Kissing You That Friday Night

Dear Chicago Artsmenship School,
I'm Laila Vasser. I'm 15 years of age and attend Fairfield Highschool in Illinois.
Growing up has been different ever since Laura married my dad. She's 5 years younger than him, and I still tease him about how he must have always had a thing for younger women, and he just never grew out of it. But things weren't always like this for the Vasser's. Nah, my father used to live in Paris, France. Hense the super french last name. My biological mother, Karen Vasser, was one hundred percent French too, so I guess if you were to take it literally, I'd be 200% French, but no, unfortunatly, I have to settle for just one hundred. My father and mother had always discussed moving to Paris when Emma and I were old enough, meaning when she was 7 and I was 15. But our plans were canceled 4 years ago when my mother had died of heart failure. She had been in a line of people 135 deep in all of the city to get a heart transplant. When she was diagnosed with the heart disease she was told she didn't have long to live. The day she was called down to the hospital to recieve her new heart, the doctors had told her someone else needed it more than her and came in last minute. They were wrong. No one needed that heart more than my mother. She died the next day. I think I took it the hardest. My mom was my bestfriend and seeing her go like that, day by day, was heart wrenching. I still feel guilty, like, I could've done something to help. But my father always told me, 'you're not a20doctor, sweetie, you couldn't have helped.' I still felt alone. A year ago dad met Laura and they got married 6 months later. Emma didn't understand, she wasn't upset like me, mainly because she was only three when mom died and didn't even know what passed away meant (my father never liked saying she died or is dead. I agree with him, passed away doesn't sound so harsh). But it's all okay now, I mean, Laura isn't that bad. She's pretty, and nice. Though I'm not comfortable with sharing the same last name as her...
So I thought being a teenager and going to highschool would be simple. Like just a rush of excitment and chaos. That part is true but I didn't realize all the heartache I would be putting myself through. Crushing on a guy that is far from available, my mother's death replaying in my mind more than it ever has before, Laura, my father and her and...Possibly more children; and trying to write this letter to get into this high-standard art school for five weeks during the summer. I have the idea that this letter will be seen and tossed into the trash before being read. I heard that happens sometimes. Like the admissistrations doesn't like the your name on the letter, judges your handwriting on the return address and relating it to your artistic ability, or maybe doesn't enjoy the fuzzy kitten on the postage stamp that is on the envelope from when you went to buy stamps and just had to have the fifty stamp pack labeled "Cute Kitties" and the exclusive washable tatoo inside. Yeah, that's me. I'm the girl with the unread letter. Though I find my life story to be interesting in itself. Maybe I'll send it in to some really high expectations college in my future and see if they feel so bad for me that they just let me stay in the accomidations, (pst, i'm not smart enough to get into a college like that), though I found I have a promising future as a writer...
It's been hard lately. My dad lost his job. Yeah. So now I don't even know if I can afford to go to this Academy if I don't win the best letter contest. We're pretty much broke until he finds a new job. And worst of all, the guy I've really started to grow to like is going to the Spring Fling with the one girl I dislike. As if life couldn't get more annoying, today is that time of the month. I'm expecting a lot of sadness and random happiness to come out of me today. It's uncontrolable. I one time convinceed myself and my dad that I had bipolar disorder and he took me to the doctor. When the docto asked me if I was in that time of the month and I said yes, he glared at my for a moment then laughed. I know that doesn't really relate to my situation, but I thought it would add a nice touch to this letter.
I talked to Gloria the other day. She's a good old friend of mine. She actually reminds me a lot of my mother. She's very caring and wise. She always knew what to say, and never made a fuss out of any situation. I began to realize not long ago that the reason I was so close to Gloria was because she was so much like my mother. Gloria even wore a locket that looked just like the one my mother always used to wear. My mother wore a silver heart pendent with three diamonds in it, custom made. Each diamond stood for the family: Emma, my father, and I. Inside these words were ingraved, filling up both sides of the heart:
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
-- Corinthians 13:7-8
My father always told me that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I always took that as, when times get rough, you (being the stronger person) leave the situation before it gets out of hand. After seeing Aiden and Jen kiss, nothing about the dance or Friday night mattered to me anymore. Ev erything was taken care of and the project was over and dealt with, so Aiden had no reason to come over anymore. The pain I felt in my stomach was almost identical to what I had felt the night before my mother passed away...
