It is 9:00 pm. You are sitting on your bed talking talking to the friend that is spending the night at your house. Your mom walks in your room, and swiftly closes the door behind her. She leans against the small black bookshelf beside the door she just entered. She tells you and your friend that she has to take your friend home. You wonder why. Your mom tells you that your dad was rushed to the hospital. Your first reaction is to scream, but you do not. At least not out loud. Your mom tells you that your sister will be there soon so the two of you can go take the 45 minute drive to the hospital. Your mom leaves your room and silently closes your door. You cry. You don’t realize you are crying until your friend says everything is going to be okay.

Your sister gets to your house five minutes later. You are in the bathroom. You are putting a black beanie over your hair. So you can look decent. Your sister sees you. She looks at you. Her eyes are read and teary. “Daddy has cancer,” is all she says. You scream and cry once again. She pulls you to her. You cry on her shoulder. She says you need to go. You grab your purse and head out the door. Your sister drives. Fast. Too fast maybe. It’s dark. It’s rainy. It’s perfect for how you feel right now.

You get to the hospital. Your step-brother tells you what the doctor said. You only hear one thing. Your dad more than likely has cancer. You pray that it is not. That it is something that can be removed quickly. Then everything will be back to normal.

Only two people can visit at a time. Only two. First it’s your step-mother and your sister. Then it will be you and your sister. It feels like forever before they get back. They’re back finally. You are walking to the room that they are holding your dad in. Your heart pounding hard and fast. You feel as if you are the one that should be in a hospital bed. You think to yourself, “This isn’t really happening.” You want it to be true. No matter how many times you pinch yourself, you won’t wake up from this nightmare.

You see your dad. He is laying down on his back, looking up at the bright white light in the ceiling. His left hand is on his forehead. You walk to his side. Slowly. Very slowly. You walk at a turtle's pace. Your dad is superman. He isn’t suppose to be crying. He doesn’t cry. You’ve never seen him cry. He is crying now. Tears fall down his face. You wipe one away. You tell yourself that even superman can cry. He talks to you and your sister as if he is on his deathbed. He’s telling you to take care of your brother. Always stay close to each other. You don’t want to hear him talk like this. You listen anyway. You know you have to listen.

He is now out of ICU. He’s in a room on the cancer floor. You still don’t know if it is definitely cancer. You and your sister spend the night at the hospital that night. They the two of you your own room. You are very grateful. You sleep on the bed. Your sister takes the couch.

The next two days are blurred together. Your dad has tests . He also has many visitors. That's all. Tests and visitors. Until you learn something. The doctors are going to put a scope down his throat to see what is going on inside of his stomach. The scope test is over.  The doctor says something about a conjoined stomach and something wrong with the pancreas and liver. They need to reroute his intestines.  But you don't understand anything except the word tumor. He has tumors. The doctors need to take a biopsy to see if they are cancerous.

You and your sister go home.

You go to school with your mind every other place. You are not focused. You want to be focused. A storm is welling up inside of you. You feel yourself bursting at the seams. You want to know the results of the biopsy. Your sister calls you while you are in school. Not about the biopsy. About the rerouting of his intestines. It was successful. He can eat now. Yay. Now what about the biopsy?

About a week goes by. Still no results. You are anxious. You are mad. You don't understand. It shouldn't take this long. No one is telling you anything. You just want to know. The worst part is not knowing. All you want is to know. Does he, or does he not have cancer?

There goes another week.
And another.
Three weeks have gone. You still don't know.
Until…..
Facebook.

Such a dangerous place. You are scrolling through your newsfeed. You see your dad's picture and a link. You press the link. It's an account. People are donating money for your dad. Why are they donating? You read the purpose of the fundraiser. He has cancer. He has it in his stomach, pancreas, and spinal cord is what it says. You do not feel sad. That would be an understatement. You feel devastated. Why didn't someone tell you? Did you not deserve to know? Are you not important enough to know? That's how you feel. You are sad, angry, and dead. You feel a void inside your chest. You can't breathe. You want this to be an elongated dream. Superman can not get cancer. Yet he has cancer.

You did not mean. To find out that way.
You did not want to find out that way.
But you did.
You found out your dad has cancer.
The man who you look up to.
The man who is your hero.
He has cancer.
Your world just turned upside down.
You found this out. You figured this out.
At 9:00 pm.
It is 9:00 pm.