The Death of a Year Chapter 1

 

Chapter 1

 

My name is Hope, a strange bit of irony that I am sure my mother didn’t expect when she gave it to me. After all, who would look into the bright, shining eyes of a newly swaddled babe and think about the day that child would be lost? Or perhaps she did know, perhaps she knew that hope was exactly what I would need in my darkest hour. Or, perhaps I was to be the hope, the glue that would hold my family together in the face of tragedy. Unfortunately, there are questions that will never be answered, things that I will never understand. Coming to terms with the fact that many of life’s little mysteries will stay mysteries is the hardest part of knowing that I’m going to die.

My beginning was not extremely noteworthy. I was the best thing that ever happened to two people, the second best thing that ever happened to two more. Still, as I have come to realize, all of our lives are of solitary significance. As children, we have a starry eyed outlook on the world, as though it was created for us and us alone. Perhaps the very act of growing older, slowly creeping closer to the time in which we must give up our last breath, is the thing that spurs us into the realization that the world was here before we came and it will be here long after we leave.   

I was born in a dusty little town in the center of rural California. It was the sort of place where you could stand on your porch and for as far as your eyes could see there was an endless ocean of grass, knee high and burnt yellow by the sun. There were Oak trees that had been standing for more years than there had been roads to get to them. They were the owners of the land, and we were only visitors, using their shade and burning their fallen limbs. They were majestic and strong, “ladders to heaven” my great grandmother would say. 

Our house stood on the far western corner of two hundred acres, owned by my grandparents. Their house was close to ours. From my bedroom window, it was only a shape through the trees at the bottom of the knoll. In my first ten years of life, I spent most of my time running down that knoll, drawn by the smell of my grandmother’s cooking. I would lie in the grass and watch her tend to the flowerbeds around the great, white porch, my mouth closed over a piece of sweet grass and my eyes fixed on the sky. She would talk, in her butter soft voice, and I would listen, drawing pictures in my mind of the stories she would tell. Her smile is one of those things that I can’t seem to forget, no matter where I am or what I am doing, if I think of my grandmother, that smile spreads through my head like wet ink spilled on paper.

So many hours where spent running through that yellow grass of my childhood, so many days were spent climbing the branches of those old Oak trees. Looking back, it seems as though that was a different time, or rather a different era, completely disconnected to the here and now. Looking back, I realize the sweetness that exuded from every crevice of that time. That kind of simplicity was something that few people will ever experience.

We moved from those golden hills when I was sixteen years old. We ended up in a beautiful home overlooking the ocean. I could look out my bedroom window and see an endless sea of blue rather than the golden sea of which I had grown so accustomed. It was the biggest transition of my life. I felt as though everything I had ever known was something that I’d read out of a book, or seen in a movie, not something that I had actually lived. The world really wasn’t slow and simple, it was full of freeways and fast cars, mini-markets and super-markets, and people who didn’t care enough to hold open a door or help someone pick up a spilled bag of groceries. This new world was bursting with life and movement, and for the first time, I felt very small. I was no longer the center of the dusty little universe. Rather, I was just a part of something else, something bigger and fuller. I secretly punished myself for all those nights that I would lay awake dreaming of living in the city.

It would take years before I again felt as though I was significant, and even then, I would never again recapture the confidence of my childhood. I was quiet and diligent, I went to school and I went to work. I stayed an arms length from a few people and even farther from everyone else. I was preparing, working toward something. In doing this, I created a life in which I put off doing certain things, or experiencing certain things, in order to prepare for the future. After a while, everything was a preparation. I would get good grades to prepare for college, I would go to college to prepare for a career and I would work to make enough money to live until I could retire. Everything was a game of give and take, but I was just giving everything now, expecting that I could take later. My eyes were opened for the first time when I was twenty years old. That was the year I found out. 

            It happened in the morning. I left the house early, popping a few Tylenol to clear away the dull ache that was beginning to spread across my forehead before walking out the door. For a fleeting moment I thought about calling my doctor, telling her about the increased frequency of headaches I had been suffering with for the passed few months. I’d always been prone to headaches, as was my grandmother and her mother before her, the kind that throbbed for so long that your stomach ached and the only thing you could do to erase the pain was sleep. I thought the pain was my body’s way of telling me that I needed to be healthier. I stopped drinking sodas and coffee, I cut back on the sugar and fat in my diet, and I started jogging three times a week. Still, that morning I should have known that something was different.  

