SMALL WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES SLIGHTLY GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS.
P h o t o #58 - Emma and Ellie
As children, we were inseparable. Our hands always clasped together, even when doing something as simple as eating dinner or watching one of our favorite Disney movies. Our mother and father saw no harm in our love for each other, donning us in matching outfits and hairstyles and even presenting us with matching gifts for our matching birthday. As we grew older though, I'm sure that even they saw something strange in how close we continued to be.
So when junior high rolled around, when our classes began separating and our friends diverging, I would assume that any set of parents worried about the isolation of their twin daughters were silently relieved that we were finally acquiring our own separate personalities outside of just the two of us. Even I, as I played along and joked with the boys and girls I became friends with, was happy I was finally beginning to grow as a person.
It seemed that Ellie was the only one still stick at a standstill. Unable to find her place, unable to find herself.
Although we were joined at the hip until puberty, Ellie was always the kinder and quieter one of us. Her grace was always noted by our relatives and family friends. I, on the other hand, could never seem to hold my tongue when the situation called for it; always impulsive and distracted, upset when things weren't in my favor. For most it was hard to believe that I was the older sister, this three minute difference suddenly a large barrier in their eyes whenever they found out about it.
I couldn't deny that I loved my little sister with all my heart, but my earliest feelings towards her could be something of a rival to jealousy. While she was praised for her well manners and polite silence, I was scolded for impulses like tapping my fingers incesively on hard surfaces and crying whenever someone allowed my portions of food to touch.
Yet, during the time we were still practically intertwined, we continued to grow together despite these minor - at least to us - differences. Even when our mother came home with reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. Even when our father came home with a new orange bottle of candies and a deep frown he'd immediately try to hide the moment he saw us.
One night during our later elementary school days, after many of laying awake together in our room wondering why mommy and daddy didn't seem as happy as they used to be, with our twin beds separated by a single night stand we shared, we finally asked our mother as she gave us her usual goodnight.
She tried passing off our question, telling us we shouldn't worry about it until we were older, but we persisted. We knew how to work our mother, as she was one who couldn't bottle up how she truly felt.
She closed her eyes, her brow creasing, her fists clenched as her sides as she stood in the doorways, her silhouette even taller and thinner against the carpeting of our room. Every emotion she held in, she wore on her face for a single, alarming moment. And then she smiled.
"Daddy hear's angels. Don't tell anyone, it's a secret."
The very thought excited us. As the squirrelly little girls we were, we couldn't wait to talk to our father about what the angels said. We stayed up late contemplating what we should say that night, what they could say back. I don't think my mother understood the severity of her comment to her imaginative children.
So when we told her the next night, our entire day spent too timid to ask daddy about his angels, she scolded us for much longer than she ever had before, so much so that by the time she finished her eyes watered and her boney hands shook. Ellie and I already had tears streaming down our plump cheeks as we pondered why our mother didn't seem too fond of the angels herself. She told us never to talk to our father about them, that if he knew we understood that he had angels, he would be sad.
The image of our father, always smiling, always laughing, always our prince charming in the fairy tales we played out after school in our favorite, messily hand-made costumes, being upset with us was enough to keep our mouths shut. Well, Ellie's at least, since I already found myself slipping up just days later.
The frigid day was as clear as the sky in my mind, the day that got the ball rolling, the day that forever began the staining of my life as I knew it.
Our parents had been fighting all afternoon, my father's condition making him understandably irritable as we got ready for dinner, my mother's parents insisting we all go out to a fancy restaurant down the street from their new house. They spat words we didn't understand; a quarrel that ended in my mother huffing and angry and my father sitting on the steps outside our home as he ran his fingers through his ebony hair.
After forcing me into an outfit i didnt want to wear while I dawdled and circled the hallway while she yelled like I always used to do because it just didn't feel right if I didn't, my mother was already exhausted before she even went ont to doing Ellie's hair. The entire time, as she finally went back into our room to fit Ellie into yet another dress that matched mine, I trudged down the stairs only to stand in the bathroom, staring hallowly at my nine year old self in the mirror.
My hands buried in a sink of soapy water, my forearms quivering as my palms went raw. I couldn't pinpoint the exact time in my life where I became painfully aware of the fact that feeling an underlying pulse of anxiety in my gut wasn't normal, but once I found it holding me back from what I wanted to do, I couldn't stop seeking new actions to help me through it.
