One Day

I was tired, and cold despite the four layers of blankets that weighed on me. The T.V. hanging high on the wall was turned off and the three chairs crowded tight around facing me were empty. The curtains to the right of my bed past the chairs were drawn open revealing bright spring leaves brushing back and forth behind the window. It made a constant crunching sound that wasn’t unpleasant, but I couldn’t hear it. I stared out to the leaves not seeing or hearing anything other than my thoughts. 

Whispers of regret swirled in my head of the things I never did and will never do. I always told myself that one day I would be talented enough, confident enough, and pretty enough to have the courage to do the things I only dreamed of doing. Acting for one always seemed like so much fun. I had always gone to the school plays and watched the rehearsals. So much so that the theater teacher said I should audition and commented on how I was probably a wiz at memorizing lines by this point. But I declined. Instead, I paid ten dollars at the booth in front of the auditorium for a ticket, sat in one of the red velvet seats toward the back, and watched my classmates perform A Midsummer Night's Dream. The whole time I regretted not auditioning for Helena, especially since I fit her description. I was tall with lighter hair, not exactly blonde but a fair brown color. As I watched, I imagined how much fun it would have been to be on that stage. I told myself that one day when I was talented, confident, and pretty enough I would audition. 

Bang, Bang, Whish. The wind picked up, bashing the leaves harder against the window, pulling me back into the room and in my body. I took a long breath in and sighed trying to hum away the hollow pit in my stomach. The room was dead, in sound and spirit. I pondered whether I should turn on the T.V. and watch Friends again for the millionth time. At this point, I could probably recite every episode word for word. It was the only decent show on. I decided against it, I didn’t want to spend my last days angry about how Ross thought being “on a break” was an excuse for cheating. So, I laid back down and chose to stare at the ceiling. I could feel my energy draining out. 

 I rubbed my hands on the sheet of the bed trying to stay awake. The sheets were a beautiful pale blue. It was similar to the dress I would pass by on occasion at the mall. The cut was low, but not too low, the sleeves were short and frilly, and the skirt flowed beautifully at the knees. It would have been the perfect dress to wear to prom if I had gone. I told my family that it was because I didn’t want to spend eighty dollars just to eat food and listen to music when I could do it for free at home, which was partially true. Truthfully I didn’t want to be surrounded by beautiful women in gorgeous gowns while I attempted to look as stunning as they did and failed. I knew what they were going to think of me even before they could chatter it amongst themselves. That I couldn’t pull off a dress, that I should have worn something with more coverage, or that I looked like a guy. Not going to prom was one of my biggest regrets. Especially after seeing all of Julia’s photos when she came home, and after she told me poor Nick Stevenson puked all over the dance floor causing a slip-and-slide for unwilling participants. In hindsight, I should have gone because no one would have remembered what I wore after that unfortunate, but amusing incident. Plus I wouldn’t be remembered as the girl who looked like a guy in a dress, but the girl who got sick over winter break and couldn’t finish her senior year. 

The door to my room shook. I quickly looked over expecting a nurse or my family who were eating lunch in the cafeteria; they would always comment on how surprisingly good the food was here. Instead, it was the little old lady taking her afternoon lap around the floor. I could recognize her every day from her dark red headband with white roses barely peeking over the thin rectangle window. She would always walk at the same time every day, it was like clockwork. Though a couple of days ago I didn’t see her pass my door and a gloom fogged my heart as I had assumed she had passed. But, sure enough, the next day she was on the clock again passing my room at around 12:30 pm. I always imagined that one of these days I would not see her walk past for a day, then a week, and then a month. Nonetheless, she was still taking her usual lap around while it took all my strength to stay awake. I didn’t know whether to be happy for her that she was still doing so well over the passing months or pity myself for how quickly I deteriorated. 

Pity myself. It was all I had done since my diagnosis. I was already quite familiar with pity, but we had become quite close over the last few months. At first, I only felt bad for myself. How I was going to die so young and didn’t have a single success in my life people would remember me for. However, as I saw the energy drain not only from myself but from Julia, Mom, and Dad a dagger of guilt pierced my heart and remained there. I felt so low and focused only on my own losses that I hadn’t realized my family was grieving as well. They don’t blame me for my cold and distant demeanor since my permanent residence at the hospital, or if they did they hid it well. That didn’t stop me though from adding being a terrible sister and daughter to my list of failures. 

My distance started before I was even diagnosed. I had never been keen on sharing my feelings with others and though this didn’t drive a big wedge between us there were at least a couple of splinters. I avoided any affection they wanted to give me, hugs, kisses, and the simple “I love yous” would make my skin curl. There were so many things I wish I had done differently, but at least I still had time to fix this mistake. 

The sliding door opened and in came Julia, hand still on the door. Her eyes were red and swollen. So was my Mom's, who held herself in a hug and had my Dad’s hands resting on her shoulders rubbing back and forth. They didn’t say much other than their remarks on how good the cafeteria food was. The seats by my bed began to fill. First Julia, second my Mom, and last my Dad who sat by my feet. Their company would usually provide me with some comfort. But as the days went by their eyes continued to puff up and their smiles hung lower on their faces. It was at this moment that I was certain “one day” would never come and that it was now or never. 

I called their names. My eyes shaked, my heart raced, and my hands cried. I blurted out how I was sorry I didn’t spend more time with them, how I wished I had been a better sister and daughter, and how even though I would always worm my way out of their hugs and just give a weak smile or an unpleasant noise when they said “I love you” that I loved them too. I hated crying, but as I (for the first real time) expressed my feelings my throat swelled and I sobbed trying to put on the best smile I could form to counter the awkwardness that boiled inside of me. I watched my mom muster up her best smile, Julia laughed with tears running down her cheeks, and my dad gingerly placed his hand on my leg in comfort. Julia was the first to speak. She said that I was never the type to express myself, but my actions spoke louder than words.

“Remember last year when I bleached my hair even though mom and dad said I couldn’t,” Julia chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “I got in so much trouble. But the next day you walked in the house with bright red hair.” Now she was barely able to talk through her crazy laughter. “I–will never forget–Mom’s face!”

The room erupted in laughter and for the first time in weeks, I was warm.