Taking a sip of my tea, I braced myself for a lengthy conversation. I hoped Makayla would stay awake and attentive, as she was about to become the sole confidante of an extraordinary chapter in my life.

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I heard the noise, extremely clear, outside my window. It was Thursday, and like the proud followers of a church, they came out to play ball.

I lay in bed, with no energy to move. It had been a particularly rough day for me, mentally as well as physically. I didn't have the strength to get out of bed, let alone join in a game of basketball.

I could vividly hear the ball echoing around the court, resonating with the laughter and joy of each child playing with it. Then, in a moment of sheer luck, I heard the ball brushing against the net. It flew perfectly and landed straight in the basket's center, not touching the rim.

"Wow! That was lucky!"

I heard someone exclaim from the window. It was a familiar voice - Elliot's. He was not just one of my closest friends but also an excellent basketball player. We used to play together frequently until my illness showed up in my life and prevented me from joining in.

Another praise was heard through the window, loud and clear. Alex, once a good friend of mine, was out there too. Now, like everyone else in that court, he kept his distance from me.

"That was insane, Elliot!"

The sounds of joy and laughter from the boys playing basketball captured my attention. I mustered all my strength, reaching for my cane, and channeling every bit of energy into the effort of getting up from the bed. The journey to the window, merely 36 inches away, felt incredibly draining, as if each step rapidly sapped my remaining strength. Despite the challenge, I managed to reach the window, and that small achievement filled me with a sense of pride.

Gripping the window frame for support, I eased myself onto the chair next to it. The laughter and excitement from the boys playing outside stirred something within me, igniting a deep desire for that kind of companionship and normalcy.

Every day, I would imagine myself back on the court, effortlessly sinking free throws. In my mind, I could hear the laughter and cheers of my friends around me, sharing the simple joy of a basketball game.

Unfortunately, the reality was crude and brutal. There I was, sitting by my window with a view of the courts. I recognized each kid playing that afternoon, but my eyes were particularly drawn to Elliott. I watched him skillfully land a 3-point shot, eliciting cheers from his team. It was much like the scene I had often envisioned in my mind, where I was the one making those shots and receiving such enthusiastic praise.

Resolved to join in the moment, even in my limited capacity, I decided to cheer for Elliott. I shouted with all the enthusiasm I could gather.

"Way to go! Elliot!"

But the reaction was not what I had anticipated. An unexpected hush fell over the court. All the kids, mid-game, turned and looked up at my window, their expressions frozen. The ball, forgotten, rolled to the edge of the court, ignored by everyone as they stared at me confused. My attempt at support seemed to have the opposite effect; rather than the usual playful cheers and shouts, there was only silence. Moments later, the kids dispersed, leaving the court empty. I remained there, gazing out at the now deserted space, enveloped in solitude.

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"Sammy."

My father's voice reached my ears just moments before he opened my door. I deliberately chose to ignore it, my mind still lingering on the basketball game outside. The desire to be part of that game was overwhelming, even though I knew I couldn't even hold the ball for a minute in my hands.

My father halted abruptly at the sight of me seated by the window.

"For the love of God!"

In a flurry of worry, he rushed around the bed to reach me, his actions driven by his concern for my health.

"You know how risky it is for you to get out of bed on your own, given your condition. You should stay in bed, it's safer for you."

He grabs me easily like a feather riding a cold breeze.

"You have an alarm, Sammy. Just pull the rope; the rope will sound the bell and we will come to help you."

"I know, Dad. I wanted to see who the guys cheered on."

At 12 years old, my world revolved around basketball and friends. Those were my priorities; everything else seemed peripheral and unimportant. However, that illness had robbed me of those simple joys. It transformed my once lively and social world into a desolate, solitary existence. I had come to the painful realization that I no longer met the unspoken 'requirements' of being part of the group, the club of normal kids.

In my heart, I believed that if I could just explain my situation to my friends, they would understand. That was the hopeful narrative I played out in my mind every day. But reality had proven otherwise. I had tried reaching out and explaining my condition, yet here I was, still confined to my room, cut off from the world I once knew. No friends to play games with, no laughter to share.

My mother entered the room, her expression was one of sadness and concern, holding a letter that seemed to be important to her.

She extended her hand, passing the letter to my father. "We need to talk."

They quickly left my room, their hurried steps suggesting they had a secret of great importance to discuss.

In those days, everything around me felt shrouded in mystery. There was often a cryptic silence or hushed tones when I was present. Although I was young, I wasn't oblivious. I could sense that something was seriously wrong, and it was more than just the physical symptoms I was experiencing. I couldn't fathom why my legs refused to cooperate with the speed I desired, or why holding a cup steadily in my hand was becoming increasingly difficult.

The sound of my parents' argument filtered through the walls of my bedroom. It was an ongoing dispute about what would happen to me if they didn't make a decision quickly. Their indecision and secrecy were becoming increasingly frustrating to me.

In those moments, I found the strength to get out of bed. I low crawled across the floor, inching closer to where I could overhear their conversation.

I had become accustomed to sneaking around to gather bits and pieces of information, as my parents were tight-lipped about my condition. Then, one day, everything changed when a peculiar woman knocked at our door. Her appearance was strikingly unusual. She wore a hat adorned with an array of exotic feathers; unlike any I had ever seen before. Her attire was completely white, down to her shoes, giving her a distinct look.

"Madame Tiare, it's a blessing to have you here," my mother said, welcoming the woman into our home. As Madame Tiare stepped inside, she suddenly paused, and her entrance momentarily halted. She raised her eyes, looking around the living room, slowly.

"Death resides within these walls. You'll need more than my help; you will need a miracle."

Madame Tiare's approach was bluntly direct. After taking only three steps into the house, she stopped and faced my mother. "I am sorry, there's nothing here I can do for you."

Without another word, the woman turned and left our home. Her abrupt departure left a noticeable sense of despair in the air. My mother, overcome with emotion, burst into tears. My father, acting quickly, wrapped his arms around her, offering comfort to her aching heart.

"I have tried everything. I really don't know what else I could do." my mother said.

"Do not worry love. We will always find a way."