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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Loneliness / Solitude
- Published: 07/04/2013
Closure
Born 1996, F, from Kingston, CanadaI’d gotten it from my mother when I was a young child. It had been passed down through my family for generations; always to the firstborn girl. I kept it tucked away on the top shelf, out of sight. It was an old thing, ugly in a sense. It was a piggy bank, although the plug had been removed so that any money pushed through the top would fall out the bottom. In the shape of a carousel, the four horses were so life-like; they looked as though they would gallop right off. It was slightly rusted, the paint chipped off long ago.
Forgotten years ago, I had reached up to the top shelf, looking for some spare change. When my fingers grazed along it, my arm tingled with an unknown shock, as though it was a long lost treasure. In a way, it was. I pulled my carousel from the shelf, examining it silently. I felt an odd pang of sadness. My mom had died years before and my father, through his grieving, had made the decision without my permission, to rid the house of anything that reminded him of her. Pictures were thrown in the trash, things were sold or donated. It was like she had never existed.
Between all of us, I think my brother took it the hardest. As I’d been only eight when she’d died, he was twelve. I can only recall certain things about her – how she would take me to the park every weekend. She was obsessed with roses; our garden was always full of them. She loved chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, our freezer was always fully stocked with containers of it. It didn’t matter if it was snowing - we would have hot chocolate and ice cream, a mixture some people found weird, but I’d learned to love. Before she’d died, it was a ritual that every Friday we would gather in the living room to watch a movie and eat dinner. No one would be allowed to leave until the movie was finished.
My brother, Ethan, could remember everything. I think it had something to do with him claiming to have a photographic memory. As we grew older, he told me I looked like her. I had the same blond ringlets that I preferred tucked into a ponytail. The look I got in my blue eyes when I was angry, was the same icy stare she was quick to give out. He would tell me, in a sad voice, that she’d been small, just like me. That when she and my dad would wrestle, he purposely let her win.
He’d gone from my happy older brother, to a depressed child. He’d discovered cigarettes and marijuana when he was but fourteen years old. By sixteen, he was a full blown alcoholic. My dad dished out the money, bought him beer, anything to keep Ethan from bothering him. I had chosen a different route, folding into myself, not letting others in. But now, at eighteen, my brother was trying to stay clean for my sake, to help me open up again. I was proud of him, and also shy of how he’d done such a thing for someone like me.
I was sitting at my desk, thinking about this, when Ethan appeared in my doorway, “Hey, Erin,” He said softly. I jumped and turned to look at him, “Are you okay?” He was the only one who knew everything I’d gone through in the past six months. Ever since he’d found me, nearly dead from a pill overdose, he checked on me often. As sweet as it was, it annoyed me to no end.
“Yeah,” I gave him my usual one word answer and turned my back to him, waiting to be left alone once more. I preferred to be alone.
“Adam and I are going for pizza. Are you – do you want to come?” I could tell that he was trying by the tone of his voice, and so I nodded, “Okay, meet me downstairs in five minutes.” My back was still turned, but I could tell he was smiling by his voice. His footsteps faded down the stairs.
I put the carousel back on my desk, gently. I hadn’t realized I was holding it so tightly. My fingers ached, but I ignored it. I glanced in my mirror, wincing as I did so. My eyes were dull, tired. The bags, large dark circles, looked almost black. I opened my closet doors, searching for a sweater. I had to reach on my tiptoes to reach the hanger. I’d gotten it for my birthday. Ethan had gone out with a friend of his, to find the perfect gift for me. He’d gone to multiple stores, unable to decide. In the end, though, it was a sweater. A plain, baby blue, baggy and comfortable sweater. He knew I liked it this way.
I made my way down the stairs, slowly. I could hear someone banging the drawers in the kitchen, the television loud in the other room. I tried to keep calm, a knot forming in my stomach as an explosion came from the TV. My hands were shaking. The banging had stopped and Ethan appeared triumphantly, holding a bill in his hands. One look at my strained smile and he yelled for my father to turn it down. A curse came from the living room, but the volume was off.
“He’s watching a documentary.” Ethan explained, “It’s fine, let’s go.” He watched me start down the stairs once more. A lump had formed in my throat but I forced myself forward. It was only a show. Only a show, that’s all. So why was I still scared? Ethan took my hand. He had to have been the best older brother anyone could ever ask for. I was so lucky. He smiled when he opened the front door for me, and led the way through.
“What kind of pizza do you want?” Adam asked when I’d gotten into the backseat. He’d turned the radio down to a low hum and pulled away from my house. I shrugged, keeping my head ducked down. My hands were folded in my lap and I tried to keep from shaking, “Bad day?” He asked Ethan so quietly, I almost didn’t hear.
