First Job

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You- Mom do you think I should get an after school job?

Mom- Sweetie, you barely came to the city, give it some time.

Your mom can hardly talk. Her voice is going away. Her sweet lovable laugh to.

You- What about Sydney? I want to help you.

Mom- I got Sydney I have money.

You- Look, mom, your life is not going well right now, I want to help you.

Mom- Are you sure Cheyenne?

You- Of course Mom.

Your mom smiles. Shes proud about how you have grown up. Not a grumpy teen. Like most.

You- Okay then thank you.

Mom- For wh-

Your moms voice is cracky.

You- Take rest mom. I thank you. And you thank me. Take some rest.

Your mom is diagnosed with an disease Graves' disease. Kinda sad. But true. You take care of her know matter what. But she can't move you don't really understand her sickness.

You- I'll take Sydney to school. She's awake already. I bet.

Your mom is asleep. You rub her forhead and kiss her forhead.

You- Take care mom.

You get out her room and close her door. You go to Sydney's room.

You- Sydney it's time to wake up.

Sydney- I'm old enough to know.

You- I see. So grumpy such a kid you are.

Sydney- I'm sorry.

Your sister Sydeny is one year younger then you.

Sydney- I'm sorry I really am.

You- I know you are.

Sydney- You don't. And you don't have to.

You smile. Your sister is nice sometimes. She is just grumpy these days because of your mom.

You- Look, Sydney I'm getting a job.

Sydeny- Really? But we haven't even seen our school yet.

You- I know.

Sydney- Are you sure?

You- I know I am. I'm doing this for mom and you.

Sydney- You're such a good person.

You- You are too.

Sydeny- Im a wanna be.

You gasp dramatically. And hug her.

You- Lies.

She smiles and hugs you back.

You- Okay, Get ready.

Sydeny- Oh god. Its about to be late.

You- Not really. I woke up at 4:34 in the morning to the sound of mom choking.

Sydeny frowns.

Sydeny- Mom's dying isn't she?

You- She can't be dying. She can't be.

Sydeny hugs you.

Sydeny- You're right, she's gonna be okay.

You both get ready. . .

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