A Sky Full of Stars

CHAPTER 1

I hastily put on my slippers and head toward the tiny bathroom in my tiny house to brush my teeth. While I was brushing, I kept thinking about how dreadful the support group will be and all the human interaction that would come with it. I liked the thought of lying in bed the whole day, listening to music, and writing about my day. Journaling was one of the few things I took interest in. I soon stopped my train of thoughts and looked at myself in the mirror which was an abnormality because I didn't find myself worth looking at. Blame my low self-esteem on the kids that bullied me throughout middle school for having a genetic disorder.

This one time that I did bother to look at myself I saw a young girl who would love to live her life traveling and going out with the few friends she had but instead was stuck in her house for most of the time and whenever she was let out it was for boring shit like a support group.

Anyway, too bad I had NF, short for neurofibromatosis, which causes weird lumps on my skin and face. I even have learning and behavioral problems and hence I have to go to the support group. And I mean HAVE to go. It's not my choice. My parents think it will be a great exposure and I can interact with kids who go through the same problems as me. They say it will help out but all this is just a huge waste of time. What a way to ruin my summer vacation!

I'll be turning seventeen in a month and I don't want to be going to some stupid support group classes. I didn't even say no to my parents because I didn't want them to feel bad. Well, at least my mom. I was never really close to my dad but I care about my mom a lot. She does anything and everything to make me feel like a normal teenager and I appreciate it. The one thing harder than having a non-curable disease is to watch your child suffer from it.

Anyways I go downstairs and see my parents sitting on our small kitchen counter eating eggs and smiling at me. Fake little smiles that would make me feel better about everything that I go through, fake little smiles that I get since I was first diagnosed with such a chronic illness.

Through the corner of my eye, I see a plate of eggs next to my mom and I take the plate and start eating. My mom asks conversationally,

"So, honey, are you ready for camp?"

"Yeah, what choice do I have," I say nonchalantly.

As much as I love my mom, sometimes she worries about me being happy a bit too much and that makes me worried because I'm not a very happy person. My dad adds to the conversation,

"Amber, we're paying a lot of money to send you to this camp. I hope you understand the value of it." I just nod my head.

Arguing with my dad is senseless. He always has an answer ready and it's always a comment about how much my parents do for me, how I've ruined their lives and how they have compromised everything because of me. I try not to blame myself for our family's sorry state but sometimes when I lay in bed all alone, I think that they would be so much happier without me.... that I'm the burden in their lives.

After I was done with my eggs my mom came to me, brushed the loose strand of hair on my face behind my ear and whispered,

"We're always there for you sweetie, your dad's just being a little harsh, don't mind him."

But that's the thing. They know that they won't be there for me forever and I know that too. One day I'll need to take care of myself and them too and it's going to be too much for me. I've always tried to do as much as I can for my mom but I can never do half as much as she's done for me. I look into her eyes and see so much hope that I'll get better, that everything will be normal again but we both know that this disease cannot be cured. There is no recovery. I wipe the tear trickling down her cheek with my sleeve and say,

"It's getting late, we should leave." She comes back to the present, shakes her head ever so slightly, and says, "Yeah of course."

She bids goodbye to my dad who was now cleaning the dishes and we are out the door.