(Trigger warnings: Cancer, Depression , Death, Tumors, Surgery mention, Blindness , Mention of genitalia, smoking, cigarettes & John Travolta.)
Depression was the general agenda that late winter of my seventeenth year; my mother had seemingly taken it upon herself to diagnose me with the illness. I presume she thought my loss of vigor, unpredictable eating habits and need of privacy was a symptom of the 'blues disease'. But no, these were in fact side effects of my new habit of contemplating death for unreasonable amounts of time. And this is in turn was caused by the indisputable fact that I was dying.
Cancer, to be honest, is a bloody wretched thing to have. Cancer doesn't care if you dreamt of changing the world. It doesn't even have consciousness; it can't think. It can only do one thing and that's eat. Eat and eat until its host is dead. As much as I tried, as much as I preached and spread the word of triggers and privilege, my dream of a place without offensive and triggering material was shaking rather dramatically… and all because of my wheezy lungs. Or more truthfully the little Thyroid nodules that had developed in my throat.
Either way my mother had forced me into a medical appointment with my regular GP ( Dr. Calliope). She'd supported my mother's idea of my current mental state and adjusted my medication. Despite the obvious waste of the NHS's money, I took the pills with little objection. However she also saw fit I should take some 'counseling'. In other words , rather than bringing social justice to the world via the internet I was to spend a pointless hour each Wednesday sitting in a circle with other sick children discussing our illnesses and the dark thoughts that accompanied them. Now I understand that these classes can be very supportive for other cancer patients and do not wish to offend anyone but I feel my time could have been better spent elsewhere.
To further my point in a rather dark way I never had the chance to properly get know anyone, they 'moved on to a better place' as it were and became just another ever looming reminder that sometime soon I might follow them. This along with a huge list of other things had come to annoy me. It was triggering me. Being here in its self was a horrific injustice enough without me having to watch other kids die of the same disease that will take me. Not to mention the fact that the whole thing was hosted in a church basement. For the sake of this story being told I will withhold my opinions on this matter. However if you wish to enlighten your mind and check your privilege you can read the whole text on my blog ( TheModernSufferer ).
Although my mother did not care to hear my opinions, as it soon became apparent as I sat cross armed in our old ford focus.
"You don't understand , they're not directly triggering me." I explained trying to keep the malice out of my voice. " I refuse to-"
" I don't care if you are morally against attending the session. You are socially obliged to and legally forced as I am your guardian." She replied with equal restraint.
Adjusting the collar on my turtle neck I eyed her calmly before closing my eyes and beginning to state why her recent comments were highly disrespectful. However the first syllable didn't even pass my lips before she was reaching across me to open the passenger door.
"No more arguments. Kankri."
I narrowed my eyes whilst letting out an audible breath.
"I will not be ashamed to be the mother that ungracefully drags their child from the car; Air tank and all."
I should not have given in to the threat; it was completely inexcusable on both our parts. But never the less I exited the car; regrettably without a last tactful closing statement. I did however spitefully make a point of heaving my oxygen tank up onto the pavement.
The 'counseling' session itself, as I said before, was held in the gloomy basement of the local church. With a lift installed and multiple fire exits the place more of a religious underground community hall than a basement. Despite being accommodating I couldn't help but feel as if the whole room was being simply used to tuck us out of site. As if our whole existence was unsettling to others. Although one could contemplate that the site of the young dying is rather triggering, you can't just black list the reality of life. No matter how grim it is.
The short lift ride (because of my breathing apparatus) revealed that the usual ensemble of foreign sickly characters was beginning to form in the small ring of chairs. Each holding, or in some rare cases clutching, plastic cups of squash. I took a glass of refreshment and nodded politely at the girl who was grazing quietly on the selection of meager biscuits. Now there are not many things which I can say I personally enjoy about the sessions but one of these scarce exceptions goes by the name of Mintuna Captor. He is most obviously a victim of the general ignorance that plagues the majority of our society. But I cannot hold it against him, he is an innocent who is simply misinformed and as cancer patients go he can be rather pleasant. For this reason I sat myself in the chair next to him. He ignored me at first, his limited attention span being focused on a small Gameboy in his hands. I cleared my throat.
"Two seconds." He mumbled in his usual lispy almost incomprehensible voice. "I've almos' caught a shiny Weedle."
Longer than two seconds, more approaching the 2 minutes line, he snapped down the lid of his out dated console. With a brace studded smile he turned to me.
"Wathup, Nerd."
"As I have stated before that sort of language is neither appropriate nor appreciated." Was all I could remark at this moment as Patrick had entered the circle.
To give context, Patrick was the group leader. Suffering through prostate cancer at a young age, 'only just dodging death and recovering with nearly a full set of balls' he had some experience of the impact the disease was having on all of us. But he didn't die. He lived to a grand age of 24 and was now doing a master's degree in some sort of trade or another. Which sad to say would not improve his career prospects and most likely leave him with a bank full of debt.
