The Aftermath

Yonderly

(adj.) Mentally or emotionally distant; absent-minded

The remaining members of the Singer family sunk slowly into routine.

America rose before sunrise. Dramatic- she knew- but there was something sinister hiding in the luxury of just lying there- purposeless. From the moment her body woke up a chill slivered through her limbs, crawling inwards towards her chest.

She never let it get past her rib cage.

Instead she'd hastily throw on a worn sweater over her too-small tank top.

It was here in the hour when the February moon hid behind bare branches and barely there clouds that America's mind found traces of peace. Her fingerprints decorated window panes as she flew them open, welcoming in the morning air. Too cold for comfort. Yet she adored the contrast between the sensations of a scolding mug between her palms and the breeze on her neck that sanitised the room.

With a burnt tongue she would then set the table for breakfast. Their half complete white ceramic set (substituted with various novelty cups and odd plates) sat beside cereals that used to be reserved for special occasions. Humming miscellaneous tunes throughout the silences left between birdsongs.

May emerged next and although America had never told her, May would then wake Gerald and lead their mother out of her bedroom. Altogether they shared the time it took for Gerald to wolf down the contents of his bowl, whilst May tried to and failed to summon up the courage to make small talk.

It wasn't like America noticed. It might not have been New Year's Day anymore but she still had this blinding fixation; she couldn't let them down, she had to provide, survive. Yet just as she began to walk down the driveway, weaving the wheels of Kenna's old bike around gaping wounds in the concrete (she had scars on her knees as proof of the hazard) a familiar car came to a spluttering stop. Blocking her path.

"Kenna." The soft words formed falling clouds in front of her. America's face crinkled in confusion; she had places to be, people to teach, money to be made, what was her older sister doing here?

James opens the passenger door of the dented vehicle assisting his wife, the car teeters as she gets out, gentle joy radiating from Kenna as she emerges into America's field of view. Considering the family's unfortunate turn of events, Kenna approached America with a hopeful expression, her tinsy niece in one arm and a bouquet of early spring flowers in the other.

"Happy birthday Ames."

Engulfed in her older sister's hug (and matted winter coat) America's thoughts ran through her head.

She last saw Kenna at the funeral. But that was barely yesterday. And her birthday; her 18th. It couldn't possibly be that time of year again.

Despite having both hands full, Kenna guided America back up the short driveway. The wheels of her old bike catch in every crack.

At her front door America faces her older sister, face pleading. "Kenna I've gotta go. My morning is packed with lessons and I'll be late if I don't leave right now."

Kenna stands on their porch for a few seconds; studying her little sister. Unlike America, she inherited her father's height and gentle yet commanding stance. Both traits America thought gave Kenna a rather unfair authority.

A compassionate pity flutters across Kenna's expression; a glimmer of hope that America's mind eagerly grasps at.

"I'm sorry Mer. But as your oldest sister I just can't let you do that." Something about her tone told America that she wasn't really that sorry. "Plus you've got a couple months of Aunt duties to repay." She smiles smugly, playfully pushing America across the doorway of their old home.