Awakening to Life Read online

  Copyright 2014 by Caitlin Guy

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. the author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products reference in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  To my family and friends.

  And to everyone who has been touched by cancer.

  Chapter 1

  I wake as a wad of paper flies across the room, hitting my ear with a soft thud and dropping to the floor. My heart leaps in my chest and my eyes open wide. I hold my head still and glance towards the front of the classroom for Mr. Peterson. He stands at the whiteboard, diagonally from his desk, in the right hand corner of the room. He is looking in the opposite direction, at Aaron and Jayden whispering together like twelve-year-old school girls. But Mr. Peterson keeps droning on about the supernatural elements within Macbeth.

  I turn my head to the side, leaning my cheek in my palm, and scowl at Hailey.

  “What?” she mouths, but she has a sneaky smile plastered on her face. She sticks out her tongue and faces the front of the room. I lift my head and face the board. It is heavy in my hands. My face flushes as I see the whiteboard almost completely covered in Mr. Peterson’s illegible scrawls. It’s too late to decipher now. The clock allows only five minutes until the lunch bell.

  Mr. Peterson begins his class wrap up, with four minutes to go. The class seems to come alive with each second passing by. Most people pull out their diaries and write up the weekend homework. I don’t bother. My eyelids feel heavy again and I fight to keep them open.

  The bell rings. Half the class are out of their seats before Mr. Peterson finishes his sentence. The other half have turned to their side and starting talking to the person next to them. I slowly fold away my book and pencil case, pulling it under my arm and drag myself to my feet.

  “Alison Redding?”

  The class shuffles past. Groaning internally, I push myself from beneath the desk and move towards Mr. Peterson’s desk. Within seconds, the class is empty, although Hailey hesitates before the door. She gives me a sympathetic look and ambles from the room.

  “Is there anything going on at home that I should know about, Allie?” he asks in a kind tone. The bluntness of the question sends a cool shock through my veins.

  “No.”

  “Allie, this is the second time you’ve fallen asleep in class this fortnight.”

  “I’m just tired from finishing assignments,” I reply, aiming for a casual tone.

  “Alright. Well, try to be a bit more organised from now on.”

  I take that for a dismissal and move hurriedly from the room.

  It’s a whole different world outside of the classroom. The afternoon sun is blinding. Dazed by the sudden transition, my leg collides with the person in front and I careen into them. Large hands catch my arms and pull me upright. I look up and my head crashes into the person above me. I almost fall back again, but he drags us both to our feet. He steps back, detangling himself. I meet his eyes. Jayden. My cheeks flush as he presses his palm into his forehead, rubbing at the spot.

  Aaron yells across the crowded corridor and Jayden turns towards the sound. He nods. “Take care, Allie.”

  Jayden strides after Aaron without a second glance. The pair quickly melts into the stampede of people heading outside. I shuffle towards my locker, stuffing my books onto the messy shelf and grabbing a textbook for my next lesson. As an afterthought, I also pluck an apple from my school bag.

  “Allie!” Hailey appears at my side. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, all good.” I smile, taking a small bite out of the apple.

  Hailey narrows her eyes. “Are you hanging with us today?”

  “No, I need to get started on that essay for Mr. Peterson. I’m too busy this weekend.”

  She bites her lip. “Sure, let me know if you need any help.”

  I nod again, giving her a quick smile as I shut my locker and head in the direction of the library. As soon as I am out of sight, I circle back and head towards the western buildings. The steep grey stairwell is a pain to climb, but my mood lightens when I enter the hallway to the drama room. The thick door it gives way easily. I slip into the room and stride across the cluttered space. In the corner sits a small couch. It is covered in patches of different materials; evidence of either disrepair or artistic expression. I sink into the cushions and listen to the hum of the overhead lights.

  The room’s windows are boarded up by layer upon layer of posters. Some are from old school productions, while others are advertisements for local shows or popular movies. I spend the whole of lunch staring mindlessly at various spots in the room, dozing in and out of sleep. Every time I find myself drifting away I wake with a start, thinking that someone will find me sleeping on the couch. Thankfully, the bell frightens me awake. I sit and wait as students drift into the room one by one.

  When everyone has arrived, I join the circle on the floor, pulling my folder in front of me and opening it to the next page. Most of the class has started working by the time Mr. McNealy strolls casually into the room. He takes the space left for him in the circle and begins questioning students on their progress. His voice is low pitched and quiet. I concentrate on the checklists for each costume. Mr. McNealy’s voice fades into the background. For each person I write brief notes on how the costume reflects the character’s purpose and the underlying themes of this year’s play, Lysistrata.

