Chapters One through Three

Chapter One

My Life was born July 23, 1987. My Life was not fictional, a fantasy, or a nightmare. My Life was good, kind, happy, and pleasant. My Life was a girl. My girl. She wasn't beautiful or ugly. She wasn't plain or exotic. Her voice sounded smooth, but if listened to carefully, it had edges. Her dark brown hair looked mousy and thin, but felt thick and soft. Her skin looked like it glowed, but you could see tiny brown spots. Her blue-green eyes were adorable at first sight, but they were puffy from sadness. Her mouth looked thin and unhappy, but it was curved into a wide smile.
From her birth to her wedding day, to her daughter's birth to her death, and all the days in between, she was always happy or calm, always decent and sweet. Life was tough, determined, but loving, and caring at the same time. She was wearing a smile when she got her first dog, when she was married, when she had a daughter, and when she died, but there was one time when she wasn't.
"Do you need to sit down?"
Life was six when she was diagnosed with lukemia. I was shocked and felt a pang of horror grab at my throat when I found out. When the nurse asked a question I was not able to translate into my brain, a tug of realization of what was happening woke me up.

"Do you need to sit down?" she asked, her face full of what looked like genuine concern.

"I -- I think so...."

"Can I get you something? A glass of water, a pillow?"

"Um... water would be fine I think...." What did I know? I'd never fainted in my life. I sat, dazed with my little glass of water, thinking of what was going to happen. How would Life survive? How would she recieve treatment? Questions raced through my mind, fighting to surface at my brain, which was definitely not functioning well at the moment.

"We do have some cancer treatment here..." and the nurse began to list a few things they might be able to do, but she requested that we send Life to St. Jude's as soon as possible, because the cancer was spreading fast. I silently nodded in agreement with everything she said, hoping that the whole thing was either some awful joke, or some terribly horrific nightmare. I was still having to force myself to accept the fact that Life had practically been sentenced to death. There were so many questions I had, but I knew the nurse wouldn't be able to answer them. Life's parents didn't even know about her diagnosis. Her mom had just told me to bring Life to the hospital because they had called. I didn't want to bring the news to them, and that was the least of my troubles. I took the news like some awful cherry-tasting medicine, knowing that I'd rather know it now then know it later. I wondered what would happen to my life now, and I wondered what would happen to Life's. I took her home from the hospital, and she looked confused, tired, and curious. On the short walk home from the hospital, she asked me the question.

"Am I going to die, Hope?"

Her voice was sad, but her face was anxious. There was no trace of a smile left, and I was at a loss of words. As I groped for the right thing to tell her, I tried to stall.
"Life, I think we should go to the library or Mike's. Maybe then I'll know the answer to your question, okay?"

I hoped she would take this. It was obvious from her face though, that this did not satisfy her. She ventured on in this depressing conversation that I just wished would end. She babbled for a few minutes, and I let her words wash over me as I thought of the next set of problems: keeping up with school and college applications. Two words brought me crashing back to the Earth with bloods still pounding in my ears. Adreneline rushes were definitely not my thing, I decided right then.

"Hope. Please."

Her quiet plea made me realize that Life was extremely observant. Especially for a six-year-old. The way she spoke made her sound many years older. I thought for about three minutes. Her stomping on my foot brought me back to the far-away city lights in the dark.

"Life, many people die from cancer. Everyone who has it fights for their life. They have to. Or they die. If you try your hardest, I think you can make it. You have to do everything you can, and maybe we should go to the library to check out how, and then we can go get something at Mike's, 'kay?"

She nodded. Her face was set, and the smile was coming back to it's little place in the corners of her mouth. And her eyes.

