2

A Chapter by V.S.L.

“I want to go to Indiana,” I announced as I walked into the kitchen.

“What?” my mom asked.

“I want to go to Indiana,” I repeated throwing my bag on the dark oak table.

The round table stood in the middle of our white kitchen surrounded by four matching chairs. It had been where I had done my homework while my mom made dinners. Where I sat and painted my nails, the remnants still evident on the table. It was where the three of us sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. It had been the setting for family meetings of important matters like which colleges I would apply for and me having cancer. It was where discipline was handed out and love was shared.

“What brought this on?” she asked, her attention not straying from the chicken she was stuffing.

“The school year is almost over and I haven’t gotten any better. In fact, I’ve gotten worse.”

“There are still things we can try,” she stated as she continued to stuff the chicken.

“Mom, I’m done. I want to live my last three months, my last summer, with people who don’t have a clue that I’m sick. That won’t try to make me take it easy. I just want to be a normal teenager on a normal summer vacation.”

Her hands stilled. “You can’t leave when there are still things we can try,” her tone was angry.

“Mom, there’s no coming back. This is it for me.”

“Don’t say that. We have to try,” she wiped a tear from her eye but still didn’t turn around.

“Mom, I’m done.”

“You’re not allowed to be done!” she yelled.

“I’m seventeen.”

“You’re still my baby,” she sobbed.

“I don’t want to die in a hospital bed holding your hand.”

Her sobs grew louder.

“Mom, look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Mom, please. Look at me.”