Chapter 2

We arrive at the little yellow house. That is what I call my aunt's home. It is not mine and it never will be.

We didn't talk the whole way home from the doctor's office, except when I told her to turn down the music. I never thought that my Aunt Sandra, the only stable person in my life, could have something like cancer. It just doesn't seem fair. Why couldn't my dad have gotten it? He is dead anyway, for all I know. He hasn't spoken to me since Christmas of 2003, the day he called from a bar in Nevada and said he was never coming back. It is October of 2011 now. Not a letter, not an email, nothing. One summer, when I was about 12, I had tried to track him down. I got as far as the last hotel he had stayed in, then-

Nothing.

It was like he disappeared, or was a ghost or some crazy story like that. My mom had yelled at me when she saw the phone and internet bills. She accidentally hit the coffee table that I was standing in front of with her fist, that night, and had to go to the hospital. It was broken in three different places. When the doctor asked what she had done to make this happen, she weaved a threadbare tale about slamming it in her car door.

I had thought this was funny, since she couldn't even shut her own door that night, she was so drunk. I had driven her to the hospital, and had to half-carry her through the sliding doors.

"Dinner in 10," my aunt says nonchalantly as we walk into the house. I say nothing, but climb upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me. I'm not very conversational today, partly because of the cancer. And partly-no, mostly-because I am starting my junior year of high school tomorrow.

The End

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