I don’t look in the mirror and see an inspiration, I see a girl with a terminal disease whose clothes sag hopelessly and can’t keep her own head of full hair. I see a girl who keeps on keeping on just because she doesn’t want to mope around and waste space, not to be seen in every magazine or be the headline or every newspaper. I’m Taylor Harris and I have cancer of the stomach, I’m on chemo which makes me weak, my stomach upset, and other illnesses occur, but the worst of it all is the weakness and stomach pain. I sometimes get so weak I just all together collapse and shut-down. My stomach pains get so bad, that when I try to move, the pain hits in such waves I have to stop, completely, until it passes, which is why people call me a “trooper” because I continue to compete in marathons. They worry because the marathons I compete in don’t generally just have one running event, most include a mile run, a mile swim, then you finish it off with a mile of bike-riding, vigorous and my thing. I did this before I was diagnosed with cancer and I will continue until the day my heart stops beating, which, according to my doctor, may even be soon.
“You can’t!”
“I can.” I reply calmly, “Your body is telling you something, you aren’t physically able anymore, Taylor!” My mother shrieks, I wince, her voice pierces straight through my head, worsening my already pulsing headache. “This could be a huge opportunity for me, mom, I’m talking scholarship possibilities here.” She rubs her head as if her herself were getting a headache, she looks me in the eyes, “Taylor, honey, enough is enough,” She looks me up and down, shakes her head and walks away. I feel a stomach ache coming on. I head to my room and lay down, clutching my stomach and groaning quietly. You can’t do I my mother’s words come into my head, hauntingly. After several minutes of pure agony I get up, no point in wasting space, I decide. This has become my day, wake up, get ready for school, collapse into either pain or exhaustion, go to school, get told I can’t a few times throughout the day, come home, face another sort of pain, repeat. I run downstairs and get into my Malibu. Driving is tiring, makes me want to sleep. I sink into the seat and turn on the ignition, feeling the engine spring to life. I drive to Starbucks like I do every morning and grab a ginormous blueberry muffin and a vanilla latte. After downing my breakfast I drive to school to face the horror I call a day.
I walk into the theatre. Silence. I keep walking, “Good luck tomorrow, Taylor.” A boy, Jacob Harris, calls out I smile, “Thanks,” Whispers now. I plop down next to Rachel Goodlet and Sammy Jacobs, “Hey Rache, hey Sam,”
“Hi Taylor,” Rachel smiles and gives me a small, dorky wave. “Are you serious about competing this weekend?” Sammy asks, “Sure, It’s the regionals and if you place in the top 10 you go to state, but is it worth it?” Her soft green eyes tear into mine. I nod my head slowly, “This is what my whole life has been spent training for Sam and I’m not going to let this illness bring me down,”
“But it’s not just an illness! Tay, you don’t understand this ‘illness’ can kill someone like you easy!” Rachel snaps, her eyes tearing up, “And I don’t want the last time for me to see you this beautiful, in your prime, in a casket,” she wipes her eyes, smudging her eye-liner. I look her in the eye, “I’m to bull headed for it to bring me down to easy,” I tell her she sighs and looks away the bell rings and I head to my first period class.
“Class you have free period next, don’t waste it texting or goofing off, study,” Mr. Grayson tells us with a wave of dismissal. I pull out my phone to see I have a notification from my trainer.
Taylor, I can’t wait to see you show-off in front of those scouts tomorrow you’ll rock it I trust you babe, sleep good!!!
I smile, one class period until I can go practice. Loud speaker beeps, “Taylor Harris check-out!” I stand in dis-belief why? Ah I don’t care! I think as I run out of the school.
“Mom?”
“I only checked you out because you need practice, if you’re serious about tomorrow. “I-I really?!?” she nods somberly, “Go home, practice running and biking, run to the pool and swim a bit, then go to bed,” I nod, “Thank you, so much Mom,” she nods again, “Bye Baby I love you,”
BEEP BEEP BEEP SMACK I hit my alarm, no way it’s the day, I get up and shove a sweat suit over a bikini. I don’t have time for breakfast, I grab my shoes and drive off to my destiny.
