Cinderella Complex

15. It feels more like my coronation than a high school dance. A rite of passage in the trial by fire life. Months of preparations, primping, and choices of things like crystal or pearl? Silver or white? Roses or carnations? Finally the day is here. But it's just prom. One prom in the history of thousands of proms. And while I've always been a romantic, I know that tomorrow will not be my fairy tale dream I've always had of my prom, my coronation of sorts into the real world. But in pink and crystal I will enter that ball room like it's the last Lunar Ball, and I will feel like a princess no matter what.

Ready, set, go.

14. Mulka, who has never met either of my parents except in passing, wrapped her arms around both of them as the three of us cried in joy over the news- the cancer hasn't spread. At least that we know of, but suddenly there's this glimmer of hope and I will cling to it with my whole being.

Ready, set, go.

13. It was like someone punched me in the chest, and then in the face. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't process the words I was hearing. It was like a bad lifetime movie. It was unreal. The only thing that was real was my very real need to vomit. Cancer. He has cancer. This terrible disease that plagues those other poor families that I buy bracelets for and do fundraising for without much else thought except 'Oh, those poor families.' And now those families are my family. We're the poor family. There's words that I hate. 'Survival' and 'Appointments' and 'Oncologists' and 'Med Chart' and people saying things like 'good days'. I don't want 'good' days and 'bad' days. I want normal days. I don't want to lose a battle I'm not even allowed to fight.

stop, stop, STOP!