“Yeah,” he changed the subject, “How’s the girlfriend doing?” I knew he’d winked, from the teasing in his voice. Adam’s girlfriend, Melissa, was the most popular girl in high school. She was a year younger than my brother and his friend, so while they had graduated the year before, she was still stuck there. Any guy would be lucky to have her. She was nice, kind hearted, beautiful and perfect in every way I could think of. She never talked behind anyone’s back. Grade twelve, and head of student council. Sometimes she said hi to me in the halls.
A shiver went down my spine. I hated that school. The halls were always crowded, people pushing and shoving in all directions; the lockers banging shut, too loud; everyone talking all at once. And if you were late for class because of this, the teachers would yell at you. Everyone would turn to stare, and I would feel self-conscience. I avoided school at all costs. There were times, though, when Ethan said I had to go. I would get on the bus and he would watch. I liked the bus in the mornings. Nobody would talk and I could just sit and look out the window, unbothered. In the afternoons, it was loud. The girls in the back threw things at me. They blasted music and talked way too loudly. More than once, Ethan had to pick me up because I couldn’t deal with it. I knew this bothered him, so I tried not to do it often, although there were days when I was just too overwhelmed to take the bus home.
“Erin, we’re here.” My brother said softly. I nodded.
“What’s that?” Ethan came to check on me as I was cleaning the carousel. I shrugged, handing it to him, “Where’d you find this?” He asked. I pointed to the shelf in response, and he seemed to be thinking for a few moments, before turning, “Follow me.” I kept my eyes on the floor when I got up to follow him. We went down the stairs, to the kitchen. He opened the door to the basement, and I winced as it creaked. I’d never been there and I felt my stomach knot. The stairs were loud under our weight and halfway down he reached up to turn on the light. I stopped and when he got to the bottom, he smiled encouragingly at me.
The cement was cold on my bare feet. I folded my arms across my chest and watched him intently. There were spider webs everywhere and there was a pipe or something hissing. Ethan didn’t seem to notice as he made his way to one end of the darkness. I shivered nervously and felt myself tensing up until he reappeared with a small box. He set it down at my feet, “Are you ready to have your mind to be blown to pieces?” He joked, but I could see a hint of seriousness in his eyes. I was confused, but I forced myself to nod slightly. He squatted down by his box and I followed suit. It was a shoebox, with shiny red wrapping paper covering the outsides. There were no patterns or designs.
With a pop, the top popped off. He reached in and pulled something out; handed it to me. It was a picture frame, in the shape of an apple, so small I could fit it into the palm of my hand. A woman was laughing at something beyond the camera. I was a mirror image of her. I blinked the tears from my eyes, brushing my finger over her face.
“This is her; the day she died.”
“Do you see any cute boys?” my mom asked me on the way to the park. I wrinkled my nose and gave her the dirtiest look I could manage. She laughed, swinging me up to her hip in a single swift movement. My older brother, Ethan, had just turned twelve earlier that month. His only birthday request was a camera, and ever since he’d gotten it, he brought it everywhere. My mother said he was very gifted with it, but I just thought it was an annoyance.
We always walked to the park, since it was only a few blocks from my home. Ethan was taking pictures of everything he could see; a leaf here, a squirrel there. A fat man was eating an ice cream cone as he walked down the street. My brother snapped a picture of him just as the ice cream fell from the cone. I was laughing and my mother was doing the same. Ethan kept a straight, serious face, as he took a picture of us. As I realized this, my mother put me down.
“Delete that!” I yelled and he laughed.
“Make me,” he stuck out his tongue, taunting me. Accepting this as a challenge, I chased after him. My flip-flops slapped the ground loudly.
“Come back here, dummy.” I screamed.
And that was when the gunshot went off. Stunned from the noise, I turned. I don’t know how long I stood, staring. I didn’t know any eight year old could go numb, but that’s what happened at that exact second, She was lying on the ground, dead. I didn’t understand that at the time. I told myself she’d just fallen, that she’d get up any second. But, even then, I knew she wouldn’t. I don’t know how long I stood, watching. It could’ve been ten seconds, or an hour. I felt someone tug on my arm, pulling me further down the street, away from my mom. But I refused to move.
Later, I learned it had been a random drive by shooting. She’d been shot in the head. We were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. If she hadn’t put me down, so I could chase after my brother, that would’ve been me. This notion shocked me, drove me near to insanity.
To this day, I still feel like that could’ve been me. It was supposed to be me.
Tears were streaming down my face. Ethan watched me pull out a folder paper crane. She’d loved making those, I remembered. She promised she’d teach me one day. Her necklace that I never saw her without; I thought she’d been buried with it. A rose; most likely from her garden. Ethan moved to my side without me noticing, “Erin,” He said my name softly. I looked up at him, and he pulled me into a hug, so tight I thought I would suffocate. “It’s going to be okay.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I trusted that he was right.