I pulled the plug on the silver drain, watching the suds collect at the white bottom. My hands screamed as air slapped against my red, pruned skin. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes at the thought of my parents finding out, but I wasn't sure why.
The wind whipped around outside, and suddenly I took comfort in the fact that it was winter and my mittins sat in the coat closet. My nylon-covered feet slapped against the tile as I ran over and pulled the out along with my scarf. A draft flew into the foyer, causing my little body to whip around and face the front door, which was open just a crack.
I looked over at the coat wrack, and with all my might, dragged down my father's black, oversized winter jacket. Slipping on my boots, I trotted out into the world, a fine layer of snow crunch under me with each step.
My eyes met with my father's arched back as he rested his elbows atop his bent knees, his navy turtleneck already sporting a collection of white flakes. Without a moment's hesitation, I went over and plopped my bottom right on the step next to him, laying his coat upon his lap.
He raised his head, staring down at the fabric with glassy eyes. A smile crept onto his face, and he turned to ruffle my hair like he always did, even if it was in an elaborate French braid my mother worked hard on. But the smile disappeared, and his eyes casted downward.
He grabbed at my hands, still aching and flushed, reminding me that the draft had caused me to forget about my mittens entirely. His deep brown eyes searched mine, his lips parted as took in what I'd done to myself. It wasn't even the first time I'd scrubbed myself raw, but the look on my father's face sprung water into my eyes all over again. My irises burned as my salty tears made contact with the fighting air outside, and without thinking - as most children do - I blurted out the question I thought about every time I'd felt this way ever since my mother spilled his secret.
"Daddy, do you think your angels can stop making me feel bad?"
We didn't go to dinner that night. Instead we called up our grandparents and told them we had something come up, my mother even hung up on her strict parents the moment they started screaming at her through our home phone. That was fibe with me, I never truly liked my mother's parents anyway.
Then my parents started screaming at each other, but that didn't last long into the night. At some point my mother broke down crying after my father expressed how angry he was with her after telling Ellie and I about his problem. I tried reaching out for him as he stomped out of the room, but he ignored me entirely.
My mother slumped into the couch, tears washing away the make-up on her pretty face. Ellie, who had no idea what to make of everything due to how little she knew, could only cry with her, as she always did. Somehow I found myself crying as well in the end, our mother cradeling us both in her arms.
I'm sure there was a time in between that when my father came back into the room with cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream and our favorite graham crackers, an apology on his tongue, but everything after was a blur to me.
My parents had an appointment scheduled with my pediatrician the very next day; even if they couldn't handle matters like these of their own, they always were able to pull themselves together for their children. My doctors, a waifish woman with dark skin and a spatter of freckles across her face, ran me throw a series of tests I found boring and tedious. I just couldn't sit still for most of them, but I guess that fact helped them come to their conclusion quicker.
On that crisp winter morning I was diagnosed with moderate Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and my life thereafter was never, ever the same.
***
They said my genetics could have played a part in it. That I was predispositioned to have..."problems". They looked at all of our medical records, and as plain as day, my father's treatments laid before the little room, as well as his father's. He admitted that he had complications himself, and watching him talk with my doctor, the defeated look etched into his face made me believe I'd done something wrong. Words flew over my and my sister's head, words I had no clue the meaning all over again.
I jumped down from the table and pulled at his pant leg once my pediatrician finally stepped out, shocking him out of the long, silent stare off he held with the closed door while my mother sat in a chair, her head in her hands. I looked up at him, my doe eyes digging into his, asking if daddy and I were the same. He bent down, his gaze trying to hide the hurt he felt at my innocent jab. He nodded, and for some reason, the daddy's girl I was smiled. He hugged me tight, his breath shaky. My smile fell.
It wasn't long until I began having to take little candies with my vitamin gummies, nor was it long after when I learned they really weren't candies after all.
Soon I found out what it felt like to be on the wrong medication, the way the chemicals imbalanced the networks of my brain. Many nights I wandered aimlessly around the house, locking and relocking every door I could find as many times as I could. Sometimes I'd tear apart my side of the room while Ellie watched and cried and his in the closet, and when I went to apologize later on in the day, nail marks up and down my arms and my hair a puff of frizz and sweat, she'd shy into my mother's neck, hiding behind a curtain of honey colored curls and sobbing that there was a monster inside me. I even locked myself in the upstairs bathroom a few times, during the hours I just didn't know what to do with myself, wrapped in the old shower curtain as my parents threatened to break down the door.
