I just want new shoes

There used to be a girl in my school called Mallory. She was in the year level above. She was as small as a grade one kid, had flaming red hair and extremely pale skin.

'Friends are never really gone if they are remembered.'

Everyone knew she was sick. Very, very sick. The school had modified the stairs and toilets, put in ramps and even installed lifts for her, just so that she could keep coming to school and attend classes. However, nobody had ever seen her take the lift. She always insisted on taking the stairs.

'Never give up. Never give in.'

I remembered seeing her making her slow progress to her next class between periods. She moved one slow, plodding step at a time, carrying her school bag that looked way too big for her to carry. From a distance, she looked like an odd, upright turtle or a snail carrying a heavy shell. Offering to carry her bag would result in blank refusal. From what I had heard, she'd never made it on time to the next class and refused any help. The teachers gave special exemption for her tardiness.

'Better late than never.'

Once, I had seen her dripping with sweat, carrying her big, heavy school bag with her primary schooler's frame, taking one slow step on the stairs at a time. Every step had looked so difficult and effortful. On every step, she had to pause to catch her breath before tackling the next one. I hadn't understood then, why she might insist on trying to do everything herself. Being able to use the lifts, being pushed in a wheelchair and having someone carry your bag was so much faster and more convenient.

That was then.

'You never know if you can do it until you try.'

Now it was my turn.

I hadn't seen Mallory for over a year. I hadn't even noticed her missing, until just now. Now that today was my last day in school. I looked at all the equipment and modifications that the school had made just for Mallory and realised she was gone. If she was in the hospital, nobody had said anything. If she had died, I didn't want to know.

'Life is your training ground. After life is just a new beginning.'

They say an elderly or very sick person knows when their time on the earth is coming to a close. I believe Mallory knew that. Otherwise she wouldn't have written little encouraging comments and remarks on the walls at all her rest stations and for every step of these stairs. Unless... unless she had left them for me?

'Nobody can move you unless you move first.'

When she had still been in school, I had only just been diagnosed and there were so many treatment options. I still had the world before me. I could still run, jump, climb and sing if I wanted to. I didn't feel the effects of the disease much. So how did she know that I would need these little notes of encouragement? Maybe one of the teachers had told her. Maybe nobody had told her. Maybe this was how she kept herself going.

'Don't be discouraged. Take one step at a time, no matter how small the step.'

I wasn't sure what disease or problem Mallory had. I had never asked. I still refused to accept what disease I had. I refused to give it a name. I hadn't lived my life yet. It wasn't fair.

'Life isn't fair, but it can be what you choose to make it be.'

Everyone had gone ahead of me. They were all in homeroom now. Even the late kids had overtaken me. My younger sister wasn't able to keep me company, and to be honest, she probably needed the break from me. She was like me back then, not quite understanding why and how Mallory could be so slow and so stubborn as to insist on doing everything herself, refusing help.

'Don't look at others. You are your own competition.'

I understood now.

Doing these last little things that I could still do was me holding onto the last shreds of my pride and dignity. Even if I was slow, it was better than giving up the last few things I still had some measure of control over. It was the last scrap of normalcy remaining in my life, so that I could still imagine that I was an ordinary high school student. I could imagine and remember what it was like to be just another student, and have the whole world and all its opportunities before me.

Perhaps it had been the same for Mallory.

'One small step for you could be a giant leap for someone else.'

Looking up at these two flights of stairs, I was now the one taking one sweaty, breathless step at a time. I was now the one needing to take a break on every step to catch my breath. I was so tired that I couldn't raise my head, but I also refused to give up. I would make it to homeroom before the bell rang to signal the end of homeroom and people rushed to their first period classrooms. I had to make it in time today.

Why?

Because today was my last day of school. It was the day I finally had to say goodbye to my classmates and teachers, friends and normal life as a teenager. This time next week, I would be lying in a bed in hospital, fighting for my life and hoping the new treatment would allow me to live just a few months longer, or dying because of the harshness of the regime. If I didn't try the new treatment, I would likely be dead within the next few months anyway. We had tried everything, gone everywhere and nothing had helped. Nothing had really slowed down the rate of my body's deterioration at the hands of this disease. And now, I was going to go and die.

'The battle is lost if you give up before the fight.'

