A Brand New iPhone

After my mom left us, my dada was always next to me. He was a strong, youthful man.

I also wanted to be strong and youthful. I really wanted to be the girl that he would always be proud of. I could be the girl that helped her dada with household chores, or I could be the smartest student in my elementary, and spend afternoons telling him about what I did in the classroom.

But I did not. I did no even have access to school. My back forever glued to beds.

"I hate to break it to you, sir. Your daughter has a brain tumor." The doctor once said. She said it in front of me, thinking I would not know what it meant.

And here I was, once again stuck to another bed. This one a little fancier and more comfy. The clinic's beds were fairly different from the ones in the local hospital.

"Dad, you heard about those new phones on TV?" I said.

" Yes, dear. They are called smartphones. You can use it by just touching the screen."

"Wow! Dada, I really want to try one of those."

"You will, dear. I promise I would buy you one after your surgery."

Some time passed.

When I finally opened my eyes, my dad was grinning thoothlessly, an orange iPhone in his gnarled hands.