Calla didn't know what had happened. It had all been a blur. The diagnosis, the trips to the doctor's office, the crying, the words she wasn't supposed to even know as a first grader. Osteosarcoma. Cancer in the bones.
She sat on the lone swing in the hospital playground and even though she couldn't see, she knew she was alone. That night, at home, had been terrifying. Her own parents, crying, yelling, hopeless, heartbroken.
"I don't know what to do!" her father had sobbed, slamming his fist on the table. Her other father had just sat down on the sofa, staring blankly into space, as if, why her? Why did she have to be blind? Why did she have to have cancer? Why did she have to have so much pain?
Tied around Calla's wrist, was a ribbon. Her dad had told her it was red. A red ribbon. She'd had it ever since she'd been born, and wherever you saw Calla, you could be sure to see her red ribbon as well.
Fast forward to the weekend, when the last bit of hope her dads had was crushed. The cancer had spread to the lungs. Treatment was possible, but it would probably be a waste of time.
Calla had stayed up that night, working on her to-do list. Yeah, pretty basic, but what else could she do? Wait? No, she would leave a memory, she wouldn't be someone who lost the battle, she wouldn't be someone who's whole life was cancer. She presented it to her fathers the next day.
"Of course, Calla, we'll do whatever we can." he'd rubbed her arm, smiling at the red ribbon.
Her other dad had piped in, "You're a survivor Calla, you're going to make it through this, I promise."
I promise. She had faith in those words. Tugging at the red ribbon, she ran back to her room, happy that her request had been accepted. It was strange, the happiness, something she hadn't felt in a long time.
It reminded her of her ribbon. When things were happier and shinier and she was wrapped up with a neat tidy bow, the outside of the her being so fooling, like a present, until one day the ribbon unraveled and everything inside was spilling out, like a reverse black hole. But her ribbon made Calla happy. And she loved it.
Her fathers did everything they could to make Calla's to-do list come true, sending calls to the Make-A-Wish foundation, booking tickets, trying to arrange meetings, planning the best birthday party ever.
Calla died before any of that could happen. The black hole had spewed out too much, contaminating the present that was holding it. Her to-do list was thrown away, everything thrown away. Her house, moved out of, and a scar left in her dads hearts.
The funeral had been unremarkable, a few words from those who thought they knew her, the child with the big white eyes and thin frame. But no one did. They didn't know her, really. The ideas she kept in her head, and the shiny, red ribbon that kept them all from going inside of her head.
Her grave was small, a few words detailing her importance, her date of birth to her death. But, around the grave, was her shiny, red ribbon, tied neatly, as if she had never left. As if the black hole had never been open. As if the last few weeks of Calla's life had never been painful and horrible and so bad that she had wished to die early.
Calla's To-Do List:
- Get my eyesight back
- Go to Japan and see my birth mother
- Meet Loki
- Survive cancer
- Live until 1,000 years old