We had just gotten home from the hospital when the doctor refused to give her the heart transplant. We all tramped into the house, yelling and screaming that the doctor was a loonatic for not giving my mother the heart. My father and I knew her condition was bad. My mother could luckily still walk and had been told it'd be good for her heart if she tried to do things on her own, to strengthen what little energy she had in her heart. My mother didn't yell, she didn't scream, she didn't even look upset. She just walked into the house and went to her room like she normally did. My father had just gotten a phone call when she turned the corner to the bedroom. He was ot of the house in seconds, yelling into the reciever. I decided I would go talk to my mother who had had little interaction with anyone lately. She was usually sleeping.
"Hey, Mom," I said as I knocked on her somewhat open door, waiting for a response to let me know I could enter.
"Laila, darling. Come in," I heard her voice from behind the door.
She was laying in bed with two pillows propping her head up. The tv was on on the other side of the room and a bible was on the nightstand next to her. The sight made me sad. Seeing my mother praying more than usual just showed me that she felt as though she needed more prayer because she knew she would pass soon. My mother had never been afraid of death. She always told me to embrace the life I have and to let it go when it were to end. I had more understanding of it now.
"Mom, how are you feeling?" I asked as I sat on the edge of her bed and placed the back of my hand on her forehead. Since the heart disease, my mother had often felt very constipated and weak. She was drinking a lot of water and claiming to always either feel very cold or dangerously hot. Before she could answer I blurted out another question,"do you need anything? I can get you whatever you need, just say the word."
My mother laughed and closed her eyes that were turned up on the ends from smiling,"Sweetie, I'm feeling fine. I don't need anything."
I knew she didn't feel well, but I nodded my head. She didn't look weel at all, her face was pale and her eyes were dark. Her dark hair was greasy and plastered to the sides of her face. My mother was a gorgeous woman. I full head of lucious dark curls, a winning smile and brilliant blue eyes. She was also very petite and slender. Now she was more slender than ever before. Usually weighing it at about 125 lbs, she now weighed only 98. She hadn't eaten much lately, usually only consuming something soft like yogurt or a smoothie. Possibly soup.
"You could do one thing for me though," she began and looked up at me.
"Yeah, sure, anything," I jolted up from the bed waiting for her request.
"Help me up so I can go pee," she said and began to laugh.
I laughed too.
Things are beginning to get more complicated in my life. Just yesterday I lost another loved one. Gloria's husband, Lary. He was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer not long ago and since then I've really gotten to know him. I just vaguly remember what it was like being around him when he could still walk and could eat normal things like double cheesy bacon burgers. I actually only remember one day in particular...
Gloaria and I had headed to the beach one after noon last year in the summer. It was a gorgeous warm day. The sky was blue with no clouds in sight and the beach was crowded with people. Just the way I liked it. Gloria was walking along Navy Pier with me, slowly but surely. I remember how youthful she looked that day. She was wearing a blue sun dress and a white hat to block the sun from her eyes. We were headed to a little burger shack close by for lunch. W e were planning on meeting Lary there. I had never been to this place and Gloria told me they had the best hamburgers on the face of the earth. She knew then that I was obsessed with burgers and could scarf one down in record time if I was dared. Luckily I was blessed with a slender body. I was always told that no amount of fat could corrupt my structure. I was pleased to know that I had the freedom to eat what I wanted without the worry of lovehandles.
When we reached the , i was about to open the door when it was pulled open for me. Gloria gasped and threw her head back in laughter. "There you are Lary!" She threw her arms around the tall old man. I smiled. I had never seen such a happy older couple. "Lary, this is Laila, the girl I told you about."
Lary grinned warmly and shook my hand. "Why this is the wonderful girl my Gloria told me so much about while I was away?" He seemed pleased and soon embraced me. I was surprised but I already felt a connection wtih Lary. Like he was family to me.
The day flew by with them. Lary bought all three of us a burger at the shack. We were all done in a matter of minutes. Then we went on the farris wheel on the pier and ate cotton candy. Being with them made me forget about their age all together. When I was with them, I felt like I was hanging out with kids my own age.
So things ended up working out for me. Aiden and I are officially an item. I guess that's what you could call it. I'm finally moving, to Chicago. My dad got a job with the Tribune! Now even if I don't win this contest, I'll know for sure that I can still go. Though I really hope I do; I know it's not really a letter and more of a journal, but Gloria said people in the arts like to see someones personality come through in a letter. So I attempted to make this a far cry from something formal and corporate.
The heartache of leaving the home I grew up in is nearly unbearable. I suffered a lot of pain in that house, but I also grew as a person. Even though moving wasn't exactly what I had in mind, I know things will be great. I can't wait to attend The Chicago Artsmenship School this summer. Thank you so much for reading this letter. I'll see you in a few weeks!

Sincerely,

Laila Vasser