I hadn't lived yet and it was time to go. I hadn't found a boyfriend or had my first kiss. Hadn't danced with a crush or tried my first sip of alcohol. I hadn't even bought a new pair of shoes since I started highschool. I didn't want to tell my parents I needed new shoes and that I'd long grown out of these ones that pinched at my toes. All the family's money had been spent and used up on me. All that money wasted, because it couldn't stop me from dying. I'd had my eye on a new pair of shoes in the shoe shop, but just couldn't bring myself to ask for it... because face it. Why would a person who's about to die need new shoes? There'd be no point. There was no point.

'If anything be true, honest, just, pure, lovely or of good report; if there be any virtue or any praise, think on these things.'

A warm wind from an open door or window somewhere breezed up through the stairwell, carrying with it the scent of spring blossoms. I stopped for a moment to breathe it in. The warm caress. The waking liveliness of spring. Winter was over.

'Seasons change. After the cold dark of winter, comes spring and new hope.'

It reminded me of the walk down the street to school earlier this morning. For some inexplicable reason, the school bus had broken down at the intersection corner at the top of the street before it could turn. Everyone on the school bus just got off the bus, walked the rest of the way to school and didn't need to be late.

Not me.

I had needed to spend half an hour walking to school, when other people had needed less than fifteen minutes. My younger sister had patiently kept me company until we had entered the school gate. I had even taken a moment to breathe in the fresh air, take in the small sights of beauty inherent to this time of the year and feel the sun on my skin. Lying down in the sun had been nice for that short moment before I got dragged upright again. And then my sister had run off so that she could make it to her homeroom before the bell rang. I, on the other hand, was already tired.

'Rely on people the amount they're due, but don't expect them to see you through.'

Pausing to sit on a bench in the yard, I had taken the time to catch my breath, regather my strength and pluck up the courage to resume my slow journey to the classroom. Due to already expending so much energy just to get to the school, I was even slower than usual.

'Slow and steady wins the race.'

It didn't matter if I was late today. What mattered was how I was going to say goodbye to my friends and teachers, to my school and life. How was I going to tell them 'sayonara' - the last farewell, and that I might never see them again? Was it possible to do it in a way that wouldn't ruin their day?

'Having courage and being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared.'

There was one step on the difficult staircase left.

'Mallory, you can do this. Don't think. Just boldly go forth and get it done.'

Under Mallory's note to herself, I wrote one of my own.

'Buck up, Senna. You can do this. Don't give up.'

Finally, I made it to homeroom. My homeroom teacher, Mrs Fox, nodded at me in acknowledgement, while she announced to the class that there were going to be spot checks on people's school uniforms today, and that people taking part in this year's madrigal should fill in a form and hand it in to Mr Quaver or put it in the music department's mailbox. On one side of the room, the girls were fussing over how to decorate the cake for Kyrin, one of the most popular and talented girls in our year level. Kyrin was one of those girls who was friends with everyone in the year level.

"Senna, come over here," Tracie waved me over and pointed at the leftover fondant icing. "We borrowed the food tech kitchen to bake this cake yesterday and brought the fondant today to decorate it this morning. We're going to surprise Kyrin at lunch. Mrs Fox said she'd help us keep it in the fridge in case it gets too hot. Here, put on these gloves and make a little decoration so that we can say the cake is from you as well."

While I made a little bowtie with the fondant icing, keeping with the theme, I glanced over to see the boys trading their cards from some card game. Mrs Fox continued reading out announcements.

"A reminder to all students and teachers that smoking and vaping is banned. Anyone caught smoking or vaping in the toilets or anywhere on the school grounds will be sent straight to the principal."

Did Mrs Fox know that today was my last day at school? Would she be able to tell the class for me?

"There will be a fire evacuation drill today. All students are reminded not to panic when the alarm goes off. Leave everything behind and go immediately to your designated evacuation meeting area. Listen to the instructions of your fire wardens with the red hats and evacuate in an orderly manner."

I caught Mrs Fox's eyes when she glanced up from the paper. She smiled and continued reading.

"All overdue library books will now incur a fine of five dollars a day. Ensure you return your borrowed books in a timely manner. Also, I have something to do before first period, so I have to rush off when the bell rings. If anyone needs to talk to me, please do it now."

Andrew, threw down his trading cards on the other side of the room and hurried over to talk to Mrs Fox. Mrs Fox saw me watching, but only nodded at me again.

I stuck my little bow decoration onto the cake and tried to tell Tracie that today was my last day. Unfortunately, she was too busy talking with the other girls about Kyrin's latest events.

"Today - today's my last day of school," I said, but a roaring cheer from the boys drowned my voice out. Perhaps my voice was too soft and small. "I wanted to say goodbye to you and everyone."

Tracie turned away to the girl sitting on the other side of her.

