Hey everyone! I just finished my third week of seventh grade! School has been a blast. My classes aren’t as fun, its more about seeing my friends, you know how that is. I miss seeing my sixth grade English teacher Mrs. Rombach (her blog is here). She’s a fantastic English teacher. She’s actually the one who got me into writing. I haven’t blogged in a while, I actually feel kind of bad. But I definitely missed it. Just with school and volleyball going on it’s been a little hard. So anyways, I wanted to post a writing piece of mine! It’s one that I’m really proud of so I hope you like it!
It’s Not So Bad After All
It was a silent day, and a fog drifted over my busy city, Denver in Colorado. Darkness took over the city as a pitch-black cloud passed over, covering us like a blanket. Small raindrops started to fall. My name is Morgan McJohnson. I am eleven years-old. I’m pretty short for my age, four feet and five inches. I have a Great Dane and Labrador mix named Gunner. I have a younger sister named Mallory. It was the first day of the third week in September. A brisk wind blew my brick red hair into my face. A couple days ago, I found out that I was diagnosed with the deadliest disease on Earth (or so I thought), childhood cancer. Osteosarcoma, specifically. This horrible disease that I’m stuck with is the sixth most leading cancer in children under the age of fifteen. I was glumly hunched over on my gray,raindrop-stained porch with my face in my hands.
“Honey, time for dinner,” my mom called affectionately through our patched screen door. I quickly wiped the tears off my face and tried to gain my composure again. Ok Morgan, you have to pull it together. Breathe in, breathe out.
“Coming Mom, I’ll just be a second,” I croaked back.
My mom and I were at the Denver Hospital later that same week for my weekly check-ups. The whole hospital smelled strongly of hand sanitizer. My eyes were starting to water when the nice nurse, Mrs. Goldberg, came into the room. “Mrs. McJohnson and Morgan? Mr. Duncan is ready for you,” I stood up and wiped my sweaty palms on my ripped jeans, trying to calm the fluttering feeling in my stomach. I stumbled over a children’s toy as I walked towards the doctor’s office. My eyes flickered over to it for a second. Oh how I wish I could be a kid right now.
My family and I got the news through the mail almost a week later. “Morgan, mail for you,” my dad called roughly upstairs. I stood up off my pink and white striped bed and headed for bedroom door.
“Gunner, come here boy!” I whisper-shouted. Gunner looked at me with his big brown puppy eyes as if to say,
“Do I really have to go?”
“Gunner. Come,” I demanded more forcefully. He jumped off my now dog-hair-covered comforter and with a thud, came trotting over to my side. I scratched his favorite spot behind his ears. “You’re a good boy. Yes you are,” I sweet-talked him.
“Do you want to see your mail, sweetheart?” my dad yelled up the stairs.
“ I’m coming. Where are you?” I replied.
“In the kitchen,” he bellowed from somewhere beneath me.
“I will be right down,” I hollered as I staggered down the creaky stairs.
Mallory was sitting in one of the kitchen stools that were against the island smack-dab in the middle of the kitchen. She glanced questioningly over at me with her winter blue eyes, shrugged, then continued eating her yogurt. My dad was staring at the long white envelope as if he was having a staring contest with it.
“Oh. There you are, “ Dad said with a startled look on his face. He handed the white envelope that held my life in its checkered insides. My hands were shaking as I took the envelope from my dad’s hands. I opened it with caution, as if it was going to bite if I unsealed it too quickly. In the letter it stated that on September 29th, I would have my first chemotherapy session. All of the other words were blurred in my mind as if the letter was streaked with raindrops. My head started pounding and I stumbled back.
“I-I think I get it, Dad,” I stuttered.
“Ok, Morgan, just let me know when you want to see it.”
“Will do,” I said in a monotone.
Three weeks had passed since my first chemo treatment. I was bald already but that didn’t matter, I had to go to school. I wore a hat to cover my tiny patches of hair on my almost bald head. But as I strolled into my first block class, the worst thing happened.
