The Color of Innocence

I pull off the road and into a gas station, just managing to put the car in park before D.J jumps out. I pull out my wallet and the bold black letters of my name on my driver’s license jump out at me, as my ghostly green eyes stare back at me, not showing the permanent spark of pain. I pull cash out and hand it over to D.J. But before she goes inside, she removes a picture from the bundle and hands it back to me, sympathy shining in her face.

I look down at the picture. My eyes graze over all the faces of my family. Isabel, Jake, Mom, me – Dan, Ryan, and Cecilia. We’re all standing in front of the beach house we used to stay at every summer. The picture was taken two years ago. The faded white paint, the slightly lopsided stairs, and the stain glass window in the attic so familiar I could draw them in my sleep. The longer I stared at it, the more I slipped from reality and slid more into my memories.

The filtered light, flowing through the closed, white, lacy curtains that hung in my sisters rooms. The hot, stifling air that used to blow through the open window which was then pushed out into the hall by the fans, constantly in motion. The giggles that used to float through the crack at the bottom of the door to Isabel’s room when she and Cecilia would sleep in the same room and stay up talking all night. The constant aroma of food filling the house. All of these memories – and more – flooded my head.

            Thinking about the summer house was depressing. Even without thinking too hard about the biggest hole in my heart. Things just weren’t the same without a girl around; especially if that girl was your little sister. There was something about the women that brought the house to life every summer. Whether it was their laughter floating around the house, or their cooking that drifted down the hall. Or maybe it was the way their perfume lingered in a room after they left, or how their faces – beautiful and made up – would stick in your memory long after they had left. Maybe it was just the presence of a person who was always willing to understand and help in any way they could. Or maybe, just maybe, it was their reckless will to love.

            I missed everything about the summer house. All its secrets, treasures, and memories. I missed her too. I longed for Cecilia in a way I never knew I could. Even as her twenty-one year old brother, I never thought it would hurt this badly. I missed everything about her. Her laugh, her eyes, her hair, her smile. I missed the way her nose would scrunch up when she got angry, and I missed how her freckles would almost dance across her face as she laughed. I missed the way she could walk into a room completely confident and immediately capture everyone’s attention. I missed the way her laugh used to echo through the halls and catch the interest of anyone nearby. I missed her voice, and the way she spoke so eloquently. Most of all, I missed her singing.

            We used to tease her about how bad she was, but we all knew the truth. We were just teasing. She knew we loved to hear her sing. Cecilia was a very confident person, although she kept to herself most of the time. But when she sang, she opened herself up so completely, which gave her the truest, most beautiful, most honest voice I had ever heard. She had gotten scholarships from schools around the world practically begging her to choose them. But she never got to make the choice. No, that option was snuffed out of her so brutally, it was almost inhumane.

            I shook my head slightly, instinctively shying away from the painful memories, and directed my thoughts to happier times. Like the first time we took her scuba diving, and how she was absolutely terrified of the clown fish. And then there was when I was teaching her to drive in the snow. It had been absolutely miserable, and visibility was about as far as your nose. But we were headed back home when she drifted into a snow bank. She was so upset because she thought I was mad at her that I started laughing. She had gotten really angry and then started laughing with me. We eventually managed to get home, but it was our moment. Our little private joke.

            I was smiling to myself when the soft click of the car door pulled me from my memories.

            “Did I miss something?” D.J asked cautiously.

            I shook my head and tucked the picture back into my wallet.

            “What was that?” She asked as I started the car and pulled back out onto the road.

            As I accelerated and the wind whipped at my face, I replied, “I just drifted into my snow bank.”

            Shaking her head, D.J just laughed. “Come on. Let’s just get to your mother’s house. We’re going to be late.”

            And as I headed off down the road, I could swear I heard Cecilia’s laugh bouncing off the trees around me, so I tipped my face to the sun and smiled, happier than I had been in a while.