Gwendalynn: The Girl With Cancer

Gwendalynn | 1

"If this doesn't set you straight, I don't know what will."

"Shut up, Kory," I snapped.

"Look, Kyle, this stays on your record and stuff. You can't keep doing this if you want to get into college."

I rolled my eyes and pulled my hair. I should've known he'd bring up school.

"Kory, I'm not a straight-A perfect kid like you. I couldn't get into college even if I wanted to," I muttered.

"Hey! Yeah you can. Just stop doing this stupid graffiti stuff on buildings and bridges!"

I shook my head. He doesn't get it. I like doing graffiti. If I didn't, I'd stop. Besides, it's not like I'm doing that much of any harm. Graffiti makes buildings stand out. It was just an overpass down near the ghetto. It was barely used. Who cares?! It's art. Real art.

"Whatever. I'm tired. Bye." I ended the call before he could say anything else.

After a few seconds, I felt a bit guilty. I should've let him talk to me more. Ever since he's gone off to college, we've only seen him rarely since it's so far from here to New York. I did miss my brother, but all he'd do is nag me about my graffiti, which is a waste of time in my family's eyes. I'm just an artistic person. I draw, paint, and spray paint, obviously.

I was exhausted and tired of listening to my parents insult me more and more downstairs so I went to the restroom and brushed my teeth, then grabbed my iPod and headed off to bed.

...

"Get up!" my dad shouted from outside my bedroom.

I groaned, loud enough for him to hear.

"Now, Kyle!" he shouted again. I sighed heavily and sat up, rubbing my eyes before throwing my covers off of me. As I stood up to change, I brushed my teeth quickly then went to my closet to put on a t-shirt and a hoodie, then jeans and some converse sneakers. I also grabbed my phone before leaving my room.

"Kyle! Are you done?!" my father complained from the first level of the house.

I trudged downstairs, making it known that I was finished with getting up.

"Why are we going so early?" I whined, once I'd gotten to the last step.

"Oh right, you wake up at noon. Eight in the morning is when normal people have breakfast, son," he told me sarcastically.

No they don't.

"Whatever," I muttered.

I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pockets and left the house, my father trailing not far behind me. Once we reached his car, I swiftly got into the passenger side, then he started it up and we left. We didn't speak the whole way to the hospital. Granted, it was only a fifteen minute drive and he was talking on his phone for the majority.

When my dad and I got out of the car after he'd parked it, we slowly made our way to the entrance of Davidson Hospital.

My hands were still stuffed in my pockets while his were at his side. I glanced at him. My dad's face was unreadable and blank. I knew that face all too well. He was disappointed in me. Being a teenage boy, you normally think of your dad as a role model. In this case, my role model is Kory, whose footsteps I haven't exactly followed either. But my dad and I, we're so different. It sucks knowing that my dad doesn't think I'm a good kid.

"Good morning, Mr. Hastings," an older woman greeted my dad with a bored expression once we approached the front desk. Her face was wrinkled and she had some gray streaks in her hair. She wore thin glasses and had pinkish red lipstick on. "Your son is the one for community service, am I correct?" she asked.