August to September

The Tinkling of Bells

I run my fingers through my hair, the loose caramel brown locks falling back into place. I look in the mirror and study my reflection. Brown eyes, the same color as hers, enclosed in permanent worry lines. Freckles lightly dotting my nose, snowflakes she used to call them. She can barely say the word now. We look exactly the same. Same smile, although neither of us smile much now. Same heart, worn on our shoulders where it is easily knocked off over and over again. The only difference is how small she is. Before she was diagnosed she was so full of life. Her laugh like the tinkling of bells. I never hear it anymore. She is so weak, she can't leave the house. She is hopeless and it constantly kills me. I need her. I can't live without her.

I pull on my orange hoodie and walk out of my room, making sure to be quiet since she is asleep. She needs her rest. The doctors insist sleep is the best medicine, still just another medicine that fails, but it helps her gain some strength to talk to me after school. I am determined to cherish those small moments while I still can. As I pass her door I hear her faintly calling out to me. I slowly crack open her door and shuffle across her room to her bed. Kneeling beside the bed I take her small, worn hand into mine.

"Yes mom?" I murmur. I look around the room, anywhere but her eyes. The windows are drawn tight, making the room eerie and dark, the carpet is worn from years of life. She used to be a dancer. She could change a whole room of frowns into smiles from just the sight of her. She would spin and twirl and move with such ease, it would seem as if she was a bird. I would sit on this carpet and watch her. Smiling and giggling as she would glide across the room.

I hear her whisper my name again. I force myself to look at her. The pain hits me instantly as I look into those faded brown eyes that used to be so full of life. I force back the tears and softly squeeze her hand so she knows she has my attention.

"Baby, you know I love you right?" I can see she is desperately trying not to cry. I can feel the tears prying at my eyes as well. Like I said, we have the exact same heart. The tears claw at my eyelids like prisoners trying to escape their cell. I shut my eyes tight and I force myself to keep the tears in. I have to be strong for her. I see a silent tear slip from her eye and fall down her pale face. I lose it. The prisoners escape past the bars as tears stream down my face. She asks me again, more softly this time. I finally nod a yes and she squeezes my hand gently, as if she could hurt me if she wanted.

She smiles, her cheeks rising slightly. Suddenly I see her come to life. Her pale eyes lighting up to a darker shade, like they once were. Her lips look more full. Her cheeks flush with color. I blink, hoping when I look back she will still be there, with a new warm color to her skin. She pulls me closer to her and I can see her up close. She is still sick. She isn't better, but she has a smile on her face.

She whispers something inaudible. I lean close to her and she repeats to me "You have so much to live for. You are so full of life. Don't lose yourself. Whatever happens.... whatever happens to me, stay strong. For me, always stay strong. Be the man I know you can, that I know you are. I love you August." With that she lightly squeezed my hand once more. I see a single tear escape her eyelid and fall down her face. She wipes it away and smiles. Then she leans back against the bed, a sign she is tired. I wrap my arms around her in a last embrace and turn to walk out of the room. She reaches out and gently places her fingers on my elbow, stopping me.

"Remember what I told you, please." She lets go and I head out of her room. I close the door softly behind me and continue down the hall towards my original destination, the kitchen.

As I pass by a picture in the hallway I stop. It is a picture of my family when I was six. I still had the same curly hair that had a life of it's own. My mom looked amazing in the picture. That was eleven years ago. She was so full of life. In the picture we are sitting on our couch in front of the fireplace. My dad has his arm wrapped around my mom's waist and they are both smiling at each other. I am sitting beside my mother, smiling like a fool with a big toothy grin. The perfect picture for a perfect family.

Then it all went wrong. My mom got diagnosed with cancer and had to quit her job as an art teacher. My dad had to take an extra job. He works nights and sleeps during the day. I never see him anymore. He has to sleep in a different room so my mom can get her rest. Our life has been torn apart, but we try our best.

A wave of sadness hits me suddenly and I slide to the floor. I pull my feet up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs, resting my head on my knees. I feel the tears come once again. Harsh, brutal tears of so many emotions I can't count. Anger. Anger at the doctors who haven't been able to help my mom, anger at the world for not doing something about it. Longing. Longing to be that little six year old once again, to be part of that close-knit picture perfect family. And most of all, utter sadness and despair. Despair that our lives will never be the same, that my mom will never dance on the stage or the carpet again.

Finally I pick myself up off the floor and head into the kitchen. I grab an apple and a bagel and head to the front door. When I open the door, sunlight streams in. Such a beautiful day, the type of day my mom would paint. She would grab her easel in one hand and me in her other hand, we would go outside and sit on the emerald green grass. She would paint and I would sit beside her and point out details that needed to be added. When we finished, we would go inside and my mom would make a pitcher of lemonade. We would sit on the porch swing and drink our lemonade and everything would be perfect in life.

I realize now that life isn't perfect. It never will be. I might as well get used to it now.

I walk across the street and head towards my school. I live walking- distance from my school because we moved here to be near it. My mom taught art, and my dad taught science. Now he has a part time tutoring job and he works nights at the mall as a security guard.

My mom thought I would love the school, and to be honest, for a while I did. I loved art class especially. I loved being able to look at a picture and see more. To look at a flower and see not only a flower, but also all the shapes and colors that make it what it is. The world was suddenly a new place. A tree wasn't just green, it was infinite shades of wonder. There were infinite possibilities in everything, and I loved it. I was constantly astounded by the sheer beauty of the world and its inhabitants.

But then my world went dark. The beautiful colors that once brightened my view were turning dull and grey. The world lost its beauty to me. I was alone in a very dark place, and I saw no chance of escaping. My mom left the school and the art program closed. School was no longer a place of freedom for me. Now people saw me as a pity case, that's all I was. I couldn't trust anyone anymore. They only interacted with me because they felt sorry for me, and even then they always gave me the same look. I started putting on this fake guise at school. Acting like everything was okay when it wasn't. It worked.

Maybe too well. Now everyone wanted to be my friend. But they didn't want to be friends with the real me. They were more interested in the person I pretended to be. But people stopped feeling sorry for me. So I went along with it. Now two years later, people still fail to see the real me. I don't complain. I've given up. What's the point now?

So when I walk into the school building I am expecting the normal day. The type of day where I block all emotion. Instead I am greeted with a sound unlike any other. A sound that makes my heart beat faster. A beautiful, wonderful sound that brings all of the emotions I had been pushing down back to the surface.

Laughter.

Like the tinkling of bells.

AUTHORS NOTE : Hey guys. I am not usually going to include any of these, but I just want you to know : This story would not have happened without @randomrevoultions. She is an AMAZING author and her story "To Whom It May Concern" is BEAUTIFUL. She has helped me a lot with my plot and she got me motivated to write. PLEASE GO READ IT. Thanks for reading this. I am excited for this story.