Free

Present

They should have known that today wasn't normal.

I get up on time for the first day in forever. I get up when my alarm goes.  I go for a shower at normal time, straight after my sister, earning a long, hard stare and the words are you alright hanging in the air.  I can feel the tension between us, but I smile radiantly at her and carry on with my day.

I start doing my hair. It is the first time I have actually bothered to do something with my appearance since it happened.  I switch on my i-Pod, flipping to my favourite playlist, the one I haven't listened to for two years. I sing along to the words, using the vocal cords that haven't been used since I can't sing with my partner anymore. 

"Whoa, where's your passion, where's your fire tonight?" I sing bending over to get the bottom layers of my hair. "Whoa, I can't believe there's nothing your willing to hide. Whoa, I want to believe, I'd set my body on fire so I could be freeeeeee . . ."

"Jo, what are you doing?" I whirl around, blowing hot air into my face and then at her, who has been leaning casually against the doorframe but jumps up and backs away with a look that clearly says, What the hell are you doing? I fumble with the switch on my hairdryer and her hair finally stops blowing backwards and she re-enters the room. "What are you doing?" she repeats, looking l at me again, with an expression that tells me not to bullshit her. I do it anyway.  I'm tired of this.

I gesture around, like my room doesn't look like it hasn't been lived in for several months, and that it looks like I was a normal girl with a normal life and everything was fine, I am just getting ready for a normal day at school where I am pretty, popular and have a best friend who I can tell everything too. Like I don't feel like I am the dead one.  Like I'm not broken inside. "I'm just getting ready for school. Like I normally do." She looks at me. Just looks and looks while the playlist I wish I hadn't put on plays in the background. It is slowly tearing me apart from the inside and I want nothing more than to reach over and switch it off.  But I don't.  Because I can't let her win. So I just stand there, looking at the ground, at the wall, anything but at her.

Finally I give in and look up at her. She is still standing there, looking at me. Slowly she shakes her head and raises her arms in a sort of shrug thing. Then she just turns around and leaves the room.  No more words.  She long ago ran out of things to say to me. Or maybe it's the other way round. I can't tell anymore. I can't remember anymore.

After that I don't really feel like the day anymore. I want nothing more than to return to my bed and get up halfway through second period and not get into school til the end of third. I want to eat too much Ben and Jerrie's, two men you can always rely on to make you feel better, even if they don't call you back. I want to go into school with a bed head and for everyone to not look at me 'cause I am old news, so old no-one ever sees me anymore. I want to go about my day, not pay attention in classes because I am going to flunk them all anyway because I miss first, second and third period most days. I want to go on pretending I am dead too.

But I don't because I can't let her win.

I finish my hair. I put on make-up, not the tangerine foundation or the army stripe blusher, but enough to make people notice me. I'm not going to fade into the background today. I'm not going to act like I'm dead.  Even though I still feel like it. I am going to act normal.

When I walk downstairs for breakfast my sister looks at me again. It is a cautious look, like she doesn't know what to say to me. I try for another smile, like the one I had given her earlier but by the look on her face I fall short by a few marks. I just go around the table to my seat by the window.

As I walk into the room my mother comes into view. She is making herself a cup of tea, too much milk and sugar that has always made me gag. When she turns around she drops the mug and it smashes on the floor. I watch it fall all the way down, anything to stop me from seeing the total look of shock, coming unchecked over her face. It looks like the mug was falling in slow motion and I feel like I should slide across the floor and grab it before it hits the floor. But I don't and I watch as tea the colour of dirty dishwater falls from the mug onto the floor and the tiny pieces of smashed porcelain scatters.

By the time I look up again she has composed herself and is busy getting the dust pan and brush, sweeping up the pieces. "Oh goodness, look at me, I'm so clumsy," she witters on to herself. She looks up at me again. "Oh goodness Jo, I didn't see you there," she blatantly pretends even though she knows that I know that she saw me. But I go along with it.  She flounces over to me and kisses me on the cheek, making a big show of fussing over me. "How are you sweetie?" she asks. She's looking like she's trying to pretend everything is fine but I can see the worry in her eyes and the barely contained anxiety.

But I don't stop to reassure her. I just mutter ,"I'm fine mum," and brush past her to shove a piece of bread in the toaster. I can sense both of their eyes on me. I know they're both thinking that something is up. I know that I can't keep up this pretense for much longer. I'm going to crack. And they know it. 

But I carry on because I can't let her win.

Once my toast is done I butter it and take it over to my place at the table by the window to eat it. It makes a loud crunch as I bite into it and I watch the microscopic crumbs fly. It cuts the heavy silence that has settled on the room. Suddenly my sister and mother are talking, babbling really, to cover the awkward silence. I just stare out of the window, uninterested in their petty nuances. All I want is to undo the past and that's not going to happen. So I'm going to do the next best thing. Because I can't let her win.

The forest that backs onto our house is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and I have a perfect view of it from my spot at the window. They're at their most beautiful during the autumn, the time it is now, frost covering their leafy branches. It reminds me of Christmas. They look beautiful at sunset too, silhouetted against the setting sun but it doesn't compare to the beauty of frost, something so cold and bitter against something so warm and . . . green. I'm content to just sit and watch the trees, listen to the birds sing to each other in soft chirruping voices. 

Then I see her sitting there.

The very sight of her makes me want to go up the stairs and curl up in my bed where I know she can't get me. But I don't. Because I can't let her win.

She's sitting on a branch of the nearest tree, looking right at home. She looks like she herself is covered in frost.  I know it isn't so but still. She's a faded out white colour, washed out, just like she's covered in frost.

Except it's not melting. Because no blood pumps in her veins. Her heart doesn't work anymore.

Because she's dead.