Unlike Them

Only the History

Trotting down the stairs, my young sister Liv exuberantly rushes to the piano and throws her arms around my neck. A mess of chocolate curls and pale skin, she glances around the room intently, a devilish grin spread across her face. "Shh, Phoebe, don't say anything," she giddily whispers in my ear. Darting under the piano, she becomes camouflaged as I laugh at her intense focus. Mother bounds down the stairs after her, wearing an identical bright smile.

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" Mother exclaims. "You know I was the master of this game in my time."

A flurry of giggles erupt from behind me, Liv unable to be quiet for more than ten seconds. Mother skips over and whisks up my sister, both beaming and laughing as they spin in circles. I join in, and play a cheerful tune on the piano, the contagious sound of their joy filling me.

An alarm jolts me from my happy state. I jerk up, dazed and confused, only to find myself sitting in my "bedroom". Every ounce of enthusiasm is ripped from my body, replaced with cold despair. Another morning ripping my heart to shreds.

The thing is, I was once the eldest daughter of a wonderful family, I had a mother, a father and a bubbly little sister. We lived in a small cottage in New Hampshire, in the midst of majestic mountains which fascinated my every thought.We didn't have much extended family, as Father was orphaned as a child and Mother had one relative, a sister named Sally. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with Dementia on my twelfth birthday, rendering her unable to be self-sufficient. Soon after that came the Earthquake.

The Earthquake, unlike it's assuming name, is not just a shudder traveling through the Earth's crust. Much more devastating and jolting, at least in my perspective. Shock, pain and grief cloud every ounce of the situation, creating the Earthquake's waves much more violent. It was a beautiful June day up in our woods, a complete contrast to what was about to take place.

Mother and Father were out at a dinner party with some friends. I was thirteen and Liv was five, and we were playing Twister at home and eating mac n'cheese when the phone rang. A tangle of limbs, I tried detaching myself from Liv and we ended up a laughing pile on the floor. Breathless from laughter, I jumped up and ran into the kitchen to grab the phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Phoebe, oh my god, you will not believe what just happened," the sassy voice of my friend Monica's erupted over the phone. "There are sirens everywhere outside my house, and people running around like crazy hooligans. I think there was like a bad accident or something."

"Wha-" I started, only to be interrupted by the doorbell. "One sec Mon," I said, "there's someone at the door."

I walked over to the door and opened it up to two burly police officers standing on my doorstep. Immediately, nerves racked up in my brain.

"Is this the Crisp residence?" the deep voice of the officer on the right asked.

"Ye-yes," I managed to say, my voice shaky. My sister popped up and hugged my side, curious about our visitors.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident," the other officer started to say. Oh no, no please no. "Melanie and Derek Crisp were involved. There were no survivors in the accident."

From there, a couple seconds passed by in slow motion. The officers mouths moved, but no words formed. My legs a bit shaky, a grey haze clouded over my mind. I forgot about the phone I had in my hand until it had shattered across the floor. My slow gaze shifted blurringly down at Liv. Her arms tightened around my waist and glass tears slide down her cheeks in volumes. Unsettlingly calm, I stepped back and slowly shut the door in the officers' faces, crunching the broken phone pieces that had fallen to the floor. Still overtaken by a cloudy fog, I glided quietly into the living room, carrying my sobbing ball of a sister. I gazed at the abandoned Twister game and the half-eaten bowls of Mac n'cheese as realization set in and tears flowed out.

Chaos followed that night. The lone family member we had left received all our parents' earnings and used it for her healthcare. Liv and I were separated and put into the foster system. Two years later and I'm still living in sweet memories at night, only to have them wrenched from me in the daylight. I drift aimlessly between foster homes, depressed and longing to find my sister.

Nobody wants a teenage girl like me. One who has a difficult backstory that might actually take effort and therapy to cope with. The families with great people who have jobs and families already have their hands full with keeping their grass mowed and their picket fence white. Add a troubled and struggling daughter to the mix and you've got your hands full. The thing is, maybe, just maybe, if someone did care a little, the hopeless case could be turned into some thing beautiful. All we need is someone who cares.