I hoped my little cousin would survive and beat down her disease, the disease that killed everyone who had it. I hoped she would make it through. I dreamed it was going to happen. I prayed for help. I was ten years older than Life, and I could do something for her. After all, I babysat her everyday, ever since she was born.
Her mother worked part-time at a Petsmart, and her father worked a night and day shift as a guard at a prison. They would both get sleep in the morning, make sure I arrived at 10:00 A.M., go to work, and her mom would come home at 6:00 P.M. to feed Life. I would take her to Central Park to feed birds, and take her to buy groceries. She lived in a small apartment, 213 Park Plaza, and I lived a few doors down. My friends at school would invite me to their homes after school often, but after Life was diagnosed, their invitations stopped abruptly. I guess I understand why, but it didn't make me feel any better. One month later, Life was sent for chemotherapy in St. Judes. One month later, I was a junior. I was left with nobody. Life came back four years later.
During her stay at St. Judes, Life wrote often to me. Her letters always had a cheerful tone, and sometimes, she'd call me. She was doing well, and already had five friends the first time she called me, which was seven months after she left. I was lonely without her, because all of my friends had left me. Except Vicky Donnely. She helped me out in science. The only class I had any trouble in. Vicky and I did many things together. We cooked food together, and sometimes, she spent the night at my house, and sometimes, I did at her place. Vicky was very rich, but she wasn't snobbish about it. My mom died when I was only two in a car accident. My dad lived, but his brain suffered some minor damage. I had to help him out, and I helped him find a job as a janitor at an elementary school.
The first time Vicky met Life, she automatically saw her as a sister, and loved and treated her like one. Vicky felt bad for her, and sent her some stuffed animals, mostly frogs. The three of us were very close. My sophomore year, Vicky began to have troubles of her own. She wanted to be an architect, like I did, and her parents wanted her to become something more glamorous. An actress, or perhaps a director. I was at her house when one of the arguments she made so familiar with me broke out between her and her dad.
"Why can't you me and your mother happy by making the right choice?" he would shout.
"Well, I am making the right choice, Dad. I like buildings and structures and that kind of thing, and I'm good at it." That was always the answer she'd give him.
"You won't make a good living off of it. You can't expect to lean on me and your mother forever. It's not worth going after it, because you can't be sure!"
He would always counter with a similar attack using Vicky's dependence on her parent's money. Then her dad would go out for 'a smoke' and wouldn't come back for about three hours. I couldn't help feeling bad for Vicky. Both of us wanted badly to become architects, and make our way in the world. Then I was accepted at the New York Institute of Technology School of Architecture and Design. Vicky's parents had finally given in to her, and agreed that she should pursue after her dreams of becoming an architect. She, too, was accepted at the New York Institute of Technology School of Architecture and Design. But I had a full ride. For two years.
Then we saw the contest sign. On a subway back to my apartment, it was there. It was an architectural contest. And the prize money was huge. The contest founders would pay the winner $20,000 a month! I calculated everything in my head quickly. That would mean $240,000 a year plus whatever I got for babysitting, which was around $300 a month. So in total, I would make about $240,600 in one year! For three more years continued, I would have about $730,800. Enough to continue at the Institute. Alice and I looked at each other in joy.
"You know --"
"What this means?"
"We can go to the Institue!"
The shouting match we had was so loud, people turned to look at us, which was a poor choice for them, because the subway had just taken a turn. Many personal items, books, and a few people, slipped to the ground. Alice and I got back to reading the poster when our stomachs flipped backwards in sync. It was an individual contest, and there were no ties. We held onto the cold metal poles in our tightly, determinedly not looking at eachother and neither of us broke the extremely awkward silence. My stop was next, and I got off quickly and quietly, along with a bustling crowd of people.

