The Book of Daria

Avery skipped beside me as we left the school playground. The bell had rung, but behindus kids still ran and laughed and chased each other – kids without a care in the world. 

"Quit following me everywhere in school," I told my sister. "If I fail math it's going to beyour fault." 

Avery giggled. "Who cares if you fail math? Not me! And not that man who criesall the time." 

"Well, I care," I said, "and he doesn't cry all the time." 

"No," said Avery. "Just when he's drunk or looking at pictures of the four of us. Whichdo you think it's going to be today?" 

I closed the school gate behind me without answering and walked down the street. Averyfollowed, of course. She hadn't left me once since the accident, not even when I went to thebathroom. She just came in with me and perched on the sink or in another stall until I was done. Iwas used to it by now, more or less. What I really couldn't stand was when she sat on my desk inclass, blowing raspberries while Mr. Bruno handed out the test papers. It was a wonder wehadn't been suspended. They were giving us a lot of leeway, I suppose, owing to thecircumstances we found ourselves in. 

My breath fogged the October air. Avery laughed and tried to catch the leaves blowingdown the street, and I tried not to think of Mom. But it was hard; Avery has Mom's way oflaughing, crinkling up her eyes and throwing her head back, as if the whole world is a huge joke. 

"Saw Mom today," said Avery, as if she'd read my mind. "She was watching from thewindow when we left home this morning." 

When Avery first told me she could see Mom, I was always asking her stuff like: Whatdid she look like? Was she happy or sad? Did she smile to see me? Now I knew better than toask; Avery didn't have the answers, any more than I did. 

We arrived home, an old semi-detached facing the Trinity Bellwoods Park. I crossed thecluttered yard and paused at the door, heart sinking. The light was on in the living room. I couldsee a shadow moving behind the blinds. Dad hadn't gone to work again. How much longerbefore they fired him from the plant? 

"He's here," said Avery. "Want to just go play?" 

"I have homework," I said. 

"You never learn," said Avery. "Every single day it's the same. You think it will getbetter, and it never does." 

I looked at her. Uncombed hair, grimy face, torn blue school uniform, scornful eyes.Mom would have had a fit. "He's all we've got," I said. "You don't want to end up in a statehome, do you? I'm going to talk to him, and you should too." 

Avery rolled her eyes. "Go inside and get ignored. I don't care." Sheskipped away to the swing in the yard. She hated being in the same room as him. I didn't blameher. I had a hard time looking at him myself. He'd been driving drunk that August night, yellingand swearing at Mom, when he veered off the 401 Highway and smashed us all into anoncoming truck. Mom died instantly. He didn't get a scratch himself. 

I pushed open the door and let myself in. Sometimes Dad went crazy and threw stuff.Sometimes he drank and wept over photos. Most of the time, he acted like I didn't exist. 

He was sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. A half-empty bottle of whiskey satbeside him. 

"Dad?" I said. He didn't look up. "You've got to stop drinking in the daytime," Icontinued, in my best imitation of Mom's voice. "It's not good for you." Or us. 

When he didn'tanswer, I asked, "Have you had anything to eat? Can I get you a sandwich?" 

He didn't respond, which was just as well because I was pretty sure there was nothing toeat in the house, unless you counted moldy bread and year-old cans of tuna. 

I went over to the table and prodded him on the shoulder, but he just slumped overand began groaning. 

I backed away. Avery was right. I always hoped things would get better, and they neverdid. 

I climbed the stairs and went to my room. Avery was already there, lying on the bed. 

"Told you," she said. 

"I don't think he's talked to me once since the accident," I said. My eyes blurred. 

Avery bounced up. "Hey! That's not allowed. You're two years older than me. You don'tget to cry." 

I perched on the bed and sniffed. "Wish I could see Mom, talk to her." 

Avery gave me a sideways glance. "She's been looking for you." 

"Really?" 

Avery got up and went to the door. "Come on," she said. "I'll show you." 

She went downstairs and I followed. Dad was still lying face down on the table, just likeI'd left him. Avery picked up a fork and poked him on the shoulder. 

"Ouch!" He shot up on his chair. 

"It's me," said Avery. "Pull yourself together, Dad. What would Mom and Daria think?" 

His face crumpled up and he began to weep again. Avery sighed and put her arm aroundhim. He clutched her like a drowning man. 

I turned away from them and went to the window. It was snowing. Snow in October. Theweather was all mixed up, just like me. 

Avery helped Dad to the sofa and came over to me. "The year ends soon.Time to move on, don't you think?" 

I started. "Is it December already?" 

"It's been December for a week," said Avery. "You don't have much of a sense of timeany more, do you?" 

No, I didn't. Time was twisty. Time made me think I was still in school, still alive. Iremembered the night of the accident, the tearing pain of being ripped out of my skin, and Ishivered. 

Avery pointed. "Look." 

I squinted through the glass. A figure stood by the gate. It could have been Mom, or itcould have been something else entirely. I hugged myself. I didn't really want to leave. Ormaybe it was Avery who didn't want me to leave, no matter what she said. 

"Go on," said Avery. "She's waiting. She's been waiting for you all this while." Hervoice was all trembly, like she was trying not to cry. Avery my sister, who never cried. 

I swallowed and said, "Make sure you comb your hair and take a bath. Get something toeat..."

"Yeah, yeah." Avery turned her face away. "Just go."

I walked out of the house. Snow stung my face and eyes. The figure detached itself fromthe gate and turned toward the street. I quickened my pace to catch up. At the gate I paused for alast look behind. 

The house was dark. No Avery. Had I imagined it all? Talked to her in my dreams? 

But I could feel her still – the sheer force of her, the vitality that had held me here untilnow. 

The moon slipped into the sky. The figure waited a little way ahead, patient andunmoving. Part of me wanted to follow her, and part of me was more scared than I had everbeen. 

The moment stretched. I felt my life turn like a picture book in my hand. The Book ofDaria, just twelve pages long, one for each year that I'd lived. And the last, terrible sentence thatended my story. 

But then I saw another book, waiting to be picked up. It had endless pages, endlesspossibilities, because they were yet to be written. 

I blew a kiss toward my old house, my sister-that-was. Goodbye Avery. Then I turned andfollowed the figure down the street.