I woke up, rubbing my panda eyes away, the night before was a blur. I thought I was safe drinking the drinks at my local bar.
I was wrong.
Being spiritual by choice is not an easy task. It's like being scared of heights, you just have to let go and jump off the cliff hoping that the cord will catch you, and save you from your fall.
I belive that no man or boy has the right to take your hand in marriage, in death or in beauty. But this boy was so different. He was a fault in the clear future, a bump in the road, a danger to society.
His eyes made me believe him, made me stop thinking. They led me to thinking having a drink with him was right but it was so, so wrong. He was like champagne, deadly to your thoughts and to your memory. But those green eyes stayed with me all night.
PRESENT TIME
I rolled myself out of bed, looking at my bony body. Anorexia was not really a highlight of my life, neither was my recent kidney failure. Being a 17 year old girl is bad enough, but when you're living with your parents in southern miami, you know it can't get much worse.
I mean of course I would prefer a mansion, with ten bedrooms and a pool and an indoor cinema. But reality is a tounge biter, and my mum isn't really one for life outside room 178 in Pennsylvania district hospital. Cancer is a big part of her life. Finding a spot on your leg and reaching out to find a lump was not the thing you want to be finding while you're in France with your family.
My dad had to pay the bills, school fees, parking tickets from the hospital, everything. Living on one income isn't easy, so I decided I was going to find a job, a talent that I can make realistic.
I looked through my cluttered wardrobe, tracing my fingers over the stitching of my gowns and shredded jeans.I laid eyes on a lace dress that I bought when we were in London for one of my hospital treatments.My skin craves the thin black fabric, wanting it to caress the pale skin of my forearms.
I decided on wearing the dress with black lace and ripped shin covering because it had a reality to it. My life could be told by that one dress, maybe my mother's future could too.
I waltzed down the small stairway looking for my fathers familiar face, the comforting presence that was always there. I peered around all the corners, in his bedroom, the bathroom and even my own bedroom. He was nowhere.
I looked for my small nokia brick phone as the boys at school would call it, scrolling through my numbers until I find my dads contact.
A text popped up on my screen as I was about to dial.
It was from my father.
It said
She's gone.
