Posts Tagged ‘fear’

day 6: Emma

When we got in front of her parent’s apartment, she peered into my soul to weight the credibility of my words. I looked away. She smiled. “wait,” She said “ I got something to show you.” The door closed shut before I replied. I waited reluctantly.

Then a really loud angry male voice rumbled inside and fed fear to my heart. It only escalated from there. I heard banging and shattering glasses, but when I heard her yelling, I barged in the door. I found her bruised up on the floor and i wanted to swear then that I would never let anyone hurt her again, but as i held her tightly in my arms, a shiver more violent than her quiver went crawling down my back because when i walked in the house, Emma was alone in the room.

the couch

She came out of her room crying . I wonder how she ever found her way in the dark, and how she knew I was awake. She climbed on the couch, where I was sitting in front of the quiet color breathing TV. She pretended not to hear me tell her to go back to bed. She laid her head on my lap and fell asleep. she was three.

the next morning, she hurried to the couch where she left her backpack from studying the night before. she had a delicious wrap in one hand, and my mother’s mouth running in the back of her head. She was going to be late for school. She fixed her book on the couch where I was sitting. my father left the house first, he always grumpy in the morning. My mother followed him screaming one last thing as she walked out. She ran after her two minutes later. She waived at me and slammed the front door behind her

Later that evening, she stormed in through that door. she had that smile in her face. you know, the one that stains your mind for a while, like a pin on a small thread of your lifetime. She ran past me, and the couch, leaving a trail of joy behind. She ran to my parents, her diploma tucked under her arm. She ran through the house, my parents parading behind her. She ran to me and give me a quick, but rough hug.

The phone rang and rang that evening. I reached over, on the coffee table, in front of the couch, and I picked up the receiver. It was her, the most happy I’ve ever heard her. her words flowed like the fabric of time. She only stopped to giggled, then time stopped. she was telling me about her trip to Greece. It seems the flight alone was an adventure on it’s own. It seems the rest of her honeymoon promised to be nothing but amazing.

It seems that amazing is all she ever was. And I’m not just saying that because tonight she is sleeping over there, not too far away from the couch where I sit. Or because there is so much people gathered here in the living room. Or even that I don’t recognize most of them. My sister really is an amazing person. Even if she is not here to hear me say it. She has three kids. Her two sons are crying on her casket. The youngest is thirty years old, she has her eyes. I hold her in my arms; she tells me stories of her mother as she cries.

…and I cry too because this story isn’t about her.