The first time I felt the pins and needles sensation of taking just a single pill more than my daily dosage due to my forgetful nature in the morning, my blood curdling screams echoed across the house. Cold perspiration dripped off my face, and my parents forcibly had me vomit it back up. That day I had off of middle school was spent in the hospital, where they had to spend even more money we were steadily running out of.
Withdrawals couldn't have been worse for my child self, the one and only time I refused to take my meds, hiding them in my pant pockets when my parents went to cater to my sister in the morning, headaches wracked my brain. I was left nauseous and even found myself even retching all over myself at school for reasons unknown to my peers. My parents never took their eyes off me while I took my daily doses after that, going as far as to check under my tongue until they could trust me again.
Between my weekly treatments and my father's, who's condition was only worsening with age, our family was standing on its last leg. Slowly, but surely, my mother's beloved photography and family portrait business was declining, causing her to become strained and depressed as the days dragged on.
Through these little, spliced memories here and there, I could remember the fragments of my life that stole away my and my sister's once sweet childhood.
But after puberty, as Ellie and I grew apart, I found the wish to grow past what I was predispositioned for. I truly believed that if I tried hard enough, my effort would pay off in the form of relieving me from my hidden burdens. Despite being a walking disaster at home, I was able to put up a well enough front to make friends at my school, breaking out of my shell a bit as I related to a few boys and girls in my class. For awhile, my pleas seemed answered as I began enjoying the little things a junior high school student usually did after school or on the weekends.
What I didn't know though, was that as I solidified my place among my peers, in the very next class over, Ellie was ocstrasized by her's. Her polite and quiet nature, her silent confidence in the way she found it unnecessary to validate herself using boys unlike most girls our age, as well as her beauty were all things to be admired.
Instead, her classmates could only find anger and jealousy in their hearts for my younger sister, and the fact that I couldn't see the signs of her decline as their attitudes worsened towards her over the months was something I'd soon regret for the rest of my life.
But our last good Christmas, the one where we really, truly did believe that our luck was just beginning to take a turn for the better, the one where I was given my camera after beginning to express interest in my mother's trade while Ellie received more dolls and snow globes, one of the many things she enjoyed collecting and hoarding to my quiet dismay, seemed to change our entire outlook.
I'm sure there was point in the night where we all believed we could get past our dwindling funds, my mother's dying business, and even Ellie's situation she continued to keep quiet about. I knew we all felt that this could be our turning point, that is, if we welcomed it.
But it seemed that even if the Leighs family opened its arms for this change, all it could do was spite us in the end.
Only a few motnsh later, following my and Ellie's middle school graduation, our father lost his job at the factory he worked at. Since he was the head of his department he had more to lose, and the way he lashed out at a couple of workers I'd overheard him complaining about from time to time was enough to ignite a fire under his boss. He felt that the way my father acted was enough for his colleagues to press charges, and the men easily, almost excitedly agreed.
My father went to court that summer, his medical record causing a rise of suspicions against him. In the end he had a choice to make: pay up what he owed, what he didn't have, or be sent a couple hours away to a mental facility in order to seek out the "medical help he was never offered". Not wanting to force his family into debt, we were forced to say goodbye to our father, never truly knowing when we'd have a chance to visit him or when he'd be back.
Our mother didn't speak more than a few words for months, leaving Ellie and I to our own wild ideas and worries. The beginning of high school in our meek little town was not a welcomed new chapter in our lives, and once again us twins were separated. Ellie came home everyday more miserable than the last, and I turned a blind eye after being turned away whenever I asked. Soon I decided to not press the matter whatsoever, and my mother's silence only loomed over the two of us much longer than any silence should.
I took up the job of cooking meals while Ellie decided to straighten up the house, my mother slowly neglecting her day job after completely losing her studio not too long after our faher left, her time as a visual designer for some high-end company I never really asked about coming to a sad end as she spent all of her time slumped in a living room chair or rolled over in bed.
The Leighs household was quiet for a long, long time, and no one had the courage to filled the air.
As it does every year, Christmas time rolled around. Of course I'd noticed Ellie's slow shift in mood; her once sweet and witty exterior reduced to a melancholic and tired shell by this time of our lives. Even after asking around school what was going on, everyone remained taciturn, even our peers not really sure of the mental torment being dished out to my sister by girls smart enough to hide among the crowd. I was determined to make her smile after months of facing a small, deep frown.
