I peel my eyes open, not wanting to get out of bed. Laurel left me her apartment in her will, and that's where I've been staying for the past three months.
The sun filtered in the maroon curtains that Laurel had hung in her living room. I didn't redecorate. I couldn't redecorate.
This is all that I have left of my sister. This damn apartment that had once been the home of the strongest woman I have ever met.
I sat on the couch, and stared off into space.
Memories of Laurel and I growing up played over and over again in my head.
Like that time I hit Laurel in the jaw with a softball.
I really wanted to be a pitcher, and she always was my catcher.
One day, she didn't use the helmet, and I threw a pitch that missed her glove, and hit her in the face.
The bruise was so bad, her teachers at school asked her if Mom and Dad were abusing her at home.
I got off the couch, and went to Laurel's storage closet.
I opened the door, and there sat on top of the top shelf, was Laurel's catcher's mit.
I took it into my hands, and ran my thumb over the soft leather that was worn out from where Laurel always held her pointer finger.
The black glove was small, because it fit thirteen-year-old Laurel's hand.
I had been ten when I hit her in the face with the softball.
I chuckle a little at the thought of Laurel walking down the hallway of Star City Intermediate School with her head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Laurel had been willing to give up her dream of being a professional gymnast to help me follow my softball dream after I got extremely hurt dancing in a competitive competition.
I put the glove back in its place, and looked around the room.
All the smiling faces in the pictures, that I refused to take down, seemed to mock me.
I miss Laurel more than anything. I would kill to have her back.
No Sara. That's not you anymore.
I walk to the bathroom, and stare into my reflection.
The thick blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles that splattered my face, and the pale skin.
So, so different than Laurel.
Laurel's thick brunette hair, green eyes, and no freckles on her olive skin.
She had a small scar on her jaw from the softball incident.
My eyes look tired, though I finally got some peaceful sleep.
That was uncommon for me.
Often, I wake up in the middle of the night, screaming Laurel's name, expecting her to come running in with that motherly expression on her face.
She would've been a good mother.
She was broken, but had a heart of gold.
That's another thing that makes us different.
I'm broken, with a broken heart.
I walk out of the bathroom, and get dressed.
I was about to leave Laurel's-no, my apartment.
I pulled my blonde hair up into a ponytail, and pull on a sweatshirt.
I pulled the door closed, and locked it.
I quickly walk down the hall, trying to avoid the neighbors.
They often gave me their condolences, and I appreciate it.
Sometimes.
I don't appreciate it that everywhere I go someone is like, "Oh! Sara! I'm sorry about Laurel!"
It brings the feelings that I don't want to feel come back.
I kept my head down, and I walked down three flights of stairs.
I opened the front door, and the cold, November air hit me in the face like a bullet.
I gasped, and continued walking.
I walk to the small café that was Laurel's favorite.
It wasn't far from the apartment, and I walked in and took a seat.
The booths were an elastic, red plastic, and the air smelled like fresh pancakes.
Memories of being a little kid came back.
All the memories of Mom making pancakes for Laurel and I every Sunday.
Two men came in, and the short was kept looking at me.
I felt his stare in my back, and he stared for a little too long.
I got up from the table, and walked over to his.
"Why the hell are you staring at me?"
The taller man looked surprised.
The shorter man turned on me.
"Why? I can't look at a pretty woman?" A smile danced on his lips.
"Look, asshole, get your eyes off of me, or I'll rip them out and cram them so far down your throat, you'll feel them in your stomach."
I stormed back at my table.
A waitress walked over.
"What can I get for you?"
"Um, can I have a coffee and chocolate chip pancakes?"
"Yes m'am."
She walked away, and I looked toward the table where the two men sat.
The tall man made eye contact with me, and gave me a small smile.
I smile back at him, and it feels good to smile for once.
It was a real smile.
Not the fake smiles that I put on when I lie and say that I'm okay.
It was a legitimate smile.
I saw the taller man whisper something to the shorter one.
He got up to the table, and approached mine.
He took a seat across from me, and smiled awkwardly.
"I'm Sam." He said.
"Sara." I reply.
The look in his eyes made him look like a lost puppy.
"I'm sorry about my brother." Sam mumbled.
"It's fine."
"He was pissed when you threatened to rip his eyes out." His chuckle made me laugh.
Wow. A legitimate smile and laugh.
Today was a good day.
