An Hour After Dawn

Age Six

When I reached for those memories, I usually cowered back and tried to hide myself. I couldn’t stand to think about the old me. The one who was happy, had a family surrounding her, laughing around a dinner table. When I thought of those times, my heart clenched and all I could do was whimper, trying not to cry.

Yet I still found myself drawn to one same park. The park with the simple red slide, the blue ladders, the choppy wood-chips. The small rock climbing wall to one side, a couple swings on the other. Train tracks past a fence, trees surrounding the place. A small lake nestled in between, hidden from public view.

I sat on the bench and glanced every once in awhile at the scenery, enveloped in my thoughts. Like how my life was intertwined with this place, how this place changed it, how I should’ve hated it with all my heart. I didn’t feel that hatred though. All I felt was one thing- emptiness.

Those were unusual thoughts and feelings for a six year old girl, but for me, it was a regular occurrence. I couldn’t go back to my old life. Nothing in my life was happy- everything was coated in a layer of dismal, depression, and resentment. Only, I didn’t understand the concept of depression, and I didn’t know who I resented. Maybe I resented myself. Who knows?

When I looked into the distance, into the forest, a little further, past the fence, I saw the train tracks. I remembered, every time I saw them, the jolt in my stomach, the screams piercing the air. The horrified expressions on every passengers’ face, until I’d blacked out. If I looked at the train tracks, I felt sick to my stomach and the sounds keep ringing in my ears. I still remembered the way my father had jumped over to Iris and how it felt when my mother had jumped over to me, wrapping me in her arms and clutching onto me for dear life. Only at age six did I know she’d protected me, as father had protected Iris, making us the only two survivors of the horrific train crash.

Then I remembered Iris’s expressions. When we’d both woken up and heard the news. Her face crumpled up, while I had no change in expression. It was only a year ago, so I was only five, but I still didn’t understand the concept of dying. Where did a person go after their heart stopped?

Iris had immediately broken down into tears. She was fifteen at the time, we were ten years apart. Like it happened just yesterday, I could see her in the hospital waiting room, falling down, grabbing a chair, short of breath. Her breathing was labored, coming out in short puffs as her eyes shut and she clutched the head. The doctors just gave her a sympathetic look while I looked horrified. I knew something bad had happened, but what? And why hadn’t they comfort her? She was obviously in pain.

Then when I looked into the lake, I found myself in the world of my five year old self.

Age Five

“Sis!” I yelled, tugging at Iris’s sleeve. “Want some cookies?” I asked, showing her some of my cookies, but flinching when I saw her reaction. Her eyes were dark, her makeup smudged. Her hair was a rats’ nest, and she stared at me with a blank stare. She slowly rubbed her eyes and didn’t look at the warm, chocolate chip cookies I had on the baking pan.

Without a word, she took my hand, and started to take me out of the door. In a barely audible voice, she whispered, “Cypress, let’s go to the park for some fresh air.” I just nodded, confused by her words verses her actions, and started walking with her.

As we walked down the sidewalk throughout the small town we called home, we started getting stares from people: friendly neighbors and strangers alike. Some neighbors waved to us, staring at Iris with a wary expression though, but the majority looks scared and apprehensive of her. It was as if she were some sort of crook.