Unlike my parents and sister, I was never truly skilled in using my hands, but that didn't stop me from trying to create a necklace of Ellie's favorite colors using mock gems and silvery chains I bought with whtever money I'd been saving up. Whenever Ellie his herself away, cooped up in our room refusing to speak to me even when I begged her to talk, I pulled out whatever muddled mess of metal and plastic I had and went to work, fighting back the urge to cry as I did so.
We didn't expect much for Christmas that year, after all, what little family we had on both sides lived ways away from where we did, our parents forced to relocated after their marriage was frowned upon mostly by my mother's relatives. Ellie and I never got more than a few presents each, but the fact that we hadn't truly seen our mother leave the house for anything other than groceries in months was a pretty good indicator of our holiday's outcome.
Still, I tried my best to make my mother's Hershey kiss cookies and cheesy potatoes the best I could, lighting sugar cookie candles and putting on Christmas movies in hopes of lightening the mood in the house. But, to no avail, the house was as mute as ever, and the smell of sweets and laughter coming from the TV screen left me even more upset than before.
I moved slowly, sliding my single present to my sister under the little, blue tree I'd pulled out of storage, the one I'd talked my parents into buying me two years before for my side of the room. I smiled sadly at it, reminding myself that we'd be able to see our father the day after tomorrow. We always seemed lighter, almost happier after driving down to see him. Even if the reports we were getting from his doctors were telling us that no progress was being made, that didn't stop him from treating us with love when we visited him.
I went to bed early that Christmas Eve, sending a small good-night my mother's way with the creak of her bedroom door, noticing all too well of the empty left side of the bed that was usually filled with broad shoulders and irritating snores. I let out a quivering sigh before shutting the door again, leaving her in the darkness she'd, over time, become one with.
Crawling into my twin bed only a yard away from Ellie's, I reached over and pulled out my new bottle of medication from my bedside drawer, staring at the dark blue I'd painted it months ago, the little glow in the dark stars already burnt out. The bottle was heavier in my hands that usual, refilled only the day before. I knew I should've left it in the cupboard where its always sat, but lately I found myself too lazy in the morning to climb up on the counter and reach in the back for it.
I popped two pills in my mouth before recapping it, sighing wistfully as I set it back where I got it from.
Just as I was about to turn over and wish my sister, who had his under her purple floral covers all day without a bite to eat, a goodnight as well, she spoke up before I could.
I startled at the sound of her light, sore voice, "Maybe some day soon you won't have to take those anymore."
So many responses flitted through my head, so many things I could have said to her, but I knew my sister better than anyone else, and I could hear it in her voice. "Don't ask."
The last time i went against these cues, she didnt speak to me for an enture week. Fear enveloped me in the night, and all I could do was force out a laugh, praying that the lump in my throat at how happy I was to hear her talk again wasn't noticeable in my tone, "That'll be the day." I paused, the small tremor in my voice undeniable, "Good night, Ellie."
Tucking my short hair behind my ears, I turned away from her, facing the closed closet displaying all of our old, crayon doodles that we got yelled at for. I shut my brown eyes tight, only then realizing how tired I really was after months and months of bottling myself up. Before I could so much as shed a tear, I fell into the comforts of sleep, my tense muscles going slack.
My worn mind suspended into my dreams, where everything was as it once was, as I liked it.
As it should be.
***
Child like excitement flooded my veins the moment my eyes popped open, the Christmas vibes setting in before reality did. I overlooked my sisters sleeping figure across the room, my gaze falling on the abundance of snow falling from the clouded sky.
I sat up in bed, my stunted curls falling in a mess around my face. I brushed them aside, a wide grin yanking up my lips. I threw off my old comforter, my pillow falling to the floor as I jumped out onto the thin carpeting. All I could think about was waking up my sister, ecstatic at the thought of bringing her downstairs and presenting her what I'd painstakingly made for her over the past couple weeks. Even if it was far behind something one would wear as a nice accent to their outfit, I could almost imagine Ellie's reaction as she opened it. She loved violet colored jewels with all of her heart, plastic or not.
I shivered in the cold of our room, stepping over the ness of lumpy clothes and trinkets spread across the floor, rubbing my goosebumps under my sweatshirt. My toes scrunched up on top of the carpet, trying to conserve warmth in any way I could.
