Crimson

October

Sara’s mother opened the door and ushered me inside.

        “I was starting to think that you weren’t coming,” She smiled at me.

        “I, uh, I didn’t know if I could handle it at the time,” I muttered quietly.

        “I get it…” She looked at the ground for a moment.

        I gave her a small smile as she walked to the stairs with me, “I take it as you know your way around.”

        I nodded quietly before making my way up the wooden steps. The memories flooded my mind until I was drowning.

        “What are you doing?” I yelled up the stairs to her.

        “I’m almost done!” She yelled back.

        I sighed and made my way up to the bathroom where she stood in front of the mirror putting on makeup. I took her bag and held it up as high as I could as she tried to grab it.

        “Stop! I need that!”

        “No, you don’t,” I scolded.

        “Why won’t you let me put on my makeup?”

        “Because you don’t need it to be breathtaking, Sara.”

        “You say that like it’s true,” She uttered under her breath.

        “That’s because I’m not lying.”         

        “Shut up,” She said stubbornly.

        “Oh, demanding,” I grinned sarcastically.

        “Give it back,” she whined.

        I shook my head.

        She gave me puppy dog eyes, “Please?”

        “On one condition.”

        She sighed, “What is it?”

        “You have to go on a date with me-“

        “Fine, just give it back,” She reached for it, but I held it higher.

        “And you can’t wear makeup,” I smiled.

        When I recognized where I was standing, all I could see was her lifeless body lying in the tub. I forced myself down the hallway to her room and pushed open her door, closing it behind me. I had never really stopped to look at everything. It’s funny how you don’t think about the little things until you’ve lost them.

        Her TV stand had little knick-knacks all over the top of it. I identified some of them. I saw the Tech-Deck first.

        “What are these for?” I asked her eyeing all the things on her TV stand.

        “They’re reminders.”

        “Reminders?” I asked.

        “To treasure the little things. Each thing symbolizes a person I care about,” She explained.

        “Do I have one?” I asked quietly.

        She shook her head, “Not yet.”