Sheltered—that’s what I am. When I look in the mirror, which is rarely an activity I enjoy, I see a pale boy who represents so little. There is nothing with which to define myself. My parents believe I am an inspiration. Something about continuing to fight this cursed disease that plagues me. But inspirations don’t sit around the house all day, scared to go out and unwilling to come back in. My freedom is a short chain. 

When you stay in the house all day, you notice things about it. The places you never go are forgotten. They fade into the recesses of memory. The places you do go become haunted; they embrace you with imprisoning comfort, keeping you safe and suffocated. 

This morning, I am almost too lethargic to crack open my eyes. Through my blinds, weak sunlight illuminates the drifting dust particles in the room. The rest of the small, dingy room remains in shadow. I stare blankly at the dresser at the foot of my bed, which seems to stare straight back at me, unmoving. To my right, homework is strewn atop my desk beside the gloomy little lamp. A black swivel chair is parked at the workspace with my old jacket hanging off it. I breathe in, breathe out, and then close my eyes. For a moment, I’d hoped this reality had only been a nightmare, but my reality has not changed. 

Quiet rapping at my door rouses me. This time, I don’t even bother to open my eyes. The rapping repeats a few more times. Then I hear the squeak of my doorknob and the groan of the rusty door hinges as it opens. 

“Andrew? Are you awake?”  

It's my mom. She takes a few steps into the room and hesitates. “Andrew? It’s past noon.” 

“I don’t want to get up,” I mumble. 

“Honey, I know you’re tired, but staying in bed all day won’t make you feel better.” 

I roll over and open my eyes to squint at her. “What day is it?” 

She smiles slightly. “Saturday. We’ve got a surprise planned for you this weekend, remember?” 

I roll the other way, putting my back to her. “I’ll just be fifteen minutes.” 

She hesitates again. My parents, beyond not knowing what to do with me, also no longer know how to address me. They think that if they are too harsh with their words, I’ll fall over and shatter.  

“Then I’ll see you downstairs.” Another pause. “Be careful, Andrew.”

When I finally go downstairs, I’m greeted by my family. They're seated for breakfast, and the smell of bacon and pancakes wafts toward me. My mom quickly puts down her cup of coffee, and her face lights up when she sees me. She beckons to the chair next to her. 

On her other side is an empty chair with Dad’s coffee cup in front of it. He is at the stove, sliding a fluffy pancake onto the rapidly growing stack. He lowers his spatula and winks at me, then brings the tower of pancakes to the table. Christian, my older brother by two years, is seated closest to me. By the look of his syrup-drowned plate, he has already eaten a small mountain of pancakes. I frown at everyone’s bright expressions and take a seat, ignoring the elbow Christian nudges me with. 

“Hey, Andy, what’s up?” he asks. 

I pick up my fork and glare at him. “Don’t call me that.” 

Christian grins. “Fine, Andrew. Are you excited for today?” 

I spear a bite of pancake and contemplate it. I used to love pancakes. Now, I set it down and glare at my brother. “What’s today?” 

“You’ll see,” he says excitedly.  

His good mood makes me more irritated, and I quickly push his comment out of my thoughts. I slide past breakfast with as little eating as possible and gulp down some water before trudging back toward my room. 

“Andrew, wait!” Mom calls. 

I turn back and glance at her, annoyed. “Yes?” 

“We have a surprise for you.” 

“So I’ve heard,” I mutter. "What is it?” 

“We’ve decided you need to get out of town for a bit,” Dad butts in, smiling at me. “Go pack a bag for two nights. We’ll be loading the car.”  

“Wh—what . . .” I stutter. “But I don’t . . . I don’t want to.” 

“You need some fresh air!” Mom pipes up. 

“Are we . . . leaving right now?” I continue. I don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified. “Where are we going?” 

Mom beams at me. “We want to be on the road in an hour. You’ll enjoy it where we’re going, I promise. It’s a surprise. You’ll be able to get back outside! You never leave the house anymore.” 

I make a face at her. “Oh? I thought I just wasn’t allowed.” 

Mom winces. “Honey, of course not.” She hesitates for a moment, knowing that I must be as anxious about my own health as she is. “Don’t worry about the trip being too taxing. I’ve checked with Dr. Martin and made arrangements with the local hospital in case you don’t feel well once we head out. You don’t need to worry about a thing.” 

I nod slowly. “I don’t have a choice about this, do I?” 

Christian comes up behind me and nudges me toward my room. “Nope, you don’t! Get ready, let’s go! It’s time for you to see a little bit of the world.”

I can’t decide whether to be annoyed or excited as we pull out of the driveway. So I decide on the grey area in between: disinterested. My nonchalance soon turns into boredom, which quickly allows the familiar dark cloud to settle over me again. To counter the feeling, I stuff in my earbuds to drown out the world. Ignoring people is one thing I am good at, and fifteen years of experience helps. 

I wonder if this trip is supposed to help me be more social. Half of me hopes not, and the other half admits I kind of need some help—and some friends. I notice my mom shooting me glances in the rearview mirror. They’re talking about the destination. I wedge one earbud out of my ear and gaze out the window. 

“It’ll be nice and quiet for him,” Mom is saying. “Something new and peaceful. Maybe he’ll even want to come back.” 

“New?” Dad sighs. “I’m worried, Jeannette. How do you know the hotel won’t be just like the house for him? He won’t have anyone new to talk to.” 

No people, I think to myself. I feel relief accompanied by just a pinch of regret. 

“We’ll get him out of his room,” Mom says. “What about sightseeing? There are so many beautiful landmarks in the wilderness.” 

“Sightseeing? We don’t want to tire him out.” 

“Just a little! We’ll stay close to the car and far from the mountain. Nothing strenuous.” 

My heart falls. Of course they would never let me go climbing. It’s too risky. I shove my earbud back in with frustration and let the music drown out my thoughts. 

“We’re here!” Christian chirps, tugging the cord away from my face. I jerk away from him and glare as he unplugs my music. “Take a look, Andrew!” 

The gravel parking lot we're in faces what must be a hotel. It’s a large, cozy looking rendition of a cottage one would expect to find in a fairy tale. Small, sleepy windows peer at me from the upper floor. The entire establishment is a warm brown, with ivy creeping up every wall. Behind it, there’s a sweep of forest that rolls out from a towering mountain. 

I groan and lean back into my seat. Nothing here is allowed for me. I can’t even go hiking. I’m sure I’d trip, fall, and die. It’s all I’ve been hearing, ever since I could understand that I was in an extremely weak condition. They all try to protect me, as if by staying safe I'll be rewarded with another year of life. 

“Let’s go!” Christian roars in my ear. 

I push him away and slide out of the car. With a sigh, I head into the resort’s restaurant for a measly lunch laden with pills—the usual. 

I feel a tap on my shoulder before I’m even done eating, and I don’t have the energy to be annoyed. I never have an appetite anyway, not since I’ve been diagnosed. All food has lost its flavor. I turn around to see my brother with a devilish smile on his face. 

“C’mon, let’s go unpack,” he suggests.  

I shrug and get up, too miserable to care. To pack or not to pack? I had asked myself a dozen times before leaving, only to grab a heap of clothes and dump them into the suitcase a minute later. I’d been so distracted wondering if Hamlet had questioned his clothing choices before being sent off to England that I’m sure I didn’t even remember to bring underwear. 

“Don’t let him lift anything too heavy,” Mom says to Christian. Her reminder makes me feel like throwing something. If I can’t lift anything heavier than a toothbrush, what are they keeping me alive for? I decide that “To be, or not to be” is, in fact, the question. I get up and follow my brother.