"Have you seen Kyrin's painting? The one she did for her project?" Tracie gushed.

"Hey, Senna," Risa patted me on the shoulder with a look of jealousy, "are you going on a holiday? You're so lucky, getting to finish school early. We still have two weeks before the term ends."

Say what?

Question marks grew on my head and I blinked. I hadn't said anything about holidays or anything like that. Had she heard wrong?

Before I could open my mouth to correct her, she had waved an arm at Mrs Fox who had just finished talking to Andrew.

"Mrs Fox, Mrs Fox," Risa called, "What do you think of our cake decorating?"

"I think," Mrs Fox said, walking over and then looking at the cake for a moment, "that it's a bit too busy. There's too much going on. Is there a reason you all decorated the cake like this?"

Mrs Fox tactfully managed to avoid saying that the decorations on the cake were downright hideous and barely made sense. Even the colours clashed. Whose bright and stupid idea had it been to decorate the cake in this garish way for the year level's favourite? Wouldn't she have the urge to throw the cake out the window in fright? If I were Kyrin and received this cake, that was exactly what I might do. Or be tempted to do.

"We wanted everyone to take part in the decorating so that we could say that the cake was from all of us," Risa and her friends fidgeted, now looking at the cake with a more critical eye.

"I suggest that you have one or two people design the cake and everyone else helps to decorate the cake according to that design without overdoing it," Mrs Fox suggested. Her eyes caught mine and she gave me a slight nod as if to say she understood that I wanted to talk to her. "Keep the nicer decorations, like this little bow," Mrs Fox pointed at the neat bowtie I had pinched out of fondant.

"Oh," Risa nodded.

The girls around her nodded as well, looking all like little pecking chicks. They crowded together to discuss, leaving me out. Getting left out didn't matter. My eyes were on my teacher, trying hard to communicate my need to talk with her since I couldn't seem to get a word in.

Mrs Fox made eye contact with me again, but was waylaid by another of my classmates before she could take more than a step toward me. Before she was done there, another classmate was waiting to talk to her. During that conversation, the bell rang.

Everyone grabbed their things and rushed off, including Mrs Fox.

"I'll come talk to you later," Mrs Fox said, sweeping past me. "I'll find you before you need to leave school for the day. I'm sorry. I really have to go."

I was left alone in the classroom. After washing my hands, I began the long journey from the side wing where my homeroom was to the centre of the school. It wasn't that far in reality, but given my speed and how quickly I ran out of breath, it was still long after the first period bell had rung before I arrived at my destination - a changing room behind the theatre.

Indira, a girl from a few year levels below had recently been diagnosed with the same disease as me. She was still in the very early stages with many options for treatment available to her. If she was lucky, her next surgery and round of therapy would either get rid of the problem or send it into remission. Today, the school had invited her parents to come and give a talk to her year level about the disease. I, as the more experienced one, had been asked to go to the theatre where the talk was happening in order to be Indira's peer support.

Indira was still relatively normal. She could still do everything someone her age should be able to do. The only problems she had were the occasional episodes of severe sickness and hospitalisation. When she saw me enter the room where she was waiting with her parents, she looked aside and talked to her father instead. She didn't want to look at me.

If I were her, I would probably do the same. Who wanted to look and see their future self if they looked as awful as I did? I readjusted the orange beanie on my head, put down my bag and wiped my sweat. My school dress hung on me oddly now. I had gotten so skinny that I no longer fitted into it properly. It hung on me like a tent. The back of the dress was also soaked in sweat. My face was thin and sallow.

I was indeed very ugly. Not that it mattered whether I was pretty or not anymore. Trying to keep living was more important.

Indira's mother handed me a cup of water with a sad look in her eyes. Her face was lined with more wrinkles than someone her age should have and there were bags under her eyes. She looked extremely tired, stressed and somewhat depressed.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm Senna. Nice to meet you, Indira's Mum."

"Likewise. Lovely to meet you, Senna," Indira's mother said. The corner of her lips twitched nervously as if she wanted to say or ask something but couldn't decide whether she should or not.

Indira and her parents were called over to give their talk in the theatre hall, while I listened half-heartedly from backstage. I had gotten good at waiting. I moved so slowly and everything took so much time that I had learned a lot about taking things as they came and being patient. Waiting wasn't too bad if you had hope. Once all hope was gone, that was when everything really went downhill. Down a very steep and slippery hill that was difficult to climb back up.

Indira still had hope. She still had so many options before her. From what I had heard, she might live and recover. Unlike me, who had a particularly aggressive form of the disease and was about to die.

