Boring People Are Invincible

Sarah is a 16 year old girl sitting on her small bed, with ‘Jane Eyre’ in her hand. It is evening and she has one light beside her, illuminating her room.

I met Prince Charming in the snow again today. He took me by the hand and we walked in the forest, the only sound being our footprints, side by side. Before I knew it, snowflakes were falling from the dark heavens above onto my frostbitten face, embedding themselves in between my eyelashes. Of course, like always, reality soon interrupted, and I was once again in science; I involuntarily joined the rest of the class in inhaling words such as ‘sulphur oxide’ and ‘periodic table’ and then just as quickly exhaled them, forgetting them forever more.

School gets more tiresome each day. The same people run down the halls upon hearing that there are free cakes being given out in the Spanish teacher’s room; the same pubescent girls squeamishly giggling over the picture of the latest celebrity who is lucky enough to be deemed ‘hot’; the same mindless boys overusing the phase ‘innit’ and not understanding the meaning of… well, anything. And then there’s me: similar enough to not have any special talents to spread me apart from these people, but different enough to be an outcast in this limited society. It’s not like I want to be a part of ‘them’ anyway.

John recently decided to be a better father, or at least a halfway decent stepfather, which basically means that he’s going to be a little more… oh what’s the word? Sober, a little more sober. I don’t know why mum keeps him. We all know that he doesn’t like me, of course once the words ‘Die, you little bitch’ are uttered, it’s hard not to get the impression that the father-daughter relationship isn’t going so smoothly. But, if mum’s happy, then I’m happy for her. At least I look like I am, which is just as convincing as the truth I suppose.

Next day, it is afternoon and Sarah is sitting on her couch in her house with the controller resting in her hand.

Mum kicked John out again last night, just one of their monthly spats. I get used to the shouting and swearing – sometimes it’s easier to block out when I’m in my book and Mr. Rochester is pronouncing his love to Jane, or when Mr. Darcy is asking Lizzy Bennett to marry him. Why can’t life be my book? Heck, I’d settle for my life being like a TV sitcom like ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ and every week there’s a new challenge, such as a man who needs an appendectomy enters the hospital and almost conveniently turns out to be my long lost twice removed rich uncle who wants to give me £8million as his last dying breath escapes him. I feel rather warm, I really hope I’m not getting another one of my fevers. I swear most kids don’t get ill or bruised for nothing this often, but whenever I’m talking to mum about it, she’s going off on a tangent, so what are you going to do about it anyway? It’s probably nothing, I have a boring life, nothing ever happens to me. I wonder if that means that the boring are invincible?

I think I made a valid friend today. She offered me a crisp and asked me what I was reading. I replied ‘Jane Eyre’, and she asked ‘Isn’t that written by Charlotte Bronte?’. Naturally, I turned to face her; surprised that she didn’t just say ‘Is it good?’ as all the rest had done before her. ‘Yes, actually, it is. Are you a fan of the Bronte sisters?’ I asked. She replied, ‘Not so much of Charlotte, but I love Anne’s work’. Obviously, we instantly bonded and began a slightly heated discussion of the best Bronte and other such authors. She told me that her name was Emily and that she had just transferred here from the States, but her accent has faded considerably over the past few weeks she tells me. We exchanged phone numbers, as, I’m told, is the custom when two friends meet for the first time and as I had Food Tech next, I had to dash off. For the first time, I walked off with a smile on my face. It felt foreign.

Evening in Sarah’s bedroom again, wearing her pyjamas and clutching a teddy bear.

Well, John’s back and I haven’t seen mum this happy since he came back last time. Tonight, I tried to tell her something important, I kept trying to talk, but she just seemed to be floating around, drifting from one lovey-dovey mood to the next. ‘Just wait. Wait for the first time that you are in love and you’ll know what I mean.’ She kept saying. ‘Mum,’ I replied, but couldn’t destroy her enthusiasm. Her smile always lit up every room she was in, ever since I could remember. I couldn’t bear to hurt her. ‘I hope so too.’ I left the kitchen and returned to my room.

