Holly

Holly

      “She’s dead.”

     Ashley removed her top, never taking her gaze from the sunset. It was beautiful tonight, the red and orange in perfect harmony with the colors of waves crashing. The air was cold with the December winds but that didn’t stop her from continuing to strip down to her bra and panties. One by one, she removed her out outer garments catching the eyes of every beach goer around us. I thought about stopping her, to yank her for acting so foolishly among the kids and their families. But it will be a waste because she’ll do it anyway. So she made her way slowly towards the water, still never taking her eyes of the winter sun.

     The water was freezing but I couldn’t allow her to wallow alone. We treaded the ocean waves for a little while, our breaths disappearing into thin white wisps.  She kept whispering the words, “She’s dead.” with a sad smile. From the moment we woke up yesterday, a flood of bad news crashed onto us. First, Ashley’s co-worker accused her of stealing the tip money from the diner she worked at. Then my aunt Abby accidentally wrecked my car when she drove it last night, and apparently our English professor never received our essay. “Isn’t this the best damn day Eden?” She joked after it all. But to add a final blow, Ashley got the phone call about her sister and how she ended her own life.

*

     We left the beach shivering, laughing like the kids we were. For a moment, there was a second of bliss and nothing but the two of us existed again. She was smiling and I knew that I should feel bad for trying to get her mind off the death but she needed something. Someone.

     Holly was not just a sister to her but also a mother figure. Their parents stopped being parents long before we both met. The years haven’t been fruitful for their family which posed as the reason for the drunken nights their father forgot and the affairs their mother failed to hide. Holly dreamed of a better future for Ashley so she endured the years before her 18^th year. Then Holly finally landed a job in Carlsbad, the two moved out of the house, and drove the six hours from San Francisco.

     “Have you ever thought of it?” Ashley asked me staring at an old picture of Holly and her. “This just feels so sudden. I always assumed that I can prepare for a death you know? Like have an idea of what to expect so I can react the right way, the best way possible.”

     I responded in sign language, “I don’t like to think of it.”

     I remember the last time I met up with Holly. We were all having lunch and I was just teaching her how to do basic sign language techniques. She was cheerful on the fact that she finally quit the lousy job she moved to Southern California for and was beyond grateful for the two week vacation that she’d been wanting. “A chance to finally write,” she told me. “I’ve got a book to finish.”

     That was two weeks ago which now felt much like a lifetime has passed. Ashley got a chance to see Holly for a bit before her and I left for the Grand Canyon. I found it odd that Holly refused to go, since the canyon was a dream of hers. Instead she gave the both of us some of her possessions to sell so we can have some extra dollars. We ended up postponing the trip till the next day and ended up going to the movies to watch The Dark Knight. The two sisters went on about who the best hero was. Ashley adored Batman but Holly admired the Joker tremendously, stating that he was her hero.

     “The Joker is a villain Holly.” Ashley reminded her. 

     “In your story, yes " but not in mine.”

     Shortly after we had dinner, we spent the remainder of that night listening and reviewing her manuscript. The story was dark and recalled most of the pain the family endured and was very lyrical in the sense of portraying the loss she felt. “If you take the love of the world from a child who understood nothing, what will become of them?” she wrote. Ashley cried at some parts but Holly assured her that it’s nothing to be sad about. I felt that it wasn’t a book at all, but a diary.

     When the two went to bed, I opened her book and read it for myself. I was an avid reader and reveled in works such as Flowers for Algernon, Tuesdays with Morrie, and The Picture of Dorian Grey. She wrote in a prose much like those books but her style was heavily influenced by Charles Bukowski. She wrote about him and one of my favorite chapters in her book quoted him:

Find what you love, and let it kill you. The words rang in my head for a decade now and I’ve come to realize the truth behind Charles’ words. I loved my childhood, the fairness of things, and the way roses bloomed as the most beautiful things in the world. How do I let those kill me? My youth was robbed from me, the world spat on my face long before I learned to speak, and roses were reminders that nothing beautiful existed but must be created. So after more than a decade, I am still in search of what I love. But now I wonder, what will I do once I find it? I’m afraid that Charles might be right and it might end up killing me.

     We should’ve known but how were we to judge her by the way she made her art?

**

     “I just want to know why she did it. I just want to know if I could have helped, if I could have prevented it.” There’s no pain close to the loss of a loved one nor anything as haunting as to the idea of believing you could’ve prevented it but didn’t.