Closure(Alexandra Craig)
I’d gotten it from my mother when I was a young child. It had been passed down through my family for generations; always to the firstborn girl. I kept it tucked away on the top shelf, out of sight. It was an old thing, ugly in a sense. It was a piggy bank, although the plug had been removed so that any money pushed through the top would fall out the bottom. In the shape of a carousel, the four horses were so life-like; they looked as though they would gallop right off. It was slightly rusted, the paint chipped off long ago.
Forgotten years ago, I had reached up to the top shelf, looking for some spare change. When my fingers grazed along it, my arm tingled with an unknown shock, as though it was a long lost treasure. In a way, it was. I pulled my carousel from the shelf, examining it silently. I felt an odd pang of sadness. My mom had died years before and my father, through his grieving, had made the decision without my permission, to rid the house of anything that reminded him of her. Pictures were thrown in the trash, things were sold or donated. It was like she had never existed.
Between all of us, I think my brother took it the hardest. As I’d been only eight when she’d died, he was twelve. I can only recall certain things about her – how she would take me to the park every weekend. She was obsessed with roses; our garden was always full of them. She loved chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, our freezer was always fully stocked with containers of it. It didn’t matter if it was snowing - we would have hot chocolate and ice cream, a mixture some people found weird, but I’d learned to love. Before she’d died, it was a ritual that every Friday we would gather in the living room to watch a movie and eat dinner. No one would be allowed to leave until the movie was finished.
My brother, Ethan, could remember everything. I think it had something to do with him claiming to have a photographic memory. As we grew older, he told me I looked like her. I had the same blond ringlets that I preferred tucked into a ponytail. The look I got in my blue eyes when I was angry, was the same icy stare she was quick to give out. He would tell me, in a sad voice, that she’d been small, just like me. That when she and my dad would wrestle, he purposely let her win.
He’d gone from my happy older brother, to a depressed child. He’d discovered cigarettes and marijuana when he was but fourteen years old. By sixteen, he was a full blown alcoholic. My dad dished out the money, bought him beer, anything to keep Ethan from bothering him. I had chosen a different route, folding into myself, not letting others in. But now, at eighteen, my brother was trying to stay clean for my sake, to help me open up again. I was proud of him, and also shy of how he’d done such a thing for someone like me.
I was sitting at my desk, thinking about this, when Ethan appeared in my doorway, “Hey, Erin,” He said softly. I jumped and turned to look at him, “Are you okay?” He was the only one who knew everything I’d gone through in the past six months. Ever since he’d found me, nearly dead from a pill overdose, he checked on me often. As sweet as it was, it annoyed me to no end.
“Yeah,” I gave him my usual one word answer and turned my back to him, waiting to be left alone once more. I preferred to be alone.
“Adam and I are going for pizza. Are you – do you want to come?” I could tell that he was trying by the tone of his voice, and so I nodded, “Okay, meet me downstairs in five minutes.” My back was still turned, but I could tell he was smiling by his voice. His footsteps faded down the stairs.
I put the carousel back on my desk, gently. I hadn’t realized I was holding it so tightly. My fingers ached, but I ignored it. I glanced in my mirror, wincing as I did so. My eyes were dull, tired. The bags, large dark circles, looked almost black. I opened my closet doors, searching for a sweater. I had to reach on my tiptoes to reach the hanger. I’d gotten it for my birthday. Ethan had gone out with a friend of his, to find the perfect gift for me. He’d gone to multiple stores, unable to decide. In the end, though, it was a sweater. A plain, baby blue, baggy and comfortable sweater. He knew I liked it this way.
I made my way down the stairs, slowly. I could hear someone banging the drawers in the kitchen, the television loud in the other room. I tried to keep calm, a knot forming in my stomach as an explosion came from the TV. My hands were shaking. The banging had stopped and Ethan appeared triumphantly, holding a bill in his hands. One look at my strained smile and he yelled for my father to turn it down. A curse came from the living room, but the volume was off.
“He’s watching a documentary.” Ethan explained, “It’s fine, let’s go.” He watched me start down the stairs once more. A lump had formed in my throat but I forced myself forward. It was only a show. Only a show, that’s all. So why was I still scared? Ethan took my hand. He had to have been the best older brother anyone could ever ask for. I was so lucky. He smiled when he opened the front door for me, and led the way through.
“What kind of pizza do you want?” Adam asked when I’d gotten into the backseat. He’d turned the radio down to a low hum and pulled away from my house. I shrugged, keeping my head ducked down. My hands were folded in my lap and I tried to keep from shaking, “Bad day?” He asked Ethan so quietly, I almost didn’t hear.