My English teacher, Mr. Trill ordered, “Morgan, you must take off your…um….stylish hat.”
“No s-sir, please don’t make me,” I pleaded quietly. No one knew about my cancer and I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anytime soon.
“Morgan. Let me rephrase that. Take off your hat unless you would like to spending some time in the principal’s office. You are wasting my class time,” he hissed.
“A-Alright,” I squeaked. Everyone in the class was watching my little scene now, and as I took off my hat everyone gasped.
“Nice haircut, McJohnson!” a boy yelled from the back row. The whole class erupted in laughter.
“Where’d you get it, the lawn mower?” someone else commented.
I blushed furiously as Mr. Trill tried to calm everyone down.
“Everyone please settle down. Anyone still talking after I say so will be spending their lunchtime with me,” he thundered. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I slid into my seat as my best friend, Alyssa, watched me from behind. “What happened?” she whispered as if she was embarrassed to talk to me.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” I replied with my head down.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing, but whatever,” she mumbled.
I was only ten minutes into first block and still I could tell that this was going to be a long day.
The school day was awful. I was sick of everyone staring at me, in the cafeteria, in the library, outside, everywhere! But it wouldn’t have been so bad if my “best friend” had stuck by me. But nope, Alyssa avoided me the entire day. Not one glance, or a small whisper. As I walked home, I saw Alyssa strolling about a couple feet in front of me. I sped up in hopes of catching up to her. As she saw me, she looked around to see if anyone was watching us. No one was in sight.
“Yea?” she muttered.
“Yea what? We walk home every day together,” I questioned.
Alyssa began with a sigh, “Well maybe that should change.” She shrugged like it was nothing.
“W-What?” I stuttered.
“I’m just saying maybe we shouldn’t walk home together every day.” she said impatiently.
“Fine,” I thundered as I stormed off down the street.
I can’t believe she had the nerve to say that to me! I thought she didn’t care if I was pretty or not, she would like me for who I am. Obviously, I was wrong. I burst into my house and slammed the green front door shut.”Mom? Does my hair look that bad?” I called out nervously.
“Sweetie, I am upstairs,” she yelled from behind the doors of her bedroom.
“Okay, I’m coming up!” I yelled back. I rushed upstairs and into her bedroom. Mom was folding laundry and had her back facing me.
“Does my hair look that bad?” I whispered, suddenly afraid of what she was going to say. She turned around and saw me standing in the wide doorway with my arms crossed over my chest.
“Oh no, Morgan! I couldn’t tell the difference,” she said all motherly.
“Seriously, Mom. I don’t want sweet-talking right now. I just want the truth,” I mumbled.
She sighed and said with her voice filled with guilt, “Honey, let’s just say it looks…what is the word…unique?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I’m so sorry, Morgan. I really am,” she said in a comforting voice.
My vision started to blur and I could taste the saltiness of the tears in my mouth. I crumbled weakly to the carpet.
The next day at school was even worse. People were snickering, not even trying to cover up their laughs. Then, a girl with blond pigtails and bright blue glasses came up to me, “Hey! You’re Morgan, right? I’m in your history class. I am Paige,”
“Uh….hi,” I replied nervously. What if she’s going to make fun of me?
I braced myself as she spoke, “ I was just wondering if you wanted to study tomorrow at my house for the history quiz that is coming up. Would you like to?”
“Sure! That’d be great! I just need to check with my parents first,” I replied, giddy with happiness.
Paige grinned and walked away. I had just turned around to go to Algebra when she shouted over her shoulder,
“You know what? Truthfully, I like your haircut. It makes you look tough,” she said laughing. I smiled, knowing she was joking.
“You’re not bad, Paige. Not bad,” I replied chuckling.
As she smiled back, I could see her pink and purple-colored braces. Maybe life isn’t about looking good, nor having the most friends. Maybe all you need is one really good friend. I’m going to be fine.
Wow. That’s really long. Well, that’s it for now! Come visit my blog again soon!