Sunlight filtered through the trees as I ran, and I paced myself for the two-mile loop. As I crested the hill above my house, I could see the ocean, its surface shimmering like a pool of liquid diamonds. By the time that I reached Prestige Park, the aching in my head was beginning to dull. I slowed to a walk. I always walked through the park, looking up into the trees, watching the butterflies and birds going about their quiet and quick business. It was like looking into a different world, a place where time and space were not factors. It was a window, through which I could sometimes catch a glimpse of the carefree days that I had once lived. A gust of wind loosened the leaves from the trees and I was suddenly showered with the glistening jewels, some green, some gold and some colors that didn’t even have names. Standing in the midst of such unexpected beauty, I felt tears welling in my eyes, and I quickly stifled the sobbing laughter that so wanted to erupt from my mouth. 

            It happened quickly, a shot of pain from one temple to the other. A quick flash of bright light and my knees were buckling. I fell on my side, the cold dirt strangely comforting against my skin. I rolled over onto my back and squinted as light stabbed through the canopy of trees. I tried to raise my hand to shield my face from the sun, but I couldn’t move my arm. I tried to move my legs, and they too seemed to be paralyzed. My vision became slightly blurred and it was as though I was peering through a telescope, unable to see anything but what was directly above my head. I could feel a pulsing numbness wash over my body. It came in waves, undulating like the sea, washing in and out. The rhythm was oddly comforting. I remember thinking that I should be afraid, that I could be having a massive heart attack or something even worse. Still, I felt like that child lying in the grass behind my grandparents barn, intently focused on the small wonders of the world around me. I laid quietly until the shimmering light turned to darkness. 

            Even before I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was. I could hear the shrill wail of the sirens, the hurried speech of the Paramedics, the crackling of the radio as updates of my condition were passed along to the shadow people on the other end of the invisible radio waves. I was suddenly keenly aware of the movement of the ambulance. After a few moments, I realized that I was afraid to open my eyes. If I just stayed in the darkness, maybe after a while I would realize that the whole thing was just a dream. I had never even had a broken bone, never been seriously ill, and I had definitely never been in a speeding Ambulance on its way to a hospital. I didn’t want to have to face the questions, or the answers. Again I started to feel the numbness in my feet, and by the time it had reached my knees fear had replaced the calmness that I had been clinging to. 

            I didn’t realize that I had lost consciousness again until I awoke in a hospital bed. The room was cold and bright with white light. I became aware of the needle in my arm, the heart rate monitor over my shoulder and the bag of fluid hanging beside the bed. My mother was sitting near the window, and she looked very tired. My father was standing just outside of the room, speaking with two doctors and a nurse, and he looked afraid. 

            My mother hadn’t realized that I was awake. She was busy wringing her hands. I noticed that her legs were crossed and she was shaking her left leg, she only did that when she was nervous. She looked small; I hadn’t realized how the years had taken their toll on her. I always thought of her as “my mother the invincible”, but now I was beginning to see her weakness. She stood and walked to the doorway. She hovered there, listening to my father speak with the men who held the answers to my fate. I watched the scene unfold as if it were on a movie screen. My life was playing across the huge white canvas, and I was outside looking in. Now, I realize it was better that way. It was better that I hear the news as a spectator.

            “So what exactly are you telling me? I don’t want to hear the medical terms; I want it in plain English.” My father said his voice heavy and strong.

            “She has a brain tumor.” The doctor said flatly.

            The words echoed through my head. The movie played on, and I could almost hear the music that normally accompanies tragedy. I waited for my mother to burst into tears, for my father to stumble backward dramatically. Brain tumor. I almost wanted to laugh. Who actually gets a brain tumor? I could feel that lump beginning to creep back into my throat.

            “A brain tumor? So, that means surgery, surgery on her brain?” My mother asked, her voice wavering slightly.

            “Actually, we’ll have to run some more tests, but right now it looks like it’s an inoperable tumor.”

            “That means they can’t operate,” my father said to my mother, as if she needed to hear it from him and not the doctor.

            “We can start Chemotherapy. We’ll treat it very aggressively and hope for the best,” I could tell that the doctor was trying to be cheerful and upbeat. I could tell he was faking it, he wasn’t hopeful; he knew something that he wasn’t telling them.

            “Chemotherapy?” My mother looked blankly at my father. I could tell her mind was trying to untangle the mess of thoughts and feelings that were in her head. 

            “Is she going to die?” My father asked. My mother shot him a “how could you ask that” glance.

            “It’s too early to make any assumptions. We will treat it aggressively, and with some luck we can stop the progression. But, I will tell you that this type of tumor is very aggressive, it is difficult to treat and there is a possibility that she won’t make it.”

            “How long?”