  My trance-like state of mind only breaks when Mr. McNealy says my name. My chin leaps up in response. I find that the whole class has stopped to watch. For the second time today, my face burns in humiliation.

  “The costumes look really good, Allie.”

  “Oh, are they here?” Rebecca asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  My heart expands in my chest. “They’re in the theatre.”

  “When did you bring them in?” another girl in my class asks.

  “Yesterday.”

  “What are you up to now?” Mr. McNealy inquires.

  “I’m just running through the checklist for each costume and making notes for my reflection,” I say. Drama is the only subject where I’m not falling behind.

  “Good.” Mr. McNealy nods and shuffles to the next person. He begins questioning them on the acting techniques they plan on implementing.

  Time passes quickly, with the bell ringing before everyone has a chance to speak. I leave promptly, weaving my way through the school and getting to my locker before most other people in my area reach theirs. Hailey is waiting at my locker when I arrive.

  “You have ink on your forehead,” I announce upon seeing her. The streak stretches from the centre of her chin to her upper cheek, at the level of her ear.

  “I know!” she screeches. “My pen exploded on my face!”
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  I can’t help but collapse in giggles. “What did you do to it?”

  “I was trying to dissemble and reassemble the pen faster than Harry...” Her face is tragic. It looks like the sad masks used in commedia dell’arte. “How dare you laugh?! What sort of friend are you?!”

  “Hey, it could be so much worse. If it doesn’t come off, you could just grow a very thick beard.”

  She snorts. “It’ll come off. Even if I have to scrape it off. Now, what have you got planned for the weekend?”

  I hesitate a second too long before replying. “Camping with my family.”

  “Oh.” Hailey’s mouth sinks into a natural frown. The expression doesn’t seem to fit her. “I was thinking we could go shopping for casuals day next week.”

  “Sorry.” I grab my stuff and slam my locker shut. “I have to go... I’ll see you Monday?”

  “Have a good trip, Allie.”

  “Thanks.” I trudge through the school and out onto the street. A small grey car waits exactly opposite the school gate. I climb in gratefully.

  “Hey, Dad.” I yawn.

  “Bad day?” he asks, eyes searching my face.

  “Just tiring.” I close my eyes. “I just want to go home and sleep.”

  “Sorry, honey. We have that appointment with Dr. Marsden.”

  I groan. Dad turns on the music as we sit in the car and wait. It’s about ten minutes later on the small digital clock that Josh pulls open the door. He throws his bag across the seat and belts himself in. The door slams shut behind him.

  “Where do you get your energy, kid?” Dad complains jokingly, pushing the car into drive and moving off from the curb.

  “I had Sport last lesson,” he replies with a lazy grin, squirting his water bottle over his head. The water drips from the ends of his dark brown hair, the same shade as mine.

  “Shouldn’t you be all tired out then?” Dad asks.

  “Nope,” Josh says, popping the ‘p.’ He bounces along to the music as we drive to the hospital. I silently envy his ease; yet it brings a smile to my face. He is jovial the whole way to the hospital. He even has me dancing and singing along with him and the radio.

  We are lucky. It takes just fifteen minutes to find a park, navigate the sterile halls and arrive at Dr. Marsden’s office. Mum is already sitting in a waiting chair, reading a trashy gossip magazine. She looks up when we enter. At the exact same time, Dr. Marsden emerges from his office and beckons us to come inside.

  “Am I coming in?” Josh asks eagerly.

  “Don’t you have a test on Monday?” Mum asks pointedly.

  “I can study on the weekend!”

  “Stay here. We won’t be long.” Dad lowers his voice, bringing the discussion to a halt. He nudges me towards the door. That’s when I see Dr. Marsden’s expression. His lips form a thin line, somehow pronouncing his wrinkled forehead. Although his hair has been greying gradually over the last year, it is the first time that he looks old and tired. Without his usual cheery grin, my parents sit down quickly on chairs next to mine, biting back the usual greetings and jokes.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Allie,” Dr. Marsden addresses me, focusing his intense gaze on mine. I can’t seem to break away, even though I want nothing more than to zone out and block the words from reaching my mind. I yearn for the usual menial conversation segues. No matter how I try, his voice penetrates my concentration with phrases that make me want to hit something.

