I Remember

• Caitlin Gleeson, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2010

I can still remember with clarity exactly what I saw that day I found out. Every smell, every touch, and every sound. It replays over and over in my head; sometimes when I’m lying in bed trying to fall asleep, sometimes when I’m in the middle of a conversation. It just comes back to me and again it takes my breath away and my eyes start to sting from holding the tears back.
I remember the smell of the red roses as I walked out our front door and down the path to my mum’s little red car. I remember the feel of the silence as my mother drove me to the doctor’s surgery, and the feel of the sun shining brightly through the windows. I remember thinking to myself why hasn’t mum said anything? She’s the parent; she’s the one who is supposed to assure me everything is going to be okay, even when it might not be.
I remember walking into the building and feeling the breeze as a child ran past me with his mother chasing closely behind. I remember the feel of the leather seats sticking to the exposed skin where my skirt did not cover. I remember the waiting, God, do I remember the waiting! Sitting there with my palms sweating and my legs sticking together until finally DR. Roe appeared, saying the two words I was waiting for, ‘Mia Gale’.
I remember getting up and my mother gripping my hand so tight I thought it would break. I remember looking up at her face and realising she was just as scared as I was. I remember walking down the long hallway to his room. It seemed to go for miles, but looking back now we probably only walked about twenty steps.
I remember him telling me with that look on his face, the one all doctors get when they wish someone else had to give the bad news. I remember my mum bursting into tears and hugging me as I just sat there blank faced, blank minded. I remember them talking about medicines and timelines, I remember exactly the way his mouth moved when he spoke. Every word like a dagger through my heart making no sense to me at all but at the same time sealing my fate.
I remember mum babbling the whole way home, I remember not listening and not caring. I remember walking back up those front steps and smelling the roses, wishing that they weren’t there and wishing I wasn’t either. I remember walking past my dad and the feel of his hand on my shoulder and sliding down my arm as I continued past him without a word. I remember walking up the stairs to my room, and closing my door. Hoping that by closing the 5cm thick wood I could close out the rest of the world and not have to deal with the problems that seemed like they’d be here for a while, if not forever.