Thousand Year Switch

Chapter 13

Sara's room was like a shrine. 

Maybe when an accident happens to other families, they pack away the dead person's things. The books and stuffed animals and clothes all go into boxes and are packed in the attic. But Mom didn't do that. True, she had gone through the rest of the house and taken down all our family pictures, saying they made her too sad, but the room stayed the same.

It was almost eerie, walking in there. I did it sometimes though, just to remember her, when her face faded in my mind a little, and I felt like I was in danger of losing her forever. I would be a horrible brother if I forgot what my sister looked like.

The door creaked open, and I peered around the frame. I knew Mom wasn't in here, she was downstairs watching one of the old musicals she loves so much. I could hear the TV downstairs, blending with the noise of my bedroom TV. I left it on so she would think I was in my bedroom. I don't know what she'd say if she caught me in here, probably kick me out, afraid I would disturb something.

Her room used to smell like perfume and body lotion, or whatever thing she'd been spraying onto herself that day. Now it just smells sterile, like the bleach and dust cleaner Mom uses in here. It's always a little eerie in Sara's bedroom. It's like she's away at a friend's house. All her clothes are still on their hangers in the closet, a selection of sweaters, pants and colorful tops, just waiting to be worn again. Her shoes are lined up underneath in neat lines, sparkling high heels and scuffed sneakers with straggling laces. The bed is made. Sara had made it, the morning of the day she'd died, with the covers folded back and her stuffed animals in a solemn little row in front of her pillows. And it stayed that way.

I stood in the center of the room, allowing my thoughts to wonder. How many hours had she spent in front of her mirror? It was empty now, reflecting only myself and the light pink walls of the room. Her vanity table was messy, containers of makeup scattered across the surface, a fine looking makeup brush was leaning against a round black container of foundation, and her hairbrush sat on the edge of the table, just where she'd left it.

It was easy enough to imagine that Sara had just popped out to the corner store to get chocolate or something. She'd be back soon, to finish applying her makeup and do her hair, to go through the clothes in the closet and decide what outfit to wear today. My world hadn't fallen apart and exploded into a million pieces. Mom and Dad were downstairs chuckling at the corny old movie they were watching, we were back in Kamloops and I was about to run over to Carly's place and Sara was going to make fun of me as I left, call Carly my girlfriend.

I ran my hands over the different fabrics in the closet, feeling the difference between satin and wool, letting the textures pass underneath my fingers.

"Lucas?" Mom's voice, calling from downstairs. I pushed open the bedroom door and yelled back, "Yeah?"

"Bedtime, You have school in the morning."

"Mom, I'm doing homework," I called back, hoping she couldn't register where exactly my voice was coming from.

"I can hear the TV up there, Lucas." Mom's voice was cross.

"Alright alright," I called back, closing the door to Sara's bedroom as quietly as I could. 

I darted across the hall into my bedroom, slamming the door shut on anything else she might have to say. Heaving a sigh I flicked the remote at the TV, sending the screen into darkness. It was always a battle now. I didn't want to go to bed, since I had at least one "dead eyed zombie dream" per week, and I was due soon. I guess I was acting like a little kid, afraid to go to bed and throwing a tantrum because he might have nightmares. But my nightmares weren't just some imaginary monster in the closet, or drooling creatures under the bed. These monsters were real, and it seemed like they could be anyone, at any time.