I wasn't scared of dying. I was kind of resigned to it now, but that didn't mean I was happy about it. It was going to happen sooner or later and I may as well face it calmly. After all, we were giving a last ditch attempt by trying out this harsh new treatment that would make it or break it. Inwardly, although I had never told my family, I knew I likely wasn't going to make it. My body couldn't withstand a lot of things now, but my parents refused to give up. They told me not to be so pessimistic and to give it a try. Maybe a miracle would happen. Maybe I would survive.

If I did survive the treatment, I'd likely not recover from the side effects of it for a very long time. I'd barely survived the last treatment and it had taken me months to just be able to stand and walk again. My lungs had been damaged, which was why I had to force myself to keep walking. Once I stopped, I might never be able to get up and walk again.

Indira returned to the room with her mother who was holding back tears, while Indira's father bravely continued the talk. Sitting at a table and looking blankly out the window, Indira had withdrawn into her own world. Seeing that her mother needed some comfort, I went over to give her a hug. In return, I was surprised by a crushing hug in response.

It was the hug of the desperate.

I was quite familiar with it. I just hugged the woman and allowed myself to be hugged for a long moment.

"You're doing a good job," I whispered. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault. You just need to let go and love freely. You've got this."

They were generic words of encouragement but they were the same sorts of words I had heard the doctors and nurses give my parents when they were on the verge of breakdown. I was just passing them on.

Just thinking of my hardworking parents and how much I loved them made my eyes well up. With this disease in my body, I had essentially ruined their lives. They had done so much for me, but there was so little that I could give in return. There was very little I could do for them besides try to think for them and make life easier for them.

I had been doing my best to stay calm and act as if I had accepted everything, so as not to make things harder for them. Add to that the fact that I had been often told that mood swings and emotional outbursts could accelerate the disease and knock me out. I had buried my tears and smiled for my parents, telling them not to worry and that I hadn't given up.

What I had never told them was how scared I actually was of this upcoming treatment. I wasn't afraid of the treatment itself or of my imminent death. No. I was afraid for them. Afraid that if this treatment failed, that they might completely break down and fall apart. Then my increasingly rebellious younger sister would have no one to give her the attention she needed and help her stay on track. I was afraid of what my death might do to our family.

I just wanted to live and finish school. Was that so hard? Was this wish too much? I just wanted a new pair of shoes so that this pair wouldn't keep pinching my toes. Was this also too much?

In the midst of the hug, I couldn't help trembling. All the emotions I had supressed for so long under a façade of calm were leaking. My longing and fears were mixed together.

It was my last day, but I had failed to find the courage to farewell my teacher or classmates. I wouldn't have the chance to really talk to anyone anymore today, because due to fatigue, I finished school early these days. If I didn't say goodbye today, I would regret it when I was about to die in my future hospital bed and I didn't want to leave any loose ends untied before I left the world for good. It was best for everyone if we all had some closure on my leaving.

Indira's mother must have felt me trembling and she held me out at arm's length.

"Why are you crying?" she asked me. "Don't cry. If you cry, I'll start crying again. And then I won't be able to stop crying. Don't cry, good girl. Don't cry."

I tried, but it was as if a dam had broken loose. Emotions swept through me like a flood, leaving me reeling. All my walls were crumbling. My detached calm had been torn away.

Indira's mother hadn't been the only one who needed the hug. I had too.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Indira dropped a box of tissues at the table beside us and gave me a look that I couldn't decipher. Heaving a deep sigh, she sat back on her chair, staring at her twiddling thumbs in her lap.

"What's wrong, Senna?" Indira's mother asked. "Tell me. I'm listening."

That did it.

There was no holding back the tide now.

Nobody had given me the time lately. Everyone was busy with their own things. And now, here was somebody saying that they were listening. My heart ached. There was someone who actually wanted to listen to me and hear what I said.

All my thoughts were blurted out in a tight voice, while still trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

"It's my last day of school," I blurted out. "I'll probably never be able to come back again. We've tried everything but nothing has worked. Next week, were going to try one last treatment, but it's very hard on the body. I might not survive it. And," I broke down, "I'm scared. I'm so scared. I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to my homeroom teacher and classmates. I just want to finish school and buy a new pair of shoes. Why's that so hard? What will my parents do? How do I say goodbye to everyone when I don't want to leave? I haven't even lived yet."

I hadn't wanted to breakdown in school and make a fuss today. But I couldn't help it.

I really just wanted a new pair of shoes. These old ones hurt.