Wake me

6: Suitcases and Stories

The week had gone by with no more mention of my college situation, and I sat quietly on the couch with yet another book in my hand. It was a poetry book that I had gotten last year; it had lots of emotional and meaningful poems that I liked to take notes on and draw dragonflies in the borders. I had also taped sticks of lavender and pressed roses over titles that I didn't like, and wrote them new ones in my best calligraphy or messiest scribble. Mother sat on the couch near the television, which was on low volume, and she had knitting needles in her hand, but she was not knitting. Father was sitting next to her with his glasses on, scanning through a finance document and highlighting certain things of importance or error. Nobody said a word- and I kind of preferred it that way, however, I could not focus on my poems and after a while of trying, I slammed the book shut with a start and decided to address the subject of college.
"You know what," I said finally, which caused my parents to look up in surprise, "I'll go."
"Go where, dear?" Father asked quickly, but he knew what I was speaking of.
"College." I murmured, suddenly feeling very stupid for bringing the topic up. Maybe if I had left it, they wouldn't let it go. Now, I would have to leave.
"Really, dear? I'm glad you thought about it." Mother stood up and came to sit next to me, and gave me a half sided hug.
"But," I said, "I need you to patient."
"And patient as in?" Father asked curiously, setting down his files.
"My grades, my emotions. I'm still not ready to drive, and I'm still not wanting to do any thing to do with sport or swimming. I am studying my English course, and I'm also going to still be taking my fine art course, okay? I'm not going to be doing anything else." I said firmly, the words spilling out my mouth faster than lightning, as if I had planned what to say.
"Of course, Grace," mother smiled, "it will help if you take the anti-depressants I bought you- they're on your shelf, in the bathroom."
"I don't know about those just yet." I mumbled.
"Take your time, Grace." Father insisted, "We are proud of your decision. Tina would've been proud."
I didn't respond, and picked up my book again. "When do I go back? To college?" I asked.
"Well, I can arrange for you to leave on Monday? Class only starts Wednesday, so you will have two days to settle in to your dorm and make a friend or two." Mother explained, "The college said they would be glad to have you back."
I nodded, "I don't have a suitcase."
"That's fine," Mother said, "There's a few in the storeroom, isn't that right Daniel? Do you have all your old books and things from when you started...?"
I nodded again.
"Good! Okay, dear, thank you. I love you, see?" Mother whispered as she kissed my cheek. I gave her a shrug and a smile, but didn't reply. I felt like she only loved me because I was going to college.

The leaves scattered themselves around on the dry grass outside, and the chilly breeze nipped at my ankles like a pack of hung wolves. I shuffled along into the shed, where Margie was standing hunched over a crate of old pottery and cement creations that Tina and I had worked on when we were younger. I closed the door and looked up the flickering lantern that hadn't been used in ages- it was a wonder it still worked. Tina and I used to spend the most of our childhood days inside this shed; playing with clay, writing stories and poems, collecting dragonflies and painting the walls. The wooden slag fencing of the shed still had fading, peeling rainbow paint all over it, depicting pictures from when Tina and I had painted them. An ambiguous painting of two girls was on the left side, smiling and laughing and holding flowers while blue and yellow dragonflies flew around them, with black dashes behind them. "This place is real dusty." Margie dusted her hands off on her apron, "I think we should clean it out."
"Mhm," I mumbled, tracing my finger along the paint. I could nearly sense Tina, sitting here cross legged with her fingers in plastic jars of paint from the crafts store, glitter glue still smeared across her chubby cheeks and ponytails. I hadn't been inside the shed forever, since Tina went to college. I didn't go there. But now, it seemed like a good place.
"No," I said softly, "I don't think we should clean it."
"What do you mean, dear?" Margie asked curiously, putting a pot onto a rickety shelf.
"Can we keep it how it is, I mean? It just brings a lot of memories." I said hushed, looking up at the roof.
Margie frowned, but when she saw the paintings and pottery and pieces of torn scrap paper, she seemed to click, and began to lift her eyebrows sadly. "Oh dear," she fumbled, putting the pot back, "I'll leave it just how it is."
"Thank you, Margie," I whispered, "But we can maybe plant some things in the pots? And buy a new lantern. I want to make the shed look a little more decent that normal, it's falling apart."
Margie seemed a bit happier now that I said she can still do things to the shed. "Good!" She clasped her hands together. She left the shed to go find her gardening gloves, and I made myself comfortable on a damp wooden chair in the corner of the shed, my wide eyes still fixated on the paintings. I was scared I forgot about them, scared if one day I woke up and thought they were just stupid paintings some kid had done, and I chipped it off without realizing that they were actually works of my long lost sister and I. I sighed, digging the toes of my feet into the hard soil and looking around the shed. It's corners were dark and smelt of musty sheets, and no matter how many times I breathed, every inhalation made me think of ponytailed Tina with brown hair before it was dyed black.