Letters from Julia

Chapter 1: Haden Knights

2 Years Later

My mom and I plan on packing Julia's stuff today. We brought some materials upstairs to help us, but we didn't bring much; scissors, trash bags, boxes, and some tape. Although it's been over two years, we still hadn't got to it yet- much less been in her room.

"Did you bring the boxes?" My mom asks.

The lines on her face are visible now. Two years ago, you couldn't tell if she was 20 or 40. But now, you could. My mom's hair is in a messy bun, and her baggy clothes are stained with food that really missed her mouth (or she used her clothes as a napkin, I couldn't really tell.)

I guess regret and anger did that to someone. It makes a person unrecognizable or even invisible – like a ghost. They are so completely lost that they have no reason to get up every day and do their daily chores. Maybe that's why I had started to take care of my mom. I think she blames herself for Julia's death- although no one else does, including me.

"Yeah," I tell her.

There is a long silent second that stood between us. Finally, I look towards my mom. She was staring at the door to Julia's room, her teeth biting on her bottom lip. She looked like she was a little kid that lost her mother. In a way though, she did. I gave a sympathetic smile before turning back to the door and letting out a huge breath. With sweaty palms and shaky fingers, I turn the knob of the door and open it. My mother gasps a loud, heart-shattering cry, and covers her face with her hands to keep from crying. Neither of us move to take a step farther inside.

It is not like what I expect. Instead of a dark, grey, gloomy room that I had originally pictured, it was still the same yellow walls that she painted not long before she killed herself. Besides the obvious dust, not much had changed. Small decorations of roosters perch on the desks, books are in their rightful place (and are alphabetized,) and even the pictures of her and me - when we were kids – are still hanging on the wall; a perfect 90 degree angle from the floor.

With a small sad smile, I gave a little shake of my head. Even though she had been gone for a couple of years now, her room was perfect- everything about her was perfect. From her straight-A report card to her elegant handwriting, she liked everything to be and go a certain way. If something wasn't right, she'd work on it for hours just to get it up to her standards. I've always wondered if that was the reason she killed herself- because she tried so hard to make everything right, that it destroyed her. She set her mind to fix the problem- and dying was the solution.

Focusing my attention back onto Julia's room, I stare at the pictures of her. One is of us when we were kids. All of a sudden, memories of my little sister and I start to pour out of my head. It felt like one of those flashbacks you see in a movie, except in this you can't press the pause button- or fast forward- to not remember the past. I try to not think of them, but they just kept on slowly crawling up into my brain, not caring that they aren't welcome. Pictures of the past. That's what they are. Memories of when we would play our favorite game (the Game of Life,) memories of us playing house, of her cheering at my first baseball game (even though she hated baseball,) and me giving a warning to her first boyfriend (she got embarrassed in front me.)

"Haden?" My mom asks in a soft whisper. I didn't move my head to face her, partly because I didn't want her to see I was close to breaking down myself.

"Yeah?" I ask. Breathing became painful. I tried to focus all of my attention on how to breathe. In. Out. In. Out I silently encourage to myself.

"W-we don't have to this now, if you don't want to." Her voice came out shaky, as if she wants to really not do this now. By showing a painful expression on her face (I was finally able to look at her without breaking down into embarrassing tears,) it was her way of saying "I can't do this right now," without any words.