A single strand remained.
I look at myself in the mirror. Stark naked. Not supermodel material, I think, but maybe enough to get me a body part commercial. You know, one of those ones where only the hand is visible to showcase a shiny yet elegant diamond ring or even a shoulder with sequined draped tapestry. I think my face would be left out though, with all the stains and whatnot everywhere. Along with some other very unattractive features for a 14-year-old girl.
Mom thinks I look beautiful in every possible way but we all know it’s her job to say that. If you really want to know how I look, I think the best person to ask is Nathan who sits behind me in third period, English. He has the best view of me after all. He also likes to call me all the lovely names such as Fudd the dud (after Elmer Fudd). I like Nathan.
I pick up my gown from the floor. This is the fourth time I threw it on the floor and there was good reason behind it as well. It looks as ugly as me. Maybe even worse, dare I say. But I think it is all the moments I felt when I wore the gown. Moments that have passed and those I can’t even remember but still — the emotions I felt in those moments have come back to me and that sucks. It must have been a few minutes that I was staring back and forth from the naked reflection to my gloomy gown, because there was a loud knock on the door.
“Zoya… are you ready, honey?”
“Ummm… can you give me five more minutes, Mom?” I yell back.
A few seconds before her reply comes, “Sure…take your time.”
That’s good. The whole ‘take your time’ gives me an excuse to slow this moment down. I can’t even remember the last time I was here. Just after summer ended, I think. I made it through the winter quite nicely and Santa (no, I don’t believe in him) gave me some great presents, including my own stereo set and a signed copy of my Harry Potter collection.
I wrap the gown around me.
A lot of people remember their first times. Their first kiss, first day of high school, first time they smiled without braces or snuck out without telling their parents. The first time they won something or the first time they went camping. Those kinds of first times.
I don’t.
I remember the last times.
The last time I kissed Joey, or the last day I went to Chiltern High School, the last time my teeth felt like my soldiers instead of a graveyard. The last time I was allowed out by myself to watch Guardians of the Galaxy, the last time I could even take part in a music competition. The last camping trip with my school at the Lake District. Those last times.
Maybe this will be the last time I look in the mirror.
Maybe, I want this to be my last time.
“Zoya?” I hear Nurse Caroline’s voice.
“Yeah,” I say under my breath. I don’t think she hears me.
“Zoya.” Caroline knocks on the door and slowly opens it. “Hey dear, it’s time for your chemo.”
I look back into the mirror, take the last strand of hair left and pluck it out.
Turning back at her, I smile, “Let’s go.”
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