Colours of the Ocean

Colours of the Ocean

Prologue Coming Home (Chapter Food: Fish)

Winter for me was always the best time of year, my siblings and I had my parent’s complete attention without the chaos of work and daily lives. Christmas was always the best as it was always just immediate family, no one else to steal their attention. It was always happy and joyous and completely carefree and unadulterated delight.

Then of course you grow up

Fairy tales aren’t real neither is Santa or the tooth fairy

And so I stopped having a favourite season, I found out the hard way that it wasn’t worth it. That you eventually find out your childhood was just a group of spun lies to protect you from getting hurt. I guess adults forgot that finding out the truth wasn’t worth those few blissful happy years.

So I learnt the hard way not to trust what everyone tells you. It will only end up in a web of lies. So from that day forward I learnt that it wasn’t worth it, living in a dream world because reality was only going to be thrown back in your face.

Most people are able to grow up and adapt, taking the time to mature and not feel like they were missing something. Me, on the other hand, I would a liken it more to slap in the face with a wet fish. No eight year old wants to find out they had stage three cancer, wait let me rephrase that, no one wants to find out that they have cancer at all, but most people are either so adult they can deal with it, or have had it for most of their remembered life. It makes a difference, trust me on that.

Sometimes, no let’s face it at least once a day; I wished that I wasn’t so prominent. Being exceedingly skinny and bald you tend to get a reaction from people. I was the type of person people might go ‘who?’ at and then someone would say ‘you know that cancer girl, the bald one.’

That’s all I was known for, that bald cancer kid, that’s all I am, me Octavia Richardson. And that my dear friend is all I will ever be. Being that reputable isn’t the greatest, far from it in fact.

I was about to go home and I was a sorry excuse for a human being, cancer though a great diet isn’t the spa treatment I would advise, bones sticking out at awkward angles aren’t attractive. Aged eight when my parents first got the diagnosis they had sent my to the best children’s cancer ward there was up in the Austrian Alps, where fresh air and sunshine were predominant all year round. So I had been stuck there for the last years. A rave? I think not.

Now apparently I was cured, my siblings had apparently ordered my return but I didn’t want to go. I don’t think emotionally I am ready yet. I don’t want to go head first into to the reputedly hell hole High school is. I have been told I have two months to pack up and leave but I don’t want to leave this life I created for myself here. At home I was one of the Richardson kids, seen on the whole as one of the group but here at the hospital I was Taisy Richardson one of the cancer patients with a long complicated medical history that people knew, not because of my brothers or sister but because of me.

Overall on the outside, I don’t think I was considerable attractive but then I never thought that bald heads and chicken legs were a good look. You appreciate you feature much more though when you seen other children’s operations when they have to amputate or perform drastic plastic surgery operation because of some skiing injury.

One thing I do like about myself is my ability to laugh at whatever may face me. My friends joke about it being called mental insanity, but I am sane I swear! I think it’s a good quality you need to be able to laugh at something once in a while when stuck in the situation I am in, or was.

I was once asked what talents I possess but being out of full time education doesn’t give you the time to find out and develop them, so at the moment I am currently untalented.

I come from a well off background, but I’m not your average rich spoilt darling, my parents when not working always would make time for us and they love us. Family life was on whole absolutely perfect. That is until my demise, sometimes I think it was easier for my parents to pretend I didn’t exist, I think pretending that at times I wasn’t dying was their way of accepting it. It was tough on me though, most parents at the hospital would try and come at least twice a year, my parents have come twice. Yes, I love them dearly but I wish they could have acknowledged my presence more, spending Christmas with the nurse on duty, isn’t my idea of a family get-together.

The morning dawned bright and early; I tumbled out of the hotel bed in Saltsburg, where I had spent the previous night before my flight this morning. The last two months had done almost a semi wonder for me, I had spent it with a family who were friends with my parents, who had a house by a lake and so I was out boating or swimming almost everyday, making my pasty skin become a wonderful bronzed colour and finally my hair was starting to grow back in little chestnut ringlets, which were growing in crazed abundance on my head.

I was scared for today, in eleven hours time I would be arriving in JFK (if all went to plan). I hadn’t seen my parents for two years when I was recovering from the operation before last and I hadn’t seen my siblings since before that. In a way now I was glad to be going home but I was at loggerheads with my siblings who had sent a letter requesting my presence at home- can you believe the cheek of it? I’ve been away for eight years and they are requesting my presence as if it is some formal function. If anyone else had read the letter they wouldn’t of even thought we were blood related!

I groaned realising that I needed to be at the airport in thirty minutes. I slid out of bed grabbing my superfine skinny jeans and an old Johnny Cash band tee. I slipped one gold, one silver and once bronze bangle on my left wrist and attached my watch to my right along with several multi coloured ribbons. I stumbled into the bathroom half in a daze and brushed my teeth thoroughly, splashing my face to try and wake myself up. Fortunately it worked as I stared at the sleep deprived face of my, reached for the make up bag because sleep deprivation + me Frankenstein, which as I am sure you are all aware isn’t a pretty site! After quickly applying the make up, I seized my pair of French soles from where I had tossed them last night and grabbed my small duffel bag, as the rest of my stuff had been sent yesterday, and hand bag before doing a quick 360 of the hotel room to make sure nothing had been left. I grabbed my key on the way out locking the door before heading down to reception.

I signed out and paid before sliding into the pre ordered taxi awaiting me outside. Thankfully as I was running slightly late it was only a quick journey.

Arriving at the airport, I took my last glance at my surroundings giving them a mock salute. As much as I wanted to hate the surrounding almost fairytale beauty I couldn’t because whether I liked it or not fairytales were still part of me. The part which had yet to grow up and I knew at that point that if I ever came back I would come back an older, wiser and mature version of myself; I knew I had to go for a reason, to grow up.

‘Well, farewell.’ I whispered softly to the morning air ‘Till we meet again.’