  “The leukaemia has progressed into its final stages.”

  “It is extremely aggressive.”

  “It resisted the Gleevec, Sprycel, chemotherapy and stem cell transplants.” He pauses. “I’m afraid we’ve run out of opinions.”

  Silent tears start running down Dad’s face. I see him crying in my peripheral vision. Mum sits like she has turned to stone. Her eyes, although fixed on Dr. Marsden, are hollow. Her face is hardened against whatever reaction may be fighting its way to the surface.

  I don’t know what to feel. A million thoughts fight to be heard. Their sharp edges slash deep cuts into my mind.

  “Do I have to keep coming to hospital?” I ask.

  “I’ll have to discuss that with your parents, but for now – yes.”

  I nod. A feeling of numbness spreads throughout my body. We sit without speaking for a few seconds. The silence hangs like humidity in the air. Eventually, Dad asks the inevitable question.

  “How long does she have?” His voice is quiet. It is almost calm, but he breaks on the last word.

  “Nothing is definite.”

  “How long?” I ask. The ferocity of my tone surprises even me. Mum starts and turns to me with wide eyes.

  “Perhaps more than two months. Less than two years.”

  I cannot listen to more. A weight presses against my heart. I revert to my five-year-old self and the adults speak over the top of me. It is an eternity before we leave the office. Dad takes my arm and helps me to my feet. He guides me forward with his hand resting on my lower back. Josh sits on the couch opposite us. He looks up from a sports magazine and smiles guiltily. A wave of anger and sadness wells insides me. I cannot stay and tell Josh.

  So, I turn and run.

  I weave my way through the halls and into the sanctuary of the teenagers’ lounge. There is only one other person in the room, a boy about my age. He is reading in the window seat opposite the entrance. He looks up from his book and grins. I recognise him: Paul. I glance away, tugging at the flimsy material of my school dress. My whole body is shaking. I feel like an earthquake is moving the ground beneath me. I sit down and press my face into the couch.

  “Hey, Allie, do you want to play a card game?”

  Paul has no idea what he’s triggered. All the tears I held back in front of my parents come rushing to the surface.

  “Hey…” Paul strides to my side. He sits next to me and pulls me to his chest. His arms wrap around my shoulders. “Shhhh, it’s going to be okay.”

  I start crying even harder. My eyes are swollen. I’m exhausted.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. His arms draw back tentatively.

  “Bad news?” he asks gently.

  I sniff back the last of the waterworks and nod. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  His hair is in the early stages of regrowth, but his skin is tanned. He’s wearing jeans and an old t-shirt supporting some band I have never heard of. I hate him for being healthier than I am. As soon as this thought crosses my mind, I hate myself for thinking it.

  “Are you in hospital tomorrow?” he asks.

  I shrug.

  “If you’re not, call me. You should do something fun. It helps to take your mind off things.”

  He leans over and grabs a piece of paper off the table in front of us. He scrawls a number and presses it into my palm. My hand constricts around the paper, but I stare straight ahead.

  “So, I should call you for fun? That confident, are you?” I aim for a light and carefree tone. It falls flat. My voice is strained from the crying. But he smiles nonetheless.

  “Maybe. Why don’t you call and find out?”

  He places his hand on my shoulder and then walks from the room. I stare straight ahead, watching my reflection in the television. I take my hair from its pony tail. It cascades down my side in loose waves. This should have been a sign of health. Instead, it only reminds me of the failed chemotherapy. The memory is a dull pain in my mind.

  I turn on the television and try watching the after school children’s shows. My mind refuses to focus on the screen. It is hard to keep calm. I get up and try cleaning the room, but there is nothing to put away. Everyone cleans up after themselves. I restack the board games in order of size and alphabetise the DVDs.

  Eventually, Dad knocks on the door frame. He strides towards to t
he window seat where Paul was only ten minutes before and sits. I join him and look out through the glass. The world is still turning. The sky has not fallen in. The birds flit from one tree to the next. Buses pull up at the stops. People hurry in and shuffle out. Dad’s eyes search my face.

  “Did you tell Josh?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry… How did he react?”

  “He’s in shock. Mum took him home. We thought you might need some space.”

  I nod. Silence, again, descends upon us. I watch a pigeon sidle along the windowsill. A small child throws food at it from a few metres away. The bread hits the glass and the heavy thump sends the bird flying.