Chapter Two

The first thing I did when I got home was yell out a scream of frustration. I hurled myself onto a tiny, sagging couch and punched at a pillow. I knew that none of the things I had done to let out my feelings was ever going to help me, but it felt good. Then I got to work. I worked on my structure. It had to be waterproof, fancy, tall, wide, and completely fireproof. And people had to think it was attractive. I walked to the library to use computers and find books on building materials. Wood was out of the question.
I got back home at around 12:00. I had spent about eight hours looking for spare materials, reading, and researching. I wondered if Alice was doing what I was doing. Probably not. She was probably sitting back home, watching a movie, playing with her dog, eating candy, or doing some other luxury I wasn't able to afford to have. But soon, I would be able to. Then I recieved the phone call. I looked around, shaken out of my torpor, and guiltily looked around, feeling I had been too bitter and upset. I picked up the phone, and it was Life. She sounded happy, almost too happy. But I felt like I was being paranoid. Of course she was happy! She was being treated for cancer, and she had lots of friends. She told me her nurse said she could come home in one year. Her cancer had spread too much, but they were doing everything they could to stall it.
The next morning, I walked to the subway. As I hurriedly grabbed a seat, I thought about the materials I had in my bag. I could start building it when I was in study hall, at lunch, in the bathroom, and in art. I could do anything in art, and Mr. Sol would encourage me to. And Alice didn't have a class like that. I smiled as I got off the subway, and I ran into Carol. Carol Spockett had a brain like no other. Everyone knew it. She didn't have a big ego, she was modest, and she liked helping other people.
"Hey Carol!" I shouted before I could even think of how I could ask her how to help me.
"Um... what's your name?" she asked, looking a bit confused.
"Oh, it's Hope. I'm in your math class...." I said, trying to look appealing, which is easier said than done, especially if you had five hours of sleep and forget to shower.
"Oh yeah! I remember now... you're really smart, aren't you? I mean, you were able to contradict a few minor theories that Malcev made on logic, right?" Her face brightened, probably at the thought of making a fellow student look incredibly stupid. I didn't even know who Malcev was.
"Well, I did contradict logic theories, but I don't know who Malcv is, and I don't really think I'm smart or anything, but I was wondering if you could help me on an... an art project."
She had been smiling through my talking, but now, as we walked across the street, the grin was being replaced by a small look of uncertainty and awkwardness.
"You want me to help you cheat? I'm sorry, but I'm not going to do that."
"Oh, no. That's not what I mean. I was hoping I would be able to run some stuff on some material I found by you, just to make sure that what I researched wasn't false or anything. I knew you would be able to help me, but I wasn't looking for you. I ran into you, and I just thought, you know... maybe you could help me? Because you're obviously the smartest person in the school, and you're really nice...."
After this, when I turned to look at her, she looked like she had been cooked in the oven. She was bright red, sweaty, and had a huge smile pasted onto her face, making her look like a smiley face I'd drawn on the beach before.
"Thanks for telling me those things, and I'd really like to help you, now that I know it's not cheating or anything... but what kind of art project? I know some stuff about paint and colors and things, but there's some other stuff that... well, let's just say, I don't really know anything about."
My heart started to sink. We kept walking down the street, almost at the corner we'd both turn on to see the school. With every step, My heart kept plummeting until I thought it could drop no lower.
"Uhm, it's sort of a building project, but it's supposed to be basically the most indestructible thing in the world, and it has to be ridiculously fancy and attractive."
As I sped through this, her face started to fall again, but when I said it had to be fancy and attractive, she gave a small, shy smile, making her look like a porcelain doll.
"Well, buildings are one thing I just don't understand, let alone waterproof, fireproof, or whatever, but I do know a thing or two about making things look pretty without changing anything. "My heart sped up. As we turned a corner on the street, setting us right in fron of the school, I thought about how much I loved the rush of adrenaline. "I'm sure if I did a bit of research or asked around, I might be able to help you with materials.. I think you wanted me to look at some materials for buildings?" she said all of this quite slow, looking at my bag strangely. I turned around, and I saw what she was looking at, and I smiled and apologized.
"Yeah, those weird shapes are samples of materials I found." We both smiled quickly, then realizing the bell had rung, we ran towards the school.


Chapter three