What Remains of You

The Diary

Authors note: This is a warning that in the next two chapters there are a few small mentions of animal abuse

He never told her that he kept a diary. In fact he seemed to have started distancing himself from her. At first she wasn't bothered by it, but the continuous brush-offs had gone to her head. Does he hate me now? What's wrong? She was going to ask him what had changed and if he had gotten a new girlfriend. The last time he had one, the bitch had gone to his head and forced him to stay away from her because she was "obsessed" . He broke it off after Rebecca continuously begged him to dump his girlfriend and hang out with her instead. She had grown quite protective over him, but she didn't think it was obsessive.

She was actually going to question him about it when he got home, but now, she would never have the chance to do that. He was dead, but it was all Rebecca wished for that he could be sitting on his bed beside her, talking about his day. The urge grew great in her, so giving no care, she ripped off the lock of the diary. She just wanted something of his, something to help ease the pain in her chest. Flipping through the pages, she came across an entry dated at the beginning of the year.

January 21st

Today I was thinking about dad and how he died. I wish I had gotten to learn more about him. I know Rebecca doesn't remember much, but I do. He had always been sweet and fun on the outside, but sometimes his craziness would show through. He would pick up Jasper (may he rest in peace, the puppy) by his neck and drag him up the steps when he got angry. I know he said Jasper was fine, but he always shied away from him after that. That was the only time I was scared of him. Any other time, he was just a happy dad, who loved to hang out with his kids. I think that's what I miss most about him. Going out with him for ice cream or talking at the skate park. There are so many things I wish I could tell him about. I think he died too soon.

Rebecca couldn't agree more with the last statement. She wished she could have known him better. To know what he liked and his pet peeves and what he thought of his favourite football team and moms constant cooking. She continued through the book until an entry from March caught her eye.

March 11th

Today I looked at the autopsy report for dad, and something just isn't right. It claims he died on impact, but got a large piece of shrapnel in his chest from where the car had broken. It doesn't make any sense. I know it said he flipped three times, but the chance that shrapnel (of all things) hitting him straight and square in the chest perfectly killing him is so rare. Dad had always been a careful driver and would get distraught if we even talked about not following a safety rule. The day he died, he had been so happy because of his job promotion. His smile when he closed the door is forever printed in my mind. It won't leave. It's like a parasite, killing me from the inside as it feeds.

Circles of dried water littered the page. Not water, tears, she thought. Soon, her own mixed in with the others. They dripped with certainty, creating a collage of fresh dots, mixing in with the ink and spreading it.

"Crap!" Moving her wet eyes away from the page to stop even more contamination to the only piece of him she had left, she cried. She wasn't even sure why. All the emotions spread across her in the day finally came to a wave. They crashed over her and drowned her, leaving nothing but a notebook and memories.

She stared at the diary. He's really gone, isn't he? She asked herself, trying to get a grip on reality. Yes, another part of her answered.

The logical part of her mind agreed with that, but her heart didn't. He can't be. He just can't! Maybe this is a really vivid dream. A figment of my imagination. She reached her hands out and pinched them. A twinge of pain could be felt along her arm and she rested her head in them breathing loudly.

"I want him back!" She yelled. "I want my brother back." Her voice cracked at the end and she sobbed some more.

After a long while of crying, staring at nothing, and crying some more, she finally heard her mom knock on the door. Shoving the diary as quickly as she could under the covers she told her to come in. Her face was flustered, and her eyes looked as big as saucers, red and unseeing. That left Rebecca wondering what her own looked like.

"I think you should try to get some rest, it's been a long day for both of us, and we need to start thinking about a funeral for him." Her mom came into the room and sat down on the bed beside her.

Rebecca looked at her, playing with the sheet on his bed as though it would seep into her fingers. "Are you going to get rid of all of his stuff, like dads?"

Touching the bedpost, her mom responded. "No, I think we should hold on to him." Rebecca looked down at the floor.

"I'm going to bed, and I think you should too." Her mom stood up after holding her hand and left the room. His room. What was going to happen to it? She knew her mom said she wouldn't get rid of it, but would it just sit there gathering dust? Slowly losing its meaning as time goes on and she starts to forget him? She didn't think that would ever happen.

After giving a long, thoughtful look at everything in her sight and taking the diary with her, she too stood up and walked out. Her normal routine consisted of her taking a shower and brushing her teeth, but she didn't even glance at the door as she walked through the hall to her room.

It was nothing special, nothing like his, of course. Her walls had a light pink tint to them and a few pictures hung there. Her bed was white with a few pillows and a little desk in the corner. Simply put, it was a pretty boring room. Turning off the lights and not even bothering to change her clothes, she laid in bed staring at the ceiling. She stared until her eyes grew numb and her popcorn roof started mixing together and looking like clouds.

She started to remember what Dennis and her had done for fun when they were little. They had a saying or code word that would tell the other person to go to the tree house and find something. There was a board on the side of it that had not been screwed on right, and would move to the side if pushed. They would hide little notes to each other containing secrets, or random thoughts they didn't feel like saying aloud. They had begun to stop doing it after a while, finding it much easier to just speak their mind and not participate in such childish activities.

The code phrase could be used in a normal sentence such as tomorrow might be a cloudy day or, I went walking, it was a very cloudy day. They had made it up when Rebecca was only seven when they had found the "hiding place" after the tree house was built. Saying a cloudy day didn't have much meaning other than the fact that they made it up. With these last thoughts, Rebecca finally lapsed into a troubled sleep.