I found something today; something that will affect my life – something too big. I went to go and see Dr. Winburg today down at the health centre, but discovered that he had been fired, as it turns out he didn’t even have the qualifications to be a nurse, let alone a certified GP. Instead, I was diverted to a Dr. Linson’s care, who I’m told was qualified, which already put him in my good books. Mum couldn’t be there as John had surprised her with an early dinner at ‘Alejandro’s’, which was understandable enough. Anyway, the doctor, well he gave me the usual checkup. Granted it lasted a little longer than usual – I don’t think he has had a lot of medical practise as he looked confused most of the time. Finally, my results came back and he seemed almost sedated he was so calm. He knew what was happening and he stayed very calm. ‘Sarah, I think we need to get your parents.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘No. Just tell me.’ Wherever parents needed to be consulted, something was wrong 16 years on this earth has taught me that at least. ‘I want an answer.’ “Your previous doctor, because he wasn’t certified, he didn’t detect it.’ ‘Detect what?’ The nervous doctor inhaled. ‘Sarah, you have acute leukaemia.’

Pause.

As it turns out, acute leukaemia is rapidly developing cancer and it has been ‘rapidly developing’ in my body for almost half my life. The symptoms aren’t very obvious, which is why I never thought about it. Although ironically, fevers and bruising easily came up on the list. The doctor said that if I took chemotherapy, it may not be too late. Lots and lots of chemotherapy, including hair loss and come on, let’s be frank – my hair’s all I’ve got going for me; that and my almost perfected socialising techniques that never fail me. The doctor told me I would have to bring my parents in. I stared, and I stared for what I thought was an eternity. In my mind, I saw the sun setting. ‘Doc,’ I looked up to his face. ‘Yes Sarah’. ‘I don’t want chemo.’ ‘Sarah, without it, you will die in a about six months. If I hadn’t caught this now, it would be too late.’ ‘Doc, I know. I think… I think it’s my time. I don’t belong here.’ I expected the good doctor to stare at me disbelievingly, and he didn’t disappoint me. ‘Sarah, you are only 16, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can’t give up now.’ His eyes pleaded me, I could see it. ‘Actually I can, and I will. If you hadn’t found this, I would be dead in a few months.’ ‘But Sarah, I did find this. The Lord sent me here for a reason, I see that now. I switch with your old doctor a few days before your normal check-up and I found this, I found this so that you could live. God does not want you to die.’ ‘Actually,’ and a tear slipped down my cheek at this point. ‘I think he does. I’m 16, I am old enough to make this choice. I choose to die.’

Pause.

I’ve always wondered what is beyond life. Maybe angels playing harps, or my dad perhaps, still grinning and holding a Coke bottle in his hand. I miss him so much. I can’t wait to see him again. I’m not stupid – I know this is a big decision. But I have nothing to hold me here. I have no friends, sure there’s Emily, but we’ve only just met, she’ll get over me. And then there’s mum and John. I’m sure John couldn’t be happier. But my mum… In time she’ll see that nothing held me here either. If anything, her cooking made me go. I know when it’s time to let go, and so does she. If I learnt anything from my mother, it’s that what is meant to be is meant to be and nothing can change that. Sure, I could have had years of chemotherapy and watched myself dissolve into more of a nothing I am now, and have my last memories of my mother crying and being constantly depressed, but I can’t do that to her. If it’s going to happen it has to be with as little pain as possible to her. Sad, isn’t it. I’ve never been able to talk to my mum, but she is the only person I have ever felt any emotion for, the string to my kite. If not for her, I would have ended it long ago.

Maybe I’ll meet my Prince somewhere else, but it definitely won’t be here. These four white-washed walls disguised as a blue globe. I was always a prisoner, but now I have an escape; something new to look forward to. I guess boring people really aren’t invincible.