            “Raymond please…” My mother was obviously unhappy with the line of questioning. 

            “In all honesty, it looks like she may have six months to a year, if the Chemotherapy can slow the progression of the tumor she may have more. She’ll have to be put on medication for the pain, as it will get increasingly more severe--”

            “Die… what…?” It took a few minutes before I realized that the words had actually come out of my mouth. As quickly as I spoke, everyone turned to face me. They were the faces of pity, their eyes full and watery. It made me instantly angry. The longer I looked at them, the thicker the silence became, until I had to cough in order to stop it from choking me. My eyes narrowed, and I stared at them. I wanted them gone, I wanted to yell at them, tell them that this was my life and they had no right talking about it without talking to me first. I closed my eyes, hoping I’d be alone when I reopened them. Luck was not on my side.

            The doctor took the initiative and broke the silence, “Hope, I’m Doctor Montgomery, I’m glad you’re awake. There are some things we need to talk about.”

            I sat quietly in my hospital bed, listening to him lay it all out. I fought the urge to cry. I fought the urge to scream. I crossed my hands on my lap and held up my head. My parents stood back, allowed the doctor to speak. They too seemed to be fighting the urge to fall apart. They held each other up. That type of news is not something that you can prepare for. You may try to imagine what you would do if someone told you that you had an inoperable brain tumor, you may think you’d cry, you may think you’d faint, but in reality, you’d sit there nodding, just like I did.

            I let the doctor finish speaking. This time I created the silence, listened to it, fed off of it.  I suddenly wanted to savor every second of silence, every second of sound, everything. I drew in a deep breath, my mother’s sobs all around me, and I spoke. I said the only thing that I could think of saying.

            “But I feel fine right now, honestly,” I looked at him quizzically, shook my head and continued. “I mean, I’ve been having headaches, but I changed my diet, started jogging….”

            “Hope, I’m sorry.” 

Reviews

[Oxonian]

I congratulate you on how you manage to relay your feelings. It takes either a great feel or the ability to put the events into words that someone who has no idea can comprehend. Suffice to say you have made it impossible for me not to read the next chapter.

Well done

[Scott W. Martin]

Wow, once again very well written. The point of view is realistic; but oh how extraordinarily tragic. I have to admit I'm more into intense science fiction or horror fan; but I have to say that even though this isn't my cup of tea, I still found it very enjoyable to read. Your over style is just wonderful.

[bluessadmood]

oh my God ,oh friend why did you have to bring this up,i was in a great mood reading you,i come here to the cafe to forget,but you brought it up ,i t felt so cruel ,your words,she just began to discover and know her self ,yes she came to the city she always dreamed about,and she knew it was another life ,a life that you should start prepair all the time ,give and take ,give and take,sign of the times and she was ready to give and give ,and give a lot,so in the end she will take ,take a lot,oh dear ,she was young ,did understand its never like that ,thats so simple ,you have to balance so if you lose at the very end ,your loss in the game with life is not so big ,so life will not be so victorious and she ,poor thing the biggest loser,oh yes we must understand ,life,its so tricky never trust ,i tell you ,she is a witch and a crook,please listen never trust life she just makes a fool of us,i know i know,i have read i am the know it all ha ha,but i am as poor as you are she played so many tricks with me,so thats it oh life you b***h ,you made the judgment the poor girl ,yes you said it ,send her to the gallows ,she sinned ,but i say she is only a child ,and she life tells who you are to tell i know there are laws in this universe i only,and i say she sinned so she must go ,and you watch out ,and behave or i will take it against you ,she tried to frighten me as always ,but i know her tricks but sadly i could do nothing about it ,yes i argued with the b***h,but who can argue with life,we just fool ourselves she has the upper hand

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...and my body finally relaxes after being tense for the duration...

I love how you stick the irony to the reader in the first sentence. It's humorous in a twisted way. This isn't something that you've actually lived through, is it? Because it all seems very real. You include her thoughts and feelings as if they were yours. Either way, it's fantastic writing. I wish I had the same power of holding the reader to the words as you do. I normally don't read excerpts of books in one sitting without looking away from the computer screen at least once or twice, or shifting myself in my chair, or pausing to light up a cigarette, but apparently, you would not allow that. lol.
I like especially the second and third paragraphs for your vivid descriptions, and the last scene starting from the fainting, or collapsing all the way to the very end is gripping. I love reading Hope's thoughts, reading her reactions to what the doctors and her parents are saying, and I love reading her thoughts when the doctor is speaking directly to her.
I'm going to study your writing. There is definitely something to be learned from what you've written to make my own writing better.
I'm ready for the next!