Comatose

Act One: Sisters

Ten Years Before...

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

A door slams and I look up to see my sister leaning against the badly-painted wood, her chest moving up and down too fast with the effort of keeping all her other screams locked up. Her impossibly pale hair, even more colorless than mine, sweeps down across her eyes in newly jagged pieces and edges. I note how feathery strands in seemingly random places have been dyed deep, rebellious shades from every section of the rainbow. That's new, too.

It must be what they were fighting over this time.

Jessie scrubs at her eyes and looks up at me, a plastic smile plastered across her messy lip gloss, just for me.

"Hey, little darling," she murmurs. I give her my biggest and brightest smile, but it sticks a little when I look at her directly, so I look away fast, back down to my creased coloring book. In the background, I can hear her breathing heavily, trying to get her emotions under control.

"What'cha working on there?" she asks calmly after a moment.

I lift one shoulder and bring it back down. That's what Momma does when she doesn't have time to answer me, or when she's especially cross with us. "Just a picture."

"Can I see it?"

I let my shoulder rise and fall again, but shift to one side on the bed so she can scoot in beside me. She does, kicking off the thick-soled leather boots I saw her sneak in a month ago. Daddy doesn't think they're appropriate for a girl her age. I don't know exactly what 'appropriate' means, but I think they look wonderfully scary on Jessie, so they're okay with me.

Jessie looks over my drawing with a stern, critical eye, searching every inch for some imperfection. My tummy is tight with anticipation and nerves. What will she say, what does she think? I have to wonder every time, although she's never given me a bad review. Maybe this will be the first time.

Then her face splits into a wide grin. "Looks good, Hallie girl," she praises liberally. "A regular Vince Van Gogh, you are."

A giggle rises out of me and a blush teases my cheeks. "You really think so?" I whisper excitedly. I don't know who Vince is, but he sounds important and like maybe one of Jessie's nicer friends. Maybe he can come over sometime and show me how to draw things that Jessie will adore.

She smiles again, this time with the real one, the one that makes her teeth gleam and her eyes look a little crooked. I love that smile.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Would I lie to you? To my own baby sister?" She gives the picture another glance, then frowns. "Well...I mean, you missed one spot, but--I don't know, I guess it's still at least decent."

I snatch up the paper and hold it close to my face, hands shaking with fear and pending misery. "Where? Where is it?" I cry out, searching over every last detail. I would know if I missed something, wouldn't I? Wouldn't I?

Jessie lets me have my moment of panic, then snatches up a stubby black crayon to wave in my face. "Right here, silly. In the bottom right corner. You see that blank spot, just right there? We can't have white space in this lovely picture of yours, now can we?" She taps the page smartly with a long, painted purple nail. "You've got to sign it, see? That's what all the true artists do, you know. If you don't sign your work, it's worth nothing. But you put your name on a piece--ah, there's the mastery."

Sign my work? But what if it's not good enough yet? "Not this one. I don't like it enough yet," I decide seriously. Jessie's eyebrows crinkle, but she doesn't argue when I fit the page back into my book and close it with a soft slap.

"I thought it was good," she tells me when I return from putting it on the shelf.

"You're supposed to like it, though. You're my sister. That's what family's for."

She touches her hair almost unconsciously and her expression relaxes back into the glum stupor from when she looked up from slamming the door. "Not all family, Hallie girl. Not everyone considers us artists," she says in a small voice.

I watch her fingers running over the wild streaks in her bangs. They look like tiger stripes, if tigers were colored like rainbows. "Are you angry at them?" I ask, hoping for a conversational answer. I love talking to Jessie, but Jessie doesn't love to talk all the time. Maybe this will put her in one of those moods.

A small smile tilts her mouth my way. "No, little darling, I'm not angry. But Daddy is." She looks away, out at the wall to the other side of her so I can't see her face anymore. "Daddy doesn't like it when I try to be an artist like you."

"Why?" I press, confused. "Are we only supposed to have one? I can do something else, if you really want to be ours."

She laughs. "Thanks, but that's not the problem. The problem is my art isn't quite like yours," she explains further for me. "My art is different, and Daddy doesn't always agree with different. He thinks it's...selfish. Unproductive. A cop-out from having a real future."

"What does that mean? Un-pro-duct-ive." The word sounds different in my mouth than in my head. I don't like the feel of it, whatever it is.

"It means lazy. Lazy and time-wasting and useless and--and it means he thinks I'm not going anywhere in life." She makes a noise and waves one hand in the air. "But what does he know? He hasn't even seen what I can do."

"What can you do?"

My final question seems to take her by surprise. I get a long look with lifted eyebrows and still hands that remain in her hair even after everything. "What can I--do?" she echoes, checking her memory with me. I nod vigorously, excited suddenly to see her talents showcased. I've never seen my sister as an artist before.

"Well, I--it's not really something I can show you right now," she admits. "But maybe...yes. Maybe tonight. That should work. You'll have to come out with me, though."

My heart soars at this last request, my smile three times brighter than ever. "Can I really? You'd let me go out with your friends and everything?"

Jessie makes that noise in her throat again, the one I think means she's thought of something unpleasant. "Probably not everyone. But yeah, a few of them might be there. We'll see." Her eyes track mine as I grin and grin at this new prospect of going someplace exciting. Out. Amazing.

"I can't wait," I declare. "Do I need to bring anything?"

"Just you and your art book. It'll be fun; I promise." Then she frowns. "Oh. And you have to promise me something, too."

"What's that?"

"You can't tell Momma and Daddy about this. Okay? Not even after we get back."

Not tell them? I want to ask why, but asking why when it comes to our parents seems to make Jessie sadder, and I don't want her to be sad. So I blurt "Okay" before I have the courage to say anything else.

At the very least, it makes Jessie smile again. "Okay. Don't fall asleep tonight."