Free Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger Page A

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hospitals. The walls are a soft shade of light green, with cheerful wallpaper borders. The window reveals a full view of the parking lot and spring sky. My mother and her father stand at either sides of the bed, looking down at Aunt Catherine. My uncle holds one of her hands as she sleeps, his thumb moving in tiny circles along her smooth skin. They look up as we come in. My mother puts a finger to her lips, motioning for us to be quiet. Catherine opens her eyes and says Hope's name in greeting. Her voice sounds hoarse and deep. I look over at her new I.V. machine and read the label. Morphine.
Moments later the doctor comes in and my mom and I go to down to the cafeteria. After getting our dinner, we find a clean white table off in the corner.
"It's horrible," she says, looking at me. "They opened her up to see how much cancer there was and remove it. It was everywhere. Everywhere," she reiterates, as she loses most of her composure. Her clinical poker face is gone, and her eyes are filled with something I haven't seen before: uncertainty and anguish. "It spread so fast," she half whispers, "they had to remove everything. Her ovaries, womb, fallopian tubes, everything. The cancer is well beyond the second stage. They couldn't get it all out. Even with chemo, they can't. . . ." Her voice fades as she looks over at me, knowing that she's probably said too much. Her eyes tear and she dabs at them with a napkin. I am dazed. Why did you have to tell me? I wonder.
The room is dark when we come back and the air is thick, hanging around us like a fog. "Let's go," Hope says, taking my arm and handing me my jacket. Her keys jiggle as she slips the key ring around her finger.
My mom looks at her with concern. "Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat? Here." She hands her a twenty.
"I'm not hungry," Hope mumbles, pushing past me
     

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through the door and pressing the twenty into my palm.
"Shawna, I think I'm going to stay here tonight. Why don't you stay over at Hope's? Get her to eat something, will you?"
"Sure, Mom. See you tomorrow," I reply, kissing her on the cheek.
She drives mechanically, her eyes glued to the road. Silence hangs in the air. I flip the radio to the local rock station and put the volume on low. I see a McDonald's along the road. "Hey, why don't we get something to eat? You haven't had anything yet. You know, you just can't starve yourself. You need to eat."
"What is your problem?" she says, her voice with an edge. "Why don't you just stop worrying about me and mind your own business? I'm fine, okay? I knew what to expect and I'm fine. Why can't you people just quit worrying and nagging all the time?!"
"Look, Hope, I was just trying to get you to . . . " She reaches out and turns the radio up.
"It's my favorite song," she yells over the music. She hates Prodigy.
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Her hands don't seem to be working as she tries to slip the key into the door. I gently take them away from her and jiggle the lock. The door swings open. She goes to the bathroom while I fix her a turkey sandwich and orange slices in the kitchen. I hear the TV go on in the living room. She flips it to Comedy Central as I walk in.
"Here," I say, pushing the plate across the coffee table toward her. She takes a bite and looks at me with her are-you-happy-now? look. I can't help but smile.
The comic on TV is horrible and tells one bad joke after another. She laughs a little too hard at them. But by the time the second comic comes on, Hope is dozing.
"C'mon," I say, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go to bed.
     

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I'm tired, too." She hands me some pajamas and I take my spare toothbrush out of its little holder in the medicine cabinet. She beats me to the bathroom and by the time I'm done, she's already curled up under the covers. I roll out my sleeping bag on the floor underneath her. If I look up I can see her sleeping and the clock on the opposite dresser. I steal a