As I approached her, I took in the ness of her caramel locks, faintly noticing how similar our thick hair was. I thought of pouncing on her like I used to as a child, but thought better of it. The last time I'd done it she almost looked mad, which was a big thing for my benign sister, and we were already fourteen, far past our childish years.
I poked her in the back, crouching down next to her bed, "Ellie, wake up."
With no response, I took it as a right if passage to shake her awake. Usually a single poke in the spine or push of the shoulder had her immediately awake even at the earliest hours; she was never a heavy sleeper to begin with, so when she didn't respond to my nudge, I quirked my brow.
My hand fell in her attenuated shoulder, the fabric of her favorite golden nightgown shifting under my light touch. Her body felt stiff along my finger tips, but I still shook her with quite a force nonetheless.
"Ellie, wake up! It's Christmas!"
Again, I was left without even an irritated shift of the arm to knock my now tight grasp away. As I let go of her cold body, studying the slight arch of her back as she lay as still as a statue, a vague smell wafted my way. My eyes watered as bile rose up my throat, surprise taking over my senses as I clasped my hands over my mouth, fighting back a the urge to throw up.
My sight wavered at the foul scent, causing to to instinctively turn away from where it came from. My eyes, involuntarily closed, cracked open in utter confusion. Without time to process what I saw, my stomach dropped down to the floor under my knees.
I'd never forget to put away my medication bottle, but that wasn't what distorted my vision and almsy stole away my consciousness completely. What incinerated any perceivable emotion in my chest was the absense of my refilled pills.
Every last one of them.
White noise filled my ears as my body seemed processed, my brain utterly detached from my movements. My hands shook violently as I pride.my sister's front side away from the wall, bringing her into full view of the world around us.
Her skin was pale and cold, her blue lips cracked and gaping, the cheek she slept on covered in a dry stream of bile. The right half of her solid, stiffened body no long the creamy, warm color of skin. Exploded blood vessels tainted her crimson and bruised, destroying her porcelain complexion. Her arms were locked in a forever against her chest, her fingers gnarled and twisted, her last moments a struggle to breathe. Knees buckled, ankles crossed and paper thin, her feet turning a deep raven color at the very tips of her nails.
Her honey colored eyes now resembled sunken pits of dirt under her half-closed eyelids, stuck staring up at the heavens where she now roamed, free from the burden that God bestowed upon her, free from.the burden I didn't try hard enough to help her out of.
I kicked back my legs, heaving up any remnants of the bland cookies I'd baked all over myself. My limbs flailed as I howled, slamming my back into the wood of my bed frame, smacking my fists into the ground in pure agony before throwing them up to my ears, the sound of my own high pitched wails to much for me. My knees almost knocked my teeth out at how quickly I brought them up to my face, rocking back and forth on my bottom as I his my face from the truth.
My legs trembled too hard for me to move any farther away from her lifeless corpse, kicking the ground with all the strength I had. I screamed again, sobs now wracking my body as I tried croaking out for someone, anyone. I pounded my wet fists into my head, ripping out the fine hairs above my ears as my voice went so high it was barely inaudible. My stomach threatened to release its contents for a second time as the horrifying stench in the air filled my nostrils again.
I bawled out incoherant words of blame and remorse, cursing the world, begging God to take me instead without the ability to voice my pleas. I smashed my shoulder blades into my bed's frame again, shutting away the lights that sparkled being my closed lids.
I could barely make out the sound of footsteps clambering into the little room, stepping and crushing the objects strewn around me. Horror mixed into my own, arms wrapped around me and pulled me up just as I vomited again. I fought the new grasp blindly, wanting to force myself back into the room and be with my sister, but more hands pulled me back. Sirens tugged at the static in my ears, as someone held me tight, locking me in the living room as I screamed into their chest, listening in on the sound of wheels pulling my sister's body out of the house.
Then suddenly, as swoftly as my life was engulfed in waves of terror, everything went black around me. I floated amongst the dark sky, the true, natural state of the universe. Little balls of yellow light that once shook behind my eyelids now twinkled peacefully in the distance, and there was no longer a physical state of life to feel. No muscles to spasm, no tears to shed, no thoughts to untangle.
All I could do was simply be.
So I folded myself inward, allowing whatever was left to me to exist with the others, never even wondering if this was truly what death was like. Never considering that if it was, I didn't mind it one bit.
Never noticing the black hole that loomed over the horizon, ready to swallow me whole the moment the skies decided spit me back onto the Earth, taking my sister with them.