Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (21 page)

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Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II
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Page 57
Donna and Claudia
Donna is my sister, and I always thought of her as beautiful. Our father called her his princess. When Donna entered high school, with her long blond hair and incredible blue eyes, she caught the attention of the boys. There were the usual crushes and school dances, phone calls and giggles, and hours of combing and brushing her hair to make it glow. She had eye shadow to match the perfect blue of her eyes. Our parents were protective of us, and my father in particular kept close watch over the boys she dated.
One Saturday in April, three weeks before Donna's sixteenth birthday, a boy called and asked her to go to an amusement park. It was in the next state, about twenty miles away. They would be going with four other friends. Our parents' first answer was a firm no, but Donna eventually wore them down. On her way out the door, they told her to be home by eleven, no later.
It was a great night! The roller coasters were fast, the games were fun and the food was good. Time flew by. Finally one of them realized it was already 10:45 P.M. Being young and slightly afraid of our father, the boy who was

 

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driving decided he could make it home in fifteen minutes. It never occurred to any of them to call and ask if they could be late.
Speeding down the highway, the driver noticed the exit too late. He tried to make it anyway. The car ripped out nine metal guardrails and flipped over three times before it came to a stop on its roof. Someone pulled Donna from the car, and she crawled over to check on her friends. There was blood everywhere. As she pulled her hair back from her eyes so she could see better, her hand slipped underneath her scalp.
The blood was coming from her. Practically the entire top of Donna's head had been cut off, held on by just a few inches of scalp.
When the police cruiser arrived to rush Donna to a nearby hospital, an officer sat with her, holding her scalp in place. Donna asked him if she was going to die. He told her he didn't know.
At home, I was watching television when a creepy feeling went through me, and I thought about Donna. A few minutes went by, and the telephone rang. Mom answered it. She made a groaning noise and fell to the floor, calling for my father. They rushed out the door, telling my sister Teri and me that Donna had been in a car accident, and that they had to go to the hospital to get her. Teri and I stayed up for hours waiting for them. We changed the sheets on Donna's bed and waited. Somewhere around four o'clock in the morning, we pulled the sofa bed out and fell asleep together.
Mom and Dad were not prepared for what they saw at the hospital. The doctors had to wait until our parents arrived to stitch up Donna's head. They didn't expect her to survive the night.
At 7:00 A.M., my parents returned home. Teri was still sleeping. Mom went straight to her bedroom and Dad

 

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went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He had a white plastic garbage bag between his legs and was opening it up when I sat down at the table with him. I asked him how Donna was and he told me that the doctors didn't think she was going to make it. As I struggled to think about that, he started pulling her clothes out of the bag. They were soaked with blood and blond hair.
Some of the hair had Donna's scalp attached to it. Every piece of clothing she had worn that night was soaked with blood. I can't remember thinking anything. All I did was stare at the clothes. When Teri woke up, I showed them to her. I'm sure it was an awful thing to do, but I was in such shock that it was all I could think of.
At the hospital later that morning, Teri and I had to wait outside for a long time before we could see Donna. It was an old hospital and it smelled old, and Teri and I were afraid of it. Finally we were allowed in to see our sister. Her head was wrapped in white gauze that was stained with blood. Her face was swollen, which I couldn't understand because she had lost so much blood. I thought she would look smaller. She reached up and touched my long brown hair and started to cry.
The next day, I called a neighbor who was a hairdresser and asked her to cut my hair. It's a funny thingI loved my long brown hair and it curled just right, but I never, ever missed it or wanted it back. All I wanted was for Donna to come home and sleep in the clean sheets that Teri and I had put on her bed.
Donna was in the hospital for two weeks. Many of her friends went to see her, especially Claudia, who was there a lot. Mom and Dad never liked Claudiamaybe because she seemed "fast," maybe because she spoke her mind; I don't really know. They just didn't like her being around.
Donna came home with the entire top half of her head shaved. She had hundreds of stitches, some of which

 

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came across her forehead and between her left eye and eyebrow. For a while she wore a gauze cap. Eventually she had our hairdresser neighbor cut the rest of her hair. It had been so soaked and matted with blood that she couldn't get it out. The hairdresser was such a kind person. She found Donna a human hair wig that perfectly matched her hair.
Donna celebrated her sixteenth birthday and went back to school. I don't know where rotten people come from, and I don't know why they exist, but they do. There was a very loud-mouthed, self-centered girl in some of Donna's classes who took great pleasure in tormenting my sister. She would sit behind her and pull slightly on Donna's wig. She'd say very quietly, "Hey, Wiggy, let's see your scars." Then she'd laugh.
Donna never said anything to anybody about her tormentor until the day she finally told Claudia. Claudia was in most of Donna's classes, and from then on kept a close eye on my sister. Whenever that girl got close to Donna, Claudia would try and be there. There was something about Claudia that was intimidating, even to the worst kids in school. No one messed with her. Unfortunately, though, Claudia wasn't always around, and the teasing and name-calling continued.
One Friday night, Claudia called and asked Donna to come spend the night at her house. My parents didn't want Donna to gonot just because they didn't like Claudia, but because they had become so protective of Donna. In the end, they knew they had to let her go, even though they probably spent the whole night worrying.
Claudia had something special waiting for my sister. She knew how awful Donna felt about her hair, so Claudia had shaved off her own beautiful long brown hair. The next day, she took Donna wig shopping for identical blond and brown wigs. When they went to school