     I took her hand and shook my head no and pulled her closer to me. I can feel the sadness from how soft and fragile she felt and it was moments like these where I wished I could speak. To soothe her verbally and let her know that everything will be alright. I tried to speak but nothing but a groan came out.

     “I’ll be okay Eden, don’t you worry. I’ll call the police station and let them know that I would like to look at my sister’s things now.” She kissed me as I slowly pulled out of the parking lot and unto the interstate. She wasn’t going to be okay. I don’t think anyone will be okay after something like that.

***

     She sat by the kitchen table of our apartment reading through the book. For almost an hour now, I watched her flip through pages after pages, like a detective looking for a clue that may lead her to another clue. She gave up the fight and placed the book back on the table, burying her face on her hands.

     “There was nothing significant there. The last chapter written was four months ago, a few weeks after we moved out of our parent’s house. Even then, all the entries were just about how much she’s enjoying her life here and how proud she is of me, of us, of herself.”

     There was a sense of desperation in her eyes. Since the news of Holly, Ashley never cried once. I feared for her now because during the times she found herself alone, I can see the pain rushing in again but she ignores it and focuses on something else. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to experience the loss of a loved one.

     “She used to tell me that every person has a scar and sometimes you can see it in their eyes. One of her first stories talked about the life of an autistic kid rejected by his parents. It was a sad read to be honest and a bit brutal for my taste. But this kid, Adam was his name, was an angel of a kid. But years and years of abuse prompted him to become the murderous psychopath in which the story revolved around on. She stated that even angels have their demons. Sometimes I think she was referring to herself.”

     I let her continue on, listening to childhood stories of when they all used to live in San Francisco. The small diners that they always had an adventure on, the troubles they had in school, and even their neighborhood friend,Timothy who was both their first kisses. It was like watching someone’s life right before my eyes. The excitement gleamed off of her and I knew she was happy because of the way her eyes smiled too. She needed this. Even if just for a night.

****

     A month had passed and no one but the two of us and couple of Holly’s friends attended her funeral. I hoped to see her parents come by, to say goodbye to their daughter and comfort the other. But not a single car drove up on the drive way where all of us stood in black. By mid-afternoon, the lot of us finished a late lunch and resumed our lives once again. It was strange how when a person dies, we dedicate a few hours of our lives to them. And somehow those few hours is more significant than the years we’ve spent with them.

     I asked Ashley if she was going to call her parents and ask why they never came down. She replied signing “Don’t worry.” I asked again. She dismissed the idea and made me promise to never bring it up. They had no reason to, she told me, because only family members and friends should be present at a funeral.

     Every now and then, I would catch her alone and the pain came flooding back in. I always contemplated about going to her, wrapping my arms around her to assure her that it will be okay. But the moment I do, her guard comes back up and every pain shuts off. She needs time to for herself, a moment to allow her to truly feel everything before it gets too much to handle. It pained me to see her cry and breakdown but she needed it. For what it’s worth, she needed it.

     We never did know why she took her life. The mystery still perplexed us more so for Ashley. I think her entire work was a cry for help and that sometimes our demons win the fight. One thing was certain and that was she found something that she loved. Maybe it was being alone and free or who knows, she loved being lonely. Day by day, I begin to notice a difference in Ashley. The way she spoke, the way she acted, it reminded me of Holly. I guess it was just her way of mourning her. 

Author's Note

This is my first take on writing literary ficiton. All feedbacks are appreciated, thank you for taking the time to read it.

Reviews

[Stanley R. Teater]

A worthy first try on literary fiction. One note: you might try walking away from a completed story for several days and then go back and read it with an editor's hat on. There were a few word choices that tripped my eye, sort of like a speed bump. Here are a couple of examples: "She was cheerful on the fact..." It struck me as an oddly formed sentence. Perhaps "cheered by the fact" would have been an improvement.

"We ended up postponing the trip till the next day and ended up going to the movies..." Repeating ended up seems like a mistake. Perhaps "In the end we postponed the trip and went to the movies." Just a suggestion.

Opening with the tease "She's dead" and then explaining it slowly... a bit here, a bit there... was quite good. When you read reviews of your literary fiction always keep one thing in mind: reviews are very subjective. No one's an expert in anything but what they like. So always take criticism with a grain of salt. Accept it or reject it. But always be yourself.