Grass is green, air clean, pristine.
I'm dancing, spinning, leaping, and laughing.
I roll and giggle.
I stop I sigh.
There's something by my side.
The clouds come in.
I reach to touch and it feels so cold.
The thick black plastic body bag has its zipper undone.
I look inside to see.
What have I done?
My sister lies lifeless and cold.
“Andy, wake up! Breakfast!”
I shoot up and realize I’m in my bed at home, not in a beautiful field of nightmares.
Today is the first day of second semester. I’m a senior. I ended up taking the first semester off to try home school. It wasn't by choice, really. The school thought it would be best that I had time to fully grieve, since I had been near catatonic my first week back in August. Home school gave me a chance to catch up and just deal with myself. It did help. It is now January.
I finally feel like I am breathing, although in a cage of broken ribs.
My sister was all I ever had. She was a year older than me and was pretty popular. I didn't bother making friends of my own and she had enough people around her to kind of make me feel like I wasn't so alone. She is gone now. She had hung herself in my closet. Maybe that was her way of saying, "You did this to me."
I blame myself. I miss her everyday. On bad days I would sit and stare at the closet expecting her to come out and say “I”m back!” or “I was just kidding!”
I'd stare and barely blink, hoping.
Why is it that when we are at a low point, we make efforts to put ourselves at an even lower point? Could it be me just punishing myself? Perhaps.
“Baby?” I hear my mom shout, trying to get me up again.
I finally get off my bed to get ready. I’m nervous and feel like vomiting. I go to my dresser and open it.
My wardrobe consists of mainly dark colors. I showered yesterday, the clothes I'm in are pretty clean. I decide against changing out of my all black ensemble and grab my phone and backpack.
Walking down our narrow hallway I hear dishes breaking.
My heart skips a beat and I rush to the down the hall to the kitchen.
Two weeks ago, on Christmas, my mother tried to take her life with some broken dishes. Deep cuts in the wrong places, I bandaged her up. I held her as she cried. My father was leaving her and she fell apart. He stayed after I begged him not to go.
“Mom! Are you alright?!” I shout out before I reach the corner.
I see her and she is holding her face. “I’m so sorry, Andy, I dropped breakfast.”
My mom… she’s so fragile. I love her so much. She does her best, but she hasn't taken my sister’s death very well either.
“It’s alright Ma, I’m not hungry anyway.”
My mom and I have a good relationship for the most part. I'd do anything for her and she loves me very much. It hard though, watching her struggle with things. She doesn't deal with stress the way an average person would. She hurts herself, she breaks things, and cries hysterically. It's as if she feels too much.
I spend some time cleaning up the food and glass from the floor and she watches me. When I am finished she hugs me and kisses my shoulder. I hug her back.
“I’ve gotta get going Ma. I love you. I kiss her head and grab my things. I have a 20 minute walk ahead of me to school.
