] Protecting Me (Leslie's POV)

My first day of school was... interesting.

I wish I could explain all the reasons why but I don't think anybody could find the words.

But I guess I'll try.

It started off with harassment from those girls, but improved significantly. In Biology, I met a strange girl by the name of Alice who I ended up sitting with at lunch, along with the rest of her friends. They were an eccentric bunch, with each of them unique in their own way. They also seemed highly intelligent, which added to my feeling of being out of place.

There was Alex, with espresso brown hair, braces, pale skin and glasses. He was short as well, and the posterboy for nerd stereotypes. Though he was shy, he seemed nice enough.

Then there was Jade. She was a thin, tall, chestnut brunette, with one dark brown eye and one green eye. Her metal framed rectangular glasses covered her eyes but I could still see the difference in color. In addition, her lips donned dark, wine-colored lipstick.

I saw a couple other people as well, but those were the two that stuck out the most. I could tell they were close, but... I don't know. I just felt as if I had missed something. Like they were hiding something. I dismissed this feeling as sheer paranoia.

I had written all the details of the main people who caught my eye in a notebook, and nobody had seemed to notice. It was sort of spontaneous, and looking back, I'm not sure quite why I decided to do it. My only idea was that memories were starting to matter more to me now that my lifespan was likely significantly more limited. Things I had never noticed before became precious and beautiful, or at the very least, intriguing.

When I returned home that day, my mother had a surprise waiting for me. On top of the kitchen table, the one with the tacky floral tablecloth, was a package in a Jiffy bag. My mother stood alongside the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her out of satisfaction, with a satisfied grin to match.

"What's going on?" I inquired, puzzled by everything before me.

She continued to grin, and reached for the package, which she thrust into my hand.

"Open it."

Inside the little tan bag was another bag, but a large Ziplock. I flashed her a puzzled look as its contents were revealed. It was something yellow and hairy.

And then it hit me.

It was a wig.

"We thought it was time you got one made of real human hair. I was holding out on purchasing one until I found a perfect match for your hair color."

I assessed it, holding it up to the light. It was almost identical to my old head of hair.

"Oh, and look inside."

My hand shook the bag, freeing a neatly folded slip of paper. It fluttered to the ground and I pick it up, simultaneously opening it.

A note written on official stationary was what I found. The top of it had a logo containing the words "Support for the Sick" scrawled in black cursive. I began to read it aloud.

Dear Leslie,

It is because of "Support for the Sick" that I am able to contact you today. I learned of this program when I first was dealing with the grief of losing my grandmother to leukemia as well. At that point I had been going back and forth for a while about whether or not I wanted to donate my hair, but her death was my tipping point. It really hit close to home.

Now I can only imagine what you're going through- being a teen like me but experiencing such a tough time at such a young age, as well as other stresses of being a teen. A part of this program is to connect the hair donor with the recipient, and that's one of the reasons I chose it. I hope to get to know you, so just know that I'm here to talk whenever you need moral support, or just for fun.

I wish you the best of luck in battling your illness. It won't be easy, but you'll be strong!

Love,

Ruth Bonnaham, age 14

My right hand set the letter down on the table, and it stared back at us. Just sitting there. Completely unconcious of its message, its sender, or its impact. Funny how a sheet of paper could affect someone so much.

My mother wrapped me in a comforting embrace, her hands encircling my back and holding me close. It represented how she wanted so desperately to shelter me, protect me from the harsh truths of life. But not all can be avoided, nor could I be invicible. Light, muffled sobs were audible as she set her head on my shoulder, and she began to rock us back and forth like one would do with a newborn.

And it was then that I began to realize something- sure my illness was hard on me, the patient, but what about the patient's mother? The one to raise her and care for her, watch as she grew up and struggled and eventually succeeded with things in life. But cancer wasn't like building a block tower or learning to read. Cancer was complex and challenging and tragic. And one of those things that was just bigger than a person.

I pulled away and she rubbed her fist across her eye area, wiping the tears and streaking her mascara. She looked like a mess, with her paint smock on from her most recent painting and old blue jeans, her hair tired up in a messy bun. As an artist, she often looked like this, but for some reason it hit me more emotionally this time. I could already tell what she had been painting, from the colors staining the smock, but she left the room and returned with the painting anyway.

It was me as a baby. Tender faced and innocent. Just as she wanted me to remain forever.

Hey reader! Thanks for reading my latest chapter in "The World Through Various Eyes"! If you enjoyed it, make sure to comment your thoughts about the book's plot so far, and your opinions on it in general. Also, if you think it deserves it, make sure to vote for it! Thanks again!

~DistantDreams (Claire)