It Never Ends

I felt like a ghost when I sat up in bed that morning, but feeling that way may become common. And how could one blame me for thinking so?

A large layer of dust covered the entire room. All the pictures of me with friends, textbooks ,the television set , game consoles, and a few sentimental objects from my child hood on a shelf were covered in dead skin cells. My sheets even smelled like dust. It seemed like the room hadn't been used in months; a true statement nonetheless. Had I not returned home then maybe the dust would have collected some more. My parents didn't expect me back, not for a couple more weeks when my break occurred. With what's probably going through my mother's head, I don't blame her for not cleaning my room. It's my room after all.

Now where have I been? What do I mean by break?

I've been in college, preparing myself for my future career. The career I once thought I actually had a chance of reaching. I was doing what I had always dreamed of doing! I was partying when ever I wanted, spending money without a care and hanging with my friends. The world was mine, it was an ocean filled with so many things undiscovered. Life was beautiful....until I went to the doctors.

My mom forced me into it, because I wasn't fond of hospitals. I didn't like the feeling of being in a building that was too clean and bacteria free despite housing sick patients. People died there and I always feared coming out of there with some strange freak disease -oh, the irony-, so I stalled on it for four years. Bad idea right? Don't worry, smart ass. I've learned my lesson.

I sat up and went to my drawer, sunlight peeking through the old plastic blinds that covered my window. This room was shitty, with horrible VCTT carpet; the type often found in classrooms and office buildings. You know, the kind that was too short and hard, easy to clean up on. My walls were wooden panels and the lighting was terrible. My light was one small bulb hanging from the ceiling with a silver beaded chain you tugged to turn it on. When turned on sure you had light, but it was dim. My room wasn't much of room to begin with as well, technically it was the attic but the people who lived in the house before my parents bought it, converted it into a room. They did a pretty good job too, but that was years ago, thus the old look and materials.

What use to be a hallway closet at the end of the hall on the second story of this house, had been ripped out. A set of nice, shiny wooden steps now in it's place, leading up to my room. The whole house had been redone and the only room that wasn't is mine.

Despite it's unpleasantness I still loved this room. I mean, come on. I grew up in it. I couldn't let them put in new carpet and fix the walls. I just couldn't let them replace the window and add better lighting because this was my safe haven. Safe havens were suppose to remain untouched by outsiders. When I was off in college, my parents had planned to fix up the room and do all the things I didn't want them to but I thought hey, I'd get a new life and new friends and it wouldn't bother me.

Then we got the news.

Once that happened I had to move back. There was no way I'd finish college, no, I'd die learning what I wanted to learn and that was a waste of money to me. I already had enough loans to deal with. I didn't want to have more only to end up leaving my parents struggling with my funeral costs and then my debt.

I sighed, opening my dresser and searching through the various old shirts, picking out the Marvel one my father had given me. It was loose, left over from the time I had been chubby in middle school. But hey, I lost all the weight when Mr. Growth Spurt decided he'd come visit. I stretched, going from being one of the shortest kids to that freakishly tall one. Then high school came and I ended up being not so freaky, a bunch of others the same height or a bit taller. Being five feet and eleven inches isn't so bad, It's pretty fun but it makes climbing down and up the stairs from my room a bitch. S'okay though, I''ll live. Not

I grabbed the plaid comforter from my bed and wrapped it around my shoulders as I made my way out of the room. I headed down to the first floor to the kitchen, my stomach doing flip-flops and my chest feeling heavy. I gnawed my lip and kept my head down, yesterdays events flooding back into my mind. My feet carried me to the kitchen table. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, trying not to think about it. The tightness in my throat was hard to ignore. My mom stood at the sink, washing dishes from last nights dinner, which I barely touched.

I rested my head on table and looked at her. I watched as the woman who gave birth to me went on with her normal task of cleaning the dishes. Her hair was tied up in a bun and she wore blue sweats, a white shirt and a black jacket I had 'lost' a year ago. I smiled to myself, my eyes getting a bit watery but I pushed the tears away. When I discovered the truh of the jackets disappearance we got into a silly argument. But it ended when she promised to buy me an Xbox 360. I'm a boy, don't be surprised.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, drying her hands on a dish towel and then running them through my hair. I closed my eyes, enjoying the motherly gesture.

"I was remembering when we argued about the sweater and you won me over with the game console," I told her and she just laughed.

“Hey, look at you acting as if that console meant nothing. You begged me day and night to buy it for you!” she teased and laughed, turning on the coffe machine. The aroma began to spread though the house and like an obedient dog wanting food my father came into the kitchen. He hugged her and gave her a peck on the lips. She smiled at him and opened one of the cabinets to grab them both mugs. I blushed when my father playfully smacked her butt and went to grab coffee creamer from the refrigerator.

It gets a bit akward when they openly do such things in front of you. Then it makes you realize what events took place in order for your mother to get pregnant ,and out you came nine months later.

After a couple seconds I forgot about the action though and the air of awkwardness was lifted. I stood up from my seat, leaving the comforter behind, and pulled them both into a hug. Both my father and I were giants compared to my mom. The room grew silent, each of us afraid to speak of what needed to be said.

"Mom," I whispered.

"Yes?" she asked, squeezing the both of us. My bottom lip quivered and my resolved crumbled.

"I'm scared," I cried, squeezing them both and the both began to cry, holding me and rubbing my shoulders. My mom just bawled her heart out, clutching onto my shirt and squeezing me to death. My father cried silently, sniffling every now and then and I just fell on my knees, both of them following me.

I had cancer.

Fucking.

Cancer.