If I Can't See The Sun, Maybe I Should Go

Dea


My eyes gloss and sting with tears when my mother asks once again where I was on the list. For yet another heart transplant. "Mom don't" I start, but the doctor responds with the number. The haunting number 23. Over and over it haunts me. Lurking around corners simply waiting to jump into my mind and gobble up all my hopes and dreams in life. My heart twists into a tight knot at my mothers frown. I wasn't going to get a new heart. I simply wouldn't. Why was I the only one who wouldn't accept that? I roll my eyes and slip out of the white cotton sheets and onto the cold linoleum tiles. My heartrate beeps louder on the machine before I pulled the monitor from my chest. Tossing it onto the stand and walking up to the two. Instead of confronting them, I pass through the middle of them and open the closet. Pulling out my jeans and tank top before slipping out of the hospital gown. The doctor was the least of my concern. He was married, had children, and had already seen me in my underwear before. So I simply changed there in the privacy of the room's blinds. My mother already sobbing. It broke my heart to see her like this, but it also angered me. She wasn't the one in the pain. She wasn't dying at the age of 16. She wasn't the one having to be teased at school for being 'different'. I pause as I pull the black and white striped tank top over my head. A long, nearly six inch scar reached up through the top of the shirt. That's when I gave in. I gave up. Why try to hide myself? Why continue to sulk around everybody- laying low to avoid their rough comments. I straighten my shoulders and turn around. Black hair pulled sleekly back, and sharp features lacking much makeup. Rarely did I wear anything but eyeliner and a little mascara. My pale blue eyes were crusted in ice when they met the gaze of the two. Who were surprised at my sudden change in attitude. I clench my jaw and tense before continuing. "Well. Can I return to school now, Doc?" I say sarcastically. My mother opens her mouth to reply in a crisp no, but I shake my head before she manages the sound. Raising my hand to silence her, I grab my small bag from a chair and sling it over my shoulder. Feeling my heartbeat in my throat and my toes aching slightly. I wasn't going to sit around all day and wait for my heart to choke out on me. I push open the door of my room and glance around the hospital. It smelled so familiar. More familiar than my mother or father's arms were. They were too afraid of hurting me to ever make contact enough for a simple hug. My expression was cold as lemonade on a hot summer's day as I made my way outside and into the air. Ignoring the pain the walking was causing me. I walked to the school that day from the hospital, and when I arrived I was late to second hour. Gritting my teeth as a couple of idiots watched me, I open my locker and pull out a social studies book and folder. However, when I turned to head back to class the two guys were right in front of me. I hold my fear back in my soul and force it into an iron shell. "May I please go to class?" I ask. But it wasn't really a question, more of a demand. Surprise jumped at their faces, but they step closer. "What's wrong? Afraid your heart will break with bad grades?" He grins, and I feel my eyes tingle with tears. "No" I try to reply sternly, but it comes out shaky and they notice. I hoped, or rather prayed, for anyone to come and help me out. Even if the at other days at school everyone was around me and no one came. I still pleaded to all the Gods and Goddesses I could think of to help me and my broken self in such a horrifying time of need.