LJ Idol Week 19: Open Topic

[flipflop_diva]

She’s getting tired. Her bones hurt, joints creaking every time she moves. Sometimes just struggling to her feet takes as much energy as she can summon.

She’s not ready to quit just yet, though. There is still a young girl inside her. She comes out every now and then. When she sees a friend across the street, when she feels the urge to defend those she loves.

She tries to run like she used to, but she’s slower now. She tries to play like she used to, but she gets tired fast. She can still eat like she used to, though — three meals a day and snacks when she can get them.

And then there is her family. They take care of her, even when she makes messes, even though she can’t do what she used to be able to do without a second thought.

They love her. She can see it in their eyes, in the way they touch her. She loves them, too.

No, she is not ready to quit just yet.

•••

She is twelve when it happens.

It’s a hot August evening, just before twilight. She is out walking, her usual route. She loves this part of her day, loves checking every tree and every rock to see who has been there before her.

Today she feels funny, though. It’s hard to breathe. She tries to take in air, but it’s not working as well as normal.

She makes it back home, goes inside where it’s cool, but she still can’t breathe very well. She pants harder, paces around in circles, tries to tell her family something is wrong.

They are watching her, talking to her, stroking her. And then they are picking her up, putting in her in the car, racing along.

Usually she likes to yell at the people in the other cars when they drive somewhere, but not today. Today she sits and pants and wishes she could breathe.

They stop at a place she’s been once before, back when she was eleven and her kidneys were failing. Her mom’s husband — her dad now — carries her inside. Doctors take one look at her and whisk her away. They put her on a table, pick up her leg. She feels a small poke, and then she feels nothing.

She doesn’t remember much after that. She is very sleepy most of the time. But the doctors put a tube down her throat and her mom pets her and cries.

She gets taken to another room with a doctor in a white coat. She goes to sleep in the room, and when she wakes up later, she can breathe again. The tube is gone.

She goes home the next day. Everyone is extra nice to her. She gets new dishes and extra meals.

Something is weird, though. She runs outside, like she normally does, to talk with her friends next door. But no sound comes out.

She goes inside, sure that doctor stole her voice, but determined not to let that stop her from trying to get it back.

•••

She is five years old when the doctor finds the lump on her leg.

“Cancer,” she hears whispered, but she doesn’t know what that means.

She sees a lot of doctors in the next few days. They take her blood and take pictures of her insides. She curls up against her mom and lets her comfort her.

She has to go away, her mom tells her, but she doesn’t really understand. She’s never been away from home before.

But she gets in the car when her mom opens the door, and yells at the people in the cars beside them as they drive and drive and drive.

They go into a place she’s never seen, a big gigantic version of the doctor’s office she normally goes to. She’s not sure she likes this, but a nice lady with a big smile comes and takes her into the back.

It’s not so bad at the place. Sometimes they put her to sleep while the doctors help her, but most of the time they let her play and they take her for walks and give her food. Her mom comes on the weekends to pick her up and take her home, and they spend a lot of time together. They go to the lake and take long walks and curl up together in bed at night.

The last day she is at the place, they put a bandana on her and take a picture. If she could read, she would see it said “I beat cancer.”

She doesn’t know that, though. But she does know her mom is very happy and buys her an extra big bone.

•••

Her life gets better the year she turns four.

She had a pretty good life before then. Lots of walks and lots of playing and lots and lots of toys. But when she is four, her mom packs up the car and lets her sit next to her in the front, while the silly cat screams from her little cage in the back seat.

It takes a long time to get where they are going — they even stop at a hotel for a night, her first time ever in one — but once they do, she sits in the living room and guards the door while her mom brings in box after box after box.

Their new house is great. She has her own balcony to walk on, and there are a lot of animals to chase away.

But the best part is her mom doesn’t go away every day anymore. Instead they sit on the couch together with the computer. Her mom types while she sleeps and the cat ignores them both.

It is a perfect arrangement for everyone.

•••

She is born in a farmhouse to two parents who don’t share her color. Her biological father is chocolate, her biological mother gold. She is black. She doesn’t look like her siblings either, but she doesn’t mind.

Everything is good for a few weeks. She lives with her siblings, fights to get milk from her mother. Until one day, a stranger arrives. He bends down to look at her and her siblings. He picks up one of her brothers and walks away with him.

Her brother never comes back.

This happens again, and again, always a new person, until she is the only one left with her parents.

She knows what is about to happen when she sees the next stranger. A girl with brown hair and a big smile.

She runs, petrified, hides under the house, her little body shaking. The human man who owns the farmhouse she lives in, pulls her out, places her into the stranger’s arms. She trembles more.

The girl carries her to a car, puts her down on the passenger seat. And then the car is starting and she is being taken away from the little farmhouse she was born in, leaving the only parents she has ever known.

She trembles even more at that, feels the urine escape her body. She doesn’t know where she is going or what is going to happen. She only hopes that it will be good.




Thank you for reading! Fenway wanted her own entry, so here it is. I call her my little survivor. She’s made it through cancer, kidney failure, a paralyzed larynx and now old age. She’ll be 14 in August.

This was written for therealljidol Week 20. It was an open topic, so we could write on whatever we wanted. If you want to see what other people wrote about, go here. Voting will be up Tuesday night.

Comments

[sigrundora.livejournal.com]

Say hi to Fenny for me :D

[eternal-ot.livejournal.com]

Aww..This is heartbreaking :/ and yet I love her attitude towards life. Well written. *Hugs*

[i-17bingo.livejournal.com]

Oh, my God, this is so cute! I really enjoyed the perspective. It really touched me because my elderly cats are all taking visits to special vets lately, and I don't know what's going on in their heads.

[bewize.livejournal.com]

What a wonderful look at life through a very good dog's eyes. *hugs to the doggie*

[bleodswean.livejournal.com]

You did a great job here seeing life through Fenway's eyes. This was moving and very, very real.

[rayaso.livejournal.com]

You did an excellent job capturing Fenway's point of view, with all the confusion and pain, but also with the happiness. Good work!

[favoritebean.livejournal.com]

This is such a sweet tribute to Fenway. Nicely done.

[tonithegreat.livejournal.com]

Aw! This was great. I'm typing from my bed, where my sweet 13-year-old Zoey dog has burrowed under the blanket I have to use when we run the AC and is snoring against my leg. Zoey is a cancer survivor too, minus some lymph nodes in a rear leg. Thanks for sharing this!

[beeker121.livejournal.com]

What a lovely look at the world through Fenway's eyes, and how much she's overcome. This is very sweet.

[penpusher.livejournal.com]

Neat how you told this in reverse chronological order. You're giving her more life! Good wishes to your good dog!

[roina-arwen.livejournal.com]

Very sweet, and an adorable photo!

[marlawentmad.livejournal.com]

So well done! I lost my cat to breast cancer a couple of years back, this lovely little snap shot hit me close. Such a darling narration.

[dmousey.livejournal.com]

Dogs, dude. The best critters ever. It's been ten torturous years without one for me. I could really use one now too. This made me smile. Hugs and peace~~~

[swirlsofblue.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is beautifully done.

Love the descriptions, so powerful and yet slowly revealing and painting the actual picture. Love the way you went backwards in time.

[xlovebecomesher.livejournal.com]

Love this!