Prescription for Miss Walker
Act 65 - Made of Glass, Made of Paper
Ash bought me a private room, since he said that they'd toss me in a shared one if he didn't do something about it. It closely resembled the last one, with beige walls and a small remote sofa in the corner. The painting was different though, this one was a lot less colorful and didn't pose a hazard for any eyes.
Visiting hours were over, so everybody had to go. They didn't leave without showering me in hugs and kisses first, of course. It was sweet.
But, once again, I felt like something was missing...
I'd asked my father to come back later when hours were open again. He hadn't question me about that. That was one thing I loved about my father. He was the 'do it' person first, ask later type of man.
In this room, on my own again as Ash had to get back to work, the nurse had provided me with two sheets of paper and black ink upon my request.
Putting on of them to the side; I'd get to it later, I began to scroll across the page, ink smudging as my fingers dragged over them.
Vera Walker,
From not knowing if you'd changed back to your maiden name, I guess this is the only way I can address you. It sounds formal, like you're a stranger or I'm writing to a school committee about your teenager's bad behavior.
Anyway, what I guess I'm trying to say is that I hope this letter finds you well and I think... I think I'm on my deathbed at this moment in time.
It's not how or where I'd like to die, but beggars can't be choosers, right?
Cancer sucks, I believe everyone knows it's a leech and going through such pain is horrible. And it's true. It hurts so bad and it scares me. It scares me that while I'm writing this, my body is shutting down, piece by piece, in fractions. I'm dying, I'm going to die.
I'm barely even an adult and I've lived in the dark all my life. Isolating myself in this cold, brittle shell, away from love and friends and, even you – the one woman in the world who is supposed to love me unconditionally. I don't love you, I don't even know you, but I like to think that at one point, you considered me your entire world.
That world is shattering. It's falling apart and it's gross and it rains every day.
But at the same time I'm asking if you ever wanted me, I don't want your pity.
I'm probably contradicting myself with every word, but you gave birth to me. Your blood runs in my veins. I'm you, I'm made from parts of you. Your good and your bad. They are me and I am them.
I guess, at the end of this, all I'm really saying is that with every day I get weaker, closer to the brink... I am reminded that I still have bits of you with me, every day. For the past ten years, even though your body grabbed all it could live on, your DNA will always flow through my blood.
So, in a way, you were never gone. All this time, you'd stayed.
I don't hate you, but I could never forgive you for what you did to our family. Maybe Dad and Ciaran will one day and they can vouch for what my opinion would be. If you do decide that your (soon) only child is worth getting to know, I'd suggest buttering him up.
Some words are so final, and I detest that. Like, we don't dictate how things end, truly. But they exist and I wish I had the time to ponder on that just a little bit more. Making do sucks.
Well, since I don't want to end this such a way, I'm hoping you do more than just read this letter. I'm hoping that Shira Walker does something good for someone else for once. I do not wish to be selfish anymore, so I'm looking forward to this benefitting those who deserve it.
Not a stranger, but not yet your daughter,
Shira
Folding it into a neat little square, I wish I had a wax stamp or something. Make it look nice and presentable, instead with an envelope which lacked personal detail.
Whatever, I thought, as I lay back. As long as it reached its intended recipient, that was what truly mattered, after all.
My thoughts were interrupted as my eyes focused on the man standing outside my quarters. Wearing his white coat, glasses sliding down his nose, Dr Spears gazed in a way that I couldn't pinpoint.
Instead of giving him the death-glare, my lips formed a different shape; something a little more pleasing.
With a small smile, he nodded and walked away.
There was so much to be said between us, but in the end, it's what never came to fruition that mattered sometimes.
Visiting hours were over, so everybody had to go. They didn't leave without showering me in hugs and kisses first, of course. It was sweet.
But, once again, I felt like something was missing...
I'd asked my father to come back later when hours were open again. He hadn't question me about that. That was one thing I loved about my father. He was the 'do it' person first, ask later type of man.
In this room, on my own again as Ash had to get back to work, the nurse had provided me with two sheets of paper and black ink upon my request.
Putting on of them to the side; I'd get to it later, I began to scroll across the page, ink smudging as my fingers dragged over them.
Vera Walker,
From not knowing if you'd changed back to your maiden name, I guess this is the only way I can address you. It sounds formal, like you're a stranger or I'm writing to a school committee about your teenager's bad behavior.
Anyway, what I guess I'm trying to say is that I hope this letter finds you well and I think... I think I'm on my deathbed at this moment in time.
It's not how or where I'd like to die, but beggars can't be choosers, right?
Cancer sucks, I believe everyone knows it's a leech and going through such pain is horrible. And it's true. It hurts so bad and it scares me. It scares me that while I'm writing this, my body is shutting down, piece by piece, in fractions. I'm dying, I'm going to die.
I'm barely even an adult and I've lived in the dark all my life. Isolating myself in this cold, brittle shell, away from love and friends and, even you – the one woman in the world who is supposed to love me unconditionally. I don't love you, I don't even know you, but I like to think that at one point, you considered me your entire world.
That world is shattering. It's falling apart and it's gross and it rains every day.
But at the same time I'm asking if you ever wanted me, I don't want your pity.
I'm probably contradicting myself with every word, but you gave birth to me. Your blood runs in my veins. I'm you, I'm made from parts of you. Your good and your bad. They are me and I am them.
I guess, at the end of this, all I'm really saying is that with every day I get weaker, closer to the brink... I am reminded that I still have bits of you with me, every day. For the past ten years, even though your body grabbed all it could live on, your DNA will always flow through my blood.
So, in a way, you were never gone. All this time, you'd stayed.
I don't hate you, but I could never forgive you for what you did to our family. Maybe Dad and Ciaran will one day and they can vouch for what my opinion would be. If you do decide that your (soon) only child is worth getting to know, I'd suggest buttering him up.
Some words are so final, and I detest that. Like, we don't dictate how things end, truly. But they exist and I wish I had the time to ponder on that just a little bit more. Making do sucks.
Well, since I don't want to end this such a way, I'm hoping you do more than just read this letter. I'm hoping that Shira Walker does something good for someone else for once. I do not wish to be selfish anymore, so I'm looking forward to this benefitting those who deserve it.
Not a stranger, but not yet your daughter,
Shira
Folding it into a neat little square, I wish I had a wax stamp or something. Make it look nice and presentable, instead with an envelope which lacked personal detail.
Whatever, I thought, as I lay back. As long as it reached its intended recipient, that was what truly mattered, after all.
My thoughts were interrupted as my eyes focused on the man standing outside my quarters. Wearing his white coat, glasses sliding down his nose, Dr Spears gazed in a way that I couldn't pinpoint.
Instead of giving him the death-glare, my lips formed a different shape; something a little more pleasing.
With a small smile, he nodded and walked away.
There was so much to be said between us, but in the end, it's what never came to fruition that mattered sometimes.