Yet here he was preaching to us that 'we too could be as lucky as him'. I strongly felt that he should check his privilege. Yet he was right in one way. Most of the kids here would get over the cancer , battle through it and come out of on top. Take Mituna for example. He had developed a very rare type of eye cancer. There was no secrecy in the way he babbled about his condition however most of the details where lost as his voice and lisp distorted his already mis-prounced words. From what I had managed to uncode I gathered that his left eye had been removed as a child and he was supposed to be wearing thick set glasses but he had both broken and lost them. He also spoke briefly of a brain tumor which he had also had removed much to my alarm; although it could explain his rather abnormal behavior. I am by no means an expert on psychology or biology but any amount of brain damage could have been the cause of his limited communication skills. In spite of this he would still live.
The group began as usual: Patrick told his heroic story, we in turn gave an abridged version of ours along with our names and current feelings. I say began as usual as about half way through a young boy of thirteen was interrupted rather rudely as a later comer snuck in. I use the term snuck in lightly. It was more of slow swagger and loud screech as he turned his chair backwards and straddled it. He waved apologetically and the group continued.
To be quite frank this stranger had really rubbed my fur the wrong way. Firstly he turns up inconsiderately late, makes a loud interruption during a child's sensitive tale and last but most of all he insists on staring at me. I don't mean vacant glance in my direction, proper full on criticizing gaze. There is an unparalleled amount of rudeness of such an act, especially towards those with some kind of visible disease or disability; such as mine. So I did the most logical thing and glared back.
There is nothing wrong with my cannulas (the tubes which run from my tank up my neck round my ears and into my nose). In fact it frames my face rather nicely. So that greasy haired chisel jawed John Travolta look alike can take his prejudice elsewhere. Despite my insistent grim face the eye contact continued and didn't break until it came to Mintuna's turn to talk. I broke it then in respect for my acquaintance-ship with the boy.
"Hey, My names Mituna. I'm seventeen. Got surgery in a few weeks." He stuck his tongue out and then continued. " Gunna cost me my other eye tho, so I'm not gunna really be seeing much. But I've got Latula and she's gunna look after me. And you know, I recon I'll get a lot of pity s-" Patrick cut him off then most likely trying to shelter the youngest of the group.
"Thank you for sharing Mituna, We wish you luck with your op. All our wishes are with you. Let's hear it for tuna , everyone." Patrick chimed as he clapped the loudest.
Mituna gave a week smile and put his head down, obviously more effected by the soon loss of his sight than he'd made out.
" My Name is Kankri Vantas, I am Seventeen years old also. And I am feeling exasperated." I finished this statement with a fold of my arms and an unapproving flash of my eyes at the stranger. He grinned back and popped an eyebrow.
Patrick brushed over this statement and continued with the meeting. Rebecca was feeling strong today, Marty felt like his parents weren't coping. I listened with mild interest, at least giving them the polite occasional nods, as one should do. The stranger, I noted, didn't; he only looked at them once or twice before continuing his relentless scrutiny of me.
Now I would not be telling the whole truth if I did not admit that part of my defensiveness towards him was caused by his appearance. So as a wholesome truthful person I admit that to me he was rather aesthetically pleasing. He had that sort of traditional good looking face which was enhanced rather than ruined by his fifties greaser get up; were as I was a chubby cheeked not so traditionally good looking twelve year old look alike. Subconsciously I fiddled with my cannulas tilting them slightly back and forth so the flow of air tickled my nose. And then finally it came to his turn and I could match name to face.
"Nice to meet you all, Names Cronus. I'm here for the clutz over there." He nodded to Mituna.
" Knob" The shaggy haired boy replied making an obscene gesture with a laugh. Patrick, rightly so, scolded their language and Cronus continued.
" Unlike you Cats I had a touch of osteosarcoma a year and a half ago and the doc thinks I have the all clear." Insensitive to say the least, maybe Mintuna was right to use such cusses to describe him. " But as I said before I'm here for Tuna. Support and that."
" Lovely. So Cronus as you were last to speak and new, Would you like to share your fears?" Patrick's voice was slow with the high pitched tone that implied sensitivity.
Without hesitation Cronus answered. " Entering the void." His eyes were on Patrick's now. He continued in what I presumed was a mostly fake 50s accent. " Being just one more body in a box."
"So you're scared of Death?"
" No , no you got it all wrong Big Daddy." He replied rather animated. It was here that I decided that indeed his 'Greaser accent' was in fact a get up. Didn't he understand that he was imitating some people's history and was in fact now appropriating their culture. " Death will get me when it does. What I'm scared of is leaving this world without doing anything; just being another face in the crowd. I wanna change the world."
"Don't we all." I interrupted with a little more malice than intended. " No one wants to die forgotten , most people want to be famous. But one day we'll all be gone. All living trace of us. Not even Gandi or Aristotle. Everything will fall into the 'void', Everyone will be just 'another face in the crowd' of history. "
" It's not even that. If I could just do one thing, something that really changed someones life. Even if after a year it's forgotten and no one even knew I would be happy. Like my existence wasn't wasted."
" Are you implying that if you don't make a difference your life is a waste?" I asked my voice beginning to rise in forte. " That just getting through it isn't enough."
Cronus looked at me again now, his eyebrows raised in what I presume was alarm. He licked his lips and gave a chuckle.
" Calm down doll, You got the wrong end of the stick. Sit down and calm your buns." I hadn't realized I'd stood up. I still had a lot to say but I sat down and waited for his explanation.
" This is just what I'm scared of. It only applies to me."
Although not as in depth as I liked I accepted the justification with mild contentment. Any antagonism I still had was forced down as Patrick rounded off the meeting.
"Well thank you Cronus for that…unique opinion. That is all we have time for this week everyone. Thank you so much for coming and I hope to see everyone again next week." Patrick clapped his hands together giving everyone a too wide grin. "Before we leave let us have moment of silence for our late members, may they rest in peace."
I hated this part the most. When Patrick would take out a crumbled piece of paper and unfold it. That paper was , like this session, the ever looming reminder of my death. He would read a list from it, all the names of the kids that didn't beat the odds. The list that I would, one day, be on. I pulled a brave face though. As I always did. The list was not about me but the people on it. It was an apology; sorry you died, Sorry we couldn't help you, sorry that this happened to you, Sorry that we never got to know you , sorry this is the best we can do. A name written in biro on a crumbled bit of old notebook paper.
I left the church basement feeling wretched as I always did. I used the stairs today, despite the physical assertion. I wanted to remind myself that I wasn't on that list yet. Just as I reached the top there was a 'shhhft'sound the lift had stopped at the ground floor. The doors opened and out stepped Cronus followed by a laughing Mituna.
"Speak of the devil." Cronus purred spotting me. He jogged the few steps between us and grinned.
" Although a figure of speech that is highly-"
"Woah , calm down toots. You sure get wind up don't ya." He commented staring at me again before pulling a cigarette packet from his pocket.
" I really hope you don't plan on smoking that, Not all of us want to get-"I began, glaring daggers at him but yet again the handsome but rude greaser spoke over me.
" Get double cancer?" He laughed pretty hard at that, but it was a hollow laugh, almost forced. As if someone had told him that laughing, even fake laughing, increased a person's life span. His laughing trailed off and was replaced with a genuine chuckle." Sorry, bad joke."
" I should say…" I trailed off. He had a nice smile when he wasn't being smug. I decided I would allow some of my time to enlighten Cronus, he seemed as if he had a good core even if it was buried beneath a hundred layers of tool.
There was a groaning sound beside me that needed to explanation. Simultaneously my acquaintance and I spotted where Mintuna had wandered off too. Across the car park Mituna pressed a girl against a wall furiously trying to shove his tongue down her throat. It was rather impressive to say the least; Despite a height difference, of a good few inches, he had managed to reach her mouth through leaning her back and stretching on his tip toes, that and not once had he stopped for air. I'm not against people showing public displays of affection but sometimes even my moral resolve and ethics cannot stop my stomach from turning.
" I'm all for my boy getting freaky with his lady but even I can't stomach the mouthwash festival their having over there." I gave a small chuckle and joined him in turning around to stare at stairs leading to the basement.
Lifting my air tank with two hands I turned it to face the wall as well. We sat in content silence for a while just enjoying the obscure joke we'd just made. It was nice to have company, as intolerable as Cronus could be his presence was filling a void. I guess you don't really realize how big a hole can form from being alone. A cigarette appeared in my line of vision.
"It's a metaphor" It was obvious what he was referring to. " You put it between your teeth but you don't light it. Like standing on a cliff, one small action and you're dead. I guess smoking it isn't the same… but it looks nicer." I gave a small chuckle and he grinned at me giving me that unchanging look.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" I questioned my earlier scepticism returning as my self-consciousness rose. I resisted the urge to fiddle with my cannulas as he stared at me for a moment before replying.
"Cause I recon, considering what I've been through I deserve to be able to look at beautiful people." He winked " And you doll are Beau-ti-ful." His grin was so wide I was sure the cigarette would fall from his mouth. His cigarette however did stay in place and the only thing which fell was my composure.
"So…What's your full name? Kankri, Fantaz?" He asked breaking the all too obvious silence that had ensued.
"Vantas, My second name is Vantas with a V." I replied glad the moment had gone. " No middle names, Just plain Kankri Vantas."
"No middle name too huh? Always thought it was weird that my Dad left mine out." He continued to toy with the cigarette moving it from one side of his mouth to the other. He looked at me from the corner of his eyes and waggled his cigarette up and down. " You should come see my records."
I stared at him with slightly squinted eyes thinking over my response. He continued to wave his cigarette and as the movement became faster I finally replied.
" I really hope that wasn't a euphemism for anything."