Page 38 of Follow My Voice
A few seconds of silence pass. I hear only his breathing on the other end of the line, until he finally speaks: “I want to see you, Klara.”
I bring my free hand to my chest.
“I’m nothing special, Kang.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?” I notice a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Klara—”
“Why don’t you tell me more about what else you did today?” I interrupt before he can say anything else. I know that once he starts asking about me, he won’t stop.
“I don’t have much to say, and I have to go now, the show starts soon. Will you be listening?”
“Always.”
“Okay, we’ll talk afterFollow My Voice, Klara.”
“Okay.”
I hang up and immediately reach for my headphones.
“Good evening, thank you for tuning in and being here with me tonight. I want to welcome you to today’s evening program,Follow My Voice. This is Kang, your friend and companion for this hour.”
I drop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling as I listen to him.
“It was a beautiful sunny day today, but don’t get too excited; apparently an unexpected cold front is moving in and, combined with the chance of thunderstorms, it could bring sleet or even snow. Snow in September? I know, sounds impossible, but those of us familiar with North Carolina’s crazy weather know that anything can happen. In any case, it’s important to always have the essentials at home: drinking water, canned goods, and plenty of blankets, in case of a power outage.”
Kang’s always worrying about others, which leaves me confused about Perla’s tense expression as it flashes in my mind. Why did she warn me against liking him? I’ve been listening to his show for a long time, and we talk on the phone regularly, so I think I know him fairly well. He’s always seemed like a great guy. I’ve never gotten any bad vibes from him. Am I being naive? I don’t think so. Kang has given me no reason to think badly of him, so I won’t let other people’s opinions affect how I see him. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep bugging Perla until she finishes telling me what she started to say about him today.
When Kang’s show ends, I take off my headphones and stare into space for a few minutes, my mind wandering. I wonder if Iwill run into Kang again the next time I go to class. Just thinking about it produces a mixture of excitement and fear.
I stand up and walk over to the mirror. I still look so pale and thin. I’ve had more of an appetite lately, but I’m well below my ideal weight. At least my bones don’t jut out so prominently anymore. My brown eyes have a new sparkle to them that I like. I smooth down my hair and look over at the shelf where my wigs hang. I stare at the pink one and recall Andy’s words:“Pink looks good on you.”Next to the pink wig is the purple one, my neighbor’s favorite.“I love the purple, it’s your color.”
I glance back at my reflection. Today I’m wearing my short black wig, and I remember Andy’s words again.“Black, huh? I liked the pink.”Personally, I feel most comfortable in the black wig because it’s the closest to my natural hair before I lost it completely to chemotherapy. Carefully, I remove the wig and run my hands through my short hair. It’s growing in fast, which makes me happy. I miss the bouncy curls that used to brush my shoulders.
Cancer…
When my mother died, I thought the nightmare of that disease was gone from my life; it had already taken enough from me. I was wrong. My own cancer diagnosis, almost immediately after my mother’s passing, kept me from processing the pain of that great loss. It was an abnormally sunny January afternoon when I felt the hard lump in one of my breasts. I told myself I was being paranoid after my mother’s death, but then Kamila examined me, and I saw the concern in her eyes.
Tests, analyses, hours of waiting; returning to the hospital was terrifying.“We need to do a biopsy,”the doctor said, and his tone conveyed everything. I knew what it was, but that didn’t make it any more bearable when the biopsy came back positive. I had breast cancer.
Chemotherapy, hormone therapy, and an operation to remove both my breasts. The other one was healthy, but a DNA testrevealed that I carry a BRCA1 gene mutation, which makes me more prone to breast and ovarian cancer. My mother and grandmother probably had the same gene, but, fortunately, Kamila does not. There’s a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting it, and I’m glad that my sister is safe, at least.
It was not easy to make the decision to remove the other breast after chemotherapy, but I had to do it. My mental health was already destroyed, so living in constant fear that I might have to face that nightmare all over again was not an option for me.
I take off my shirt and sports bra to examine my breasts. I was never large-chested, but the mastectomy still made me feel like I’d lost my femininity, the proof that I was a woman. I had both breasts reconstructed, but it’s not the same; there are scars. I run my finger over them and the skin is sensitive to the touch.
Fortunately, after almost a year of treatment, I was declared cancer-free, but I still have to go in for checkups every three months. Because this relentless disease could come back, especially in my case, due to the BRCA1 gene mutation I carry.
My depression and anxiety went through the roof during all this; my fear of death intensified. But I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to move forward, without fear.
I look at myself in the mirror and smile sadly.How could I ever let you see me, Kang? I’m not good enough for you. My body is too full of scars and imperfections.
18Hide from Me
THIS IS NOTgoing to work.
It’s been over two weeks of class, and I have realized I can’t go on hiding from Kang every time I come to campus. This constant state of anxiety and fear whenever I turn a corner or pass a classroom is not healthy. My plan to get through my first semester of college wholly unnoticed is not working, either, since my new friend Perla is one of those people who attracts attention wherever she goes. She is the complete opposite of me: loud, cheerful, outgoing, talking to everyone and laughing easily with a cackle that can be heard miles away. The redheaded guy from my class won’t let me pass unnoticed, either. Diego, Perla said his name was. He takes every opportunity to try to talk to me. I have blatantly ignored him because I don’t need another friend who draws so much attention to themselves, and, with his loud voice and huge laugh, everyone notices Diego wherever he goes.
And now, like a cruel joke fate is playing on me, the storm hits earlier than expected and I find myself stranded on campus. There was talk of classes being suspended, but since the storm was notforecast to hit until much later in the evening, the dean kept classes as scheduled.