“Yeah,” he changed the subject, “How’s the girlfriend doing?” I knew he’d winked, from the teasing in his voice. Adam’s girlfriend, Melissa, was the most popular girl in high school. She was a year younger than my brother and his friend, so while they had graduated the year before, she was still stuck there. Any guy would be lucky to have her. She was nice, kind hearted, beautiful and perfect in every way I could think of. She never talked behind anyone’s back. Grade twelve, and head of student council. Sometimes she said hi to me in the halls.
A shiver went down my spine. I hated that school. The halls were always crowded, people pushing and shoving in all directions; the lockers banging shut, too loud; everyone talking all at once. And if you were late for class because of this, the teachers would yell at you. Everyone would turn to stare, and I would feel self-conscience. I avoided school at all costs. There were times, though, when Ethan said I had to go. I would get on the bus and he would watch. I liked the bus in the mornings. Nobody would talk and I could just sit and look out the window, unbothered. In the afternoons, it was loud. The girls in the back threw things at me. They blasted music and talked way too loudly. More than once, Ethan had to pick me up because I couldn’t deal with it. I knew this bothered him, so I tried not to do it often, although there were days when I was just too overwhelmed to take the bus home.
“Erin, we’re here.” My brother said softly. I nodded.
“What’s that?” Ethan came to check on me as I was cleaning the carousel. I shrugged, handing it to him, “Where’d you find this?” He asked. I pointed to the shelf in response, and he seemed to be thinking for a few moments, before turning, “Follow me.” I kept my eyes on the floor when I got up to follow him. We went down the stairs, to the kitchen. He opened the door to the basement, and I winced as it creaked. I’d never been there and I felt my stomach knot. The stairs were loud under our weight and halfway down he reached up to turn on the light. I stopped and when he got to the bottom, he smiled encouragingly at me.
The cement was cold on my bare feet. I folded my arms across my chest and watched him intently. There were spider webs everywhere and there was a pipe or something hissing. Ethan didn’t seem to notice as he made his way to one end of the darkness. I shivered nervously and felt myself tensing up until he reappeared with a small box. He set it down at my feet, “Are you ready to have your mind to be blown to pieces?” He joked, but I could see a hint of seriousness in his eyes. I was confused, but I forced myself to nod slightly. He squatted down by his box and I followed suit. It was a shoebox, with shiny red wrapping paper covering the outsides. There were no patterns or designs.
With a pop, the top popped off. He reached in and pulled something out; handed it to me. It was a picture frame, in the shape of an apple, so small I could fit it into the palm of my hand. A woman was laughing at something beyond the camera. I was a mirror image of her. I blinked the tears from my eyes, brushing my finger over her face.
“This is her; the day she died.”
“Do you see any cute boys?” my mom asked me on the way to the park. I wrinkled my nose and gave her the dirtiest look I could manage. She laughed, swinging me up to her hip in a single swift movement. My older brother, Ethan, had just turned twelve earlier that month. His only birthday request was a camera, and ever since he’d gotten it, he brought it everywhere. My mother said he was very gifted with it, but I just thought it was an annoyance.
We always walked to the park, since it was only a few blocks from my home. Ethan was taking pictures of everything he could see; a leaf here, a squirrel there. A fat man was eating an ice cream cone as he walked down the street. My brother snapped a picture of him just as the ice cream fell from the cone. I was laughing and my mother was doing the same. Ethan kept a straight, serious face, as he took a picture of us. As I realized this, my mother put me down.
“Delete that!” I yelled and he laughed.
“Make me,” he stuck out his tongue, taunting me. Accepting this as a challenge, I chased after him. My flip-flops slapped the ground loudly.
“Come back here, dummy.” I screamed.
And that was when the gunshot went off. Stunned from the noise, I turned. I don’t know how long I stood, staring. I didn’t know any eight year old could go numb, but that’s what happened at that exact second, She was lying on the ground, dead. I didn’t understand that at the time. I told myself she’d just fallen, that she’d get up any second. But, even then, I knew she wouldn’t. I don’t know how long I stood, watching. It could’ve been ten seconds, or an hour. I felt someone tug on my arm, pulling me further down the street, away from my mom. But I refused to move.
Later, I learned it had been a random drive by shooting. She’d been shot in the head. We were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. If she hadn’t put me down, so I could chase after my brother, that would’ve been me. This notion shocked me, drove me near to insanity.
To this day, I still feel like that could’ve been me. It was supposed to be me.
Tears were streaming down my face. Ethan watched me pull out a folder paper crane. She’d loved making those, I remembered. She promised she’d teach me one day. Her necklace that I never saw her without; I thought she’d been buried with it. A rose; most likely from her garden. Ethan moved to my side without me noticing, “Erin,” He said my name softly. I looked up at him, and he pulled me into a hug, so tight I thought I would suffocate. “It’s going to be okay.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I trusted that he was right.
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