Storybook

A 25 year old female returns home for her younger sister's funeral. Memories suddenly come back

            Emily gripped tightly to the sides of the steering wheel, her eyes firmly on the road, trying to keep the tears from falling. It had been a long time since she had visited her hometown, the place she had always sworn she’d never return to.

            She wasn’t sure how long she spent driving, just going through the motions, but Google maps told her it should take six hours. Emily didn’t recognize anything until she pulled onto Cherry Street. In all these years it seemed that it had not changed.

            Her phone lit up with her brother’s name and, with a sigh, she answered. “Hey Patrick.”

            “Where are you?” He questioned quickly, leaving no time for chatting. He had always been in a rush like that. Emily used to wonder, quite often, actually, if he had ever stopped to think. Then again, he had always been incredibly smart. Perhaps he never really needed to think too much.

            “Em, where are you?”

            “I just turned onto Cherry Street”

            “Okay, about ten minutes then. Drive fast, mom’s worried.” Their mother was always quick to find something to worry about. Even the smallest thing would leave her staring out the window with the phone clenched tightly between her fingers. There was one time Emily fell asleep under the willow tree at the park while holding some sort of fantasy book in her hands. When she had finally returned home it had to have been the middle of the night, but her mother was still sitting in that chair waiting for her.

            “How is everyone?”

            “How do you think? Sophie just died, remember?”

            “I know, of course I remember. I was just wondering if they were all ok.”

            “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Just hurry.” He said softly, before hanging up the phone.

            Emily wiped her eyes at the thought of Sophie. She was her younger sister, who never seemed to change throughout the years. She remembered Sophie’s 13^th birthday, where she had stood and stared at the blue numbers on the cake in disbelief. Emily had always wished she could be more like her sister who, just by walking in a room, could liven it up. It was as if she was made of daylight and happy days.

            When Emily was nine and Sophie was three, Sophie had a red and white polka-dot dress that she would have sworn was sewn with lace and sunshine. They used to walk to the pond together, which had dark algae growing in its stagnant waters. She used to love it when Emily read fairy tales from her book with the purple cover, and would giggle whenever Emily tickled her.

            Emily pushed her hair behind her ear and looked at her bag in the passenger’s seat. In it, she had packed the book her sister had made for her. She could still hear her sister’s six-year-old voice calling, “Em, I made it for you because I know how much you like reading.” She had handed over a paper booklet with crayon drawings on the cover, the whole thing held together with staples.

 

            After Emily arrived at her childhood home where visiting cars lined the street, she took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Food overflowed from the table and countertops. People surrounded her; faces she hadn’t seen for many years were mixed among others that she had never seen. Some of her old relatives would stop to talk to her. Sometimes it was, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Other’s it was, “Oh my, how you’ve grown.”

In which case she would kindly remind them, “I’m 25.”

            Then there were the people like her Uncle Frank, who could weave an anecdote from nothing. “Hi Emily!” He would cry

            “Hello” She would say in response

            “That reminds me of the time when"“ He would start before she would slip away.

 

            When Emily finally found her mom, she was crying with her head buried in a box of old photographs. The two girls playing dress up (Sophie was Cinderella), Sophie pressing her face against the glass of the dolphin tank at the aquarium, the first time Sophie rode her small, pink bike, that one time she skinned her knee trying to climb the tree in the neighbor’s yard. In each picture she wore the same juvenile expression.

            Emily’s favorite photograph was of Sophie’s sixth birthday, when she blew out the multicolored candles and exclaimed, “I wanna be a writer!” with that silly smile that showed off her missing teeth.

            Patrick had teased, “It’ll never come true if you say your wish out loud!”

            The young girl’s face had contorted to disappointment. Emily hugged her from behind and whispered, “Don’t listen to him, you can be whatever you want.”

            Her mother chimed in, “You can keep that picture, if you like.” Emily looked up and hugged her tight.

            “I’m so sorry, we’re all going to miss her so much.” Her mother responded only with tears.

 

            Eventually, she left her mother’s embrace to find her father. Her legs carried her to the kitchen where her father was leaning over the cabinets with a screwdriver in hand. He had always seemed to be fixing something, whether it was the sink, a table, that leg on the dining room chair that always wobbled. He always had a project. Nothing was ever perfect.

            “Blasted cabinets.” He muttered to himself, “I just need another hand.”

            Emily crouched down and held the cabinet level for him. She watched as his trembling hands screwed the hinges on straight, wondering if he was shaking out of grief or if his age had finally caught up to him. He placed his calloused hand on her shoulder and sighed, “Glad you’re back” before walking away, probably to find something else he could fix.

            Emily turned and walked up the stairs. She needed to get away from all the morbid faces and consoling strangers. Without thinking, she headed to Sophie’s room and closed the door behind her. As the ruckus from downstairs faded, she ran her fingers along the dresser and felt the hair ties and necklaces that were still scattered along it.

            She opened the closet to find dresses that Sophie had worn over the years. Her eyes stopped at the polka-dotted dress she had always envied. Her fingers ran along the pattern until she reached the messy patch job her mother had attempted after Emily had tried on the dress in the hopes that it would make her more like Sophie.

            She then found herself at Sophie’s desk, which was clean save for the large notebook that sat in the middle. The only words on the front cover read, ‘recreate reality’ in a fancy script. It was a graduation present from Emily, along with some CDs. She cursed under her breath, wondering why she didn’t come back for Sophie’s graduation. Regret rolled down her cheek. Emily clutched the book tight and laid on her sister’s bed. She flipped slowly through the pages, reading the stories until her eyelids drifted shut.

 

            Emily awoke to the sound of everyone settling down for dinner. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her still red eyes. She left the room and went downstairs, carrying the notebook in one hand and the dress in the other. The others looked at her with tilted heads and questions on their lips but they knew it was better not to ask. The dark-haired girl opened her car and folded the items into her bag, placing the crayon-colored book on the top.

            Everyone at the table was silent for the first time in years. Despite the amount of food, no one was able to eat. Why did they all bring food anyways? No one could even bear to look at each other’s eyes. They just sat there.

 

            The next day was the funeral and, though the sun came out to play, the church was somber and filled with people shrouded in black. Many words were spoken, broken up only by someone’s heavy sobs or the sound of people burying their noses into tissues, but Emily was too numb to hear anything. Suddenly everything seemed so real.

            She tuned everything out until she saw everyone else standing to exit. She followed suit as they all marched towards the newly carved grave. One by one, flowers were placed, words were spoken, and stories were told. Emily waited until the others left for the reception to take her turn. Her fingers worked their ways over the headstone and the tears came once more.

            After she composed herself, she managed to say, “Hey Sophie, my little angel. Do you remember that time when you were six, and you gave me your first book? I read it under our tree with tears in my eyes; we were both so proud of you. I still have it, even though I’ve opened it so many times that the staples are coming loose. I though I’d return the favor, so I wrote you my own little book. It was meant to be a birthday present, but, well, you know.”

            She paused for a moment before she opened to the first page, “I’d like to read it aloud to you, just like we used to do.”

 

 

Author's Note

Please help, especially the beginning...it seems kind of awkward. Oh and I want to think of a different street name. Cherry street sounds pretty lame xD