 

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that Monday, Claudia was ready for the teasers. In a vocabulary not allowed inside school walls, she set them straight so that anyone ready to tease my sister knew they would have to mess with Claudia. It didn't take long for the message to get through.
Donna and Claudia wore their wigs for over a year, until they felt their hair had grown out enough to take them off. Only when Donna was ready did they go to school without them. By then, she had developed a stronger self-confidence and acceptance.
My sister graduated from high school. She is married and has two great kids. Twenty-eight years later, she is still friends with Claudia.
Carol Gallivan

 

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A Friend for Life
I have had the privilege through my career to meet many amazing people, people who have been my idols, my crushes and my inspirations. But the greatest honor came last fall when I had the chance to meet a fourteen-year-old girl named Nicole.
I had been contacted by the Children's Wish Foundation of Canada, an organization that tries to make the dreams of young people suffering from potentially terminal illnesses come true. Nicole had been battling cancer for over two years, and her request to the Foundation had been a simple one: She asked if she could meet me. The foundation granted her wish by flying her here to Los Angeles, and arranging for us to spend the day at Universal Studios.
It was impossible not to like Nicole from the very first moment I met her. Her outgoing personality and incredible energy swept me up and immediately boosted my energy level. Her up-front attitude about dealing with her disease amazed me. When I mentioned during our initial meeting that I was very sorry that she should have to go through something so difficult, she thanked me, but

 

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replied that she did not want me to feel badshe wasn't looking for anyone to feel sorry for her. A strength I had never known before shone in her eyes.
As our day went on, I realized how true it was. She didn't want sympathy, she just wanted to hang out and do things that friends do together. We ate junk food and gossiped about guys. The more we giggled over silly things, the more our newfound friendship grew, and I began to realize that I was just as lucky as she was to have this opportunity because I had made this incredible frienda friend who was a brave, courageous and extraordinary person. I knew that my time with Nicole would affect me forever.
I will never forget the day I spent with Nicole at Universal Studios. We continued to be good friends after Nicole returned home to Canada, and spoke frequently on the phone. About two months ago, I received word from Nicole's father that she had passed away.
The devastation and sadness I feel about Nicole's death are soothed by my strong belief that Nicole is now my Guardian Angel. I know that no matter where she is, or where I go, she will be with me in spirit. And when I think about that first day we met, I can't help but see the irony in it. What began as one person's wish being fulfilled ended as an experience shared and loved by two people that words can never fully describe. Nicole will always remain in my life, as my inspiration, and as my friend.
Jennifer Love Hewitt

 

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Speechless
True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides its evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island. . . . to find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing.
Baltasar Gracian
I glance in my cousin Hope's direction as we sit on the hill.
We sit outside on the same exact spot every day; it's become our tradition. She eats her turkey on white while I nibble at a Sun Chip. It's her senior year and all I can think is,
Who am I going to find to sit out on the hill with me next year?
I like it this way, not having to say anything. She hands me half her sandwich, knowing I'll want it.
''Did you call your mom yet?" she asks, cutting through the silence. "Do they know what it is?" She bites her lip, not looking at me. I don't know what to say. Her mom had just gone into the hospital where my mom is an R.N. My mom hears everything. The second the doctors know it, so does she, and in this case, so did I.
Do I tell her the truth? Yes, they said that your mom has a malignant tumor. They said she's

 

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dying
. It echoes in my mind; my mouth feels numb.
"Well," I find the courage to say, "they did find something. It's a tumor on her ovaries. They think its . . .  malignant."
"Oh," she mumbles, wiping the backs of her legs as she stands waiting for the bell. She pulls me to my feet and acts like what I've just said doesn't bother her. But she can't hide it. We both can feel it there like a shadow looming between us.
"I called her before third hour," I offer. She glances around me, waiting for the bell. I can see her hand moving toward the lighter in her pocket.
"Ovarian cancer, huh?" she says, looking at me. "That might not be too bad." She stares me straight in the eyes, waiting for my reassurance. But we both know what "ovarian cancer" means: It means death. We know the factsthat most women die as it spreads to vital organs. And yet she stands there, waiting for me to answer her, to tell her that it's not so bad.
"I don't know. Just because it can spread, doesn't mean it will. She's strong; she'll make it through this." I can't look at her. The bell rings, sending us into a crowd of people, pulling in all directions.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
We head toward Chicago and the hospital. Her mom went into surgery today to remove the tumor. They're going to tell us how bad it is.
The car feels heavy. An invisible barrier pushes against our chests. No one says anything while the radio plays stupid, happy songs. "YMCA" comes on the oldies station and she savagely pushes the preset buttons on the radio. "Why can't they play anything good?"she mutters, as she leaves it on the jazz station. The car is still weighted as we pull into the parking lot.
Aunt Catherine's room is nice, not drab like other

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