... 18 Years Young (part III)

The morning sun always seemed to shine brightest when Lydia was hung over. And it also seemed that her drapes would never completely close on mornings like that; and her mother would always decide to cook the most aromatic of breakfasts, and always tend to scream her name extra loud. "Lydia, it's time for breakfast. Come on and eat chile, you got a doctors appointment today." Just thinking about the florescent lights, sterile smell and bad news made Lydia want to vomit. Well, not just that of course. By-passing the stairwell, she hauled ass to the bathroom where she could only dry-heave over the tall procelin toilet, being as all of her stomachs contents still rested where she left them early that morning. After a few moments she stood, squinting in the mirror. Oddly, she decided that she was going to miss mornings like this when she was dead, I mean she was only being a teen. She brushed her teeth, her hair, washed her face, and gathered her barrings to head downstairs. You would've thought that the breakfast her mother prepared smelled like garbage, because it left Lydia's stomach in more of a knot than ever. "I'm not hungry." She says, plopping down in the cushioned chair at the table adorned with panacakes, eggs, bacon, sausage and orange juice of course." "My Lydia? Not hungry? Good lord my child done been switched with someone elses." Her mother sat next to her and stared at her child. She knew that Lydia was suffering from a horrible hang-over. She heard he come in at 3 that morning and it was only 8. But she couldn't blame her. When given news like the news Lydia was handed a mere week ago, Cynthia didn't know if she would've ever gotten out of bed let alone try to lead a normal life. "Ma, do we have to go to the doctors? I mean, we already know what they have to say. Blah blah blah, your dead in six. What else is new?" "Now you stop!" Cynthia was always a big proponent of optimism, but this news had gotten the best of her lately and she feared that it had rubbed off on her youngest child of two. "The doctor said he knows of a treatment. Now it's experimental, but it's a treatment none the less. I think we should go hear him out." Not to be confrontational or rebellious in anyway, that just wasn't her nature, Lydia gave a half hearted nod and dragged her limp body up the stairs to prepare for their outting. Enthusiasm wasn't a big deal to her anymore, and neither was the optimism she inherited from her always upbeat mother who wasn't really upbeat anymore. That contagious energy wasn't looming threw every room in the house anymore. It was barely in existance in her home, let alone in her mother's eyes. She wanted to be sad, but something inside wouldn't let her be. Being a member of the fatherless-tribe with only one set of grandparents who where now dead, and no aunts or uncles which meant no cousins, Lydia only had her mother and older brother Salias to worry about. He was 20 and in college at Notre Dame, which left only her and her mother to sit home and succumb to the dismal news. It was an understatement to say that when she was younger, Lyida felt out of place. Her mother was half Dominican, half white and from what she understood her father was a of african american, west indian decent. Though she and her brother had different fathers, they were both part african american which meant their complections resembled each others. Yet ultimately, they always felt left being the only kids of "mixed-breed" in their classes growing up. She had grown used to feeling a bit uncomfortable. And even though she could be considered popular in high school, her brother never felt that comfortable assimilating, so he went to Notre Dame, which really wasn't known for it's minority population. Here, she fit in. But she wondered what it would be like in Heaven, if she were even going there. "Well, not much has changed since you were here last Lydia. Your condition has worsened a bit, but that's not a surprise to us of course. Over the next six months, it will worsen incredibly until..." "We know, ok... We know." Lydia couldn't understand why the doctors, her mother, anyone who new basically felt the need to constantly remind her of her early demise. She knew, and she didn't need to hear it on a daily basis. She had heard enough, she got dressed and her mother began to gather their things to meet the doctor in his office. Once the settled in their seats, he looked at them with his hands folded on his desk and a stern look on his face. "There is an experimental treatment."