Falling For You

Prologue

          My sister Melody died on a gray Wednesday morning on her way to school. She was ready for school, too. The remains of her car held her backpack, the project due that very day for Spanish, and her lunch box. It was sudden; no one was prepared for it.

          "I don't understand why she had to leave us," my mother wailed when we were all assembled in the small living room of our house. She was crying as the words escaped her mouth, each dissipating into the warm air after we all heard them. "She was meant to do so much," she continued, now sobbing, choking noises coming from her. We were all used to this: My over-emotional mother once again.

          I was silent in my disbelief, not fully believing it either. I was crying silently, the tears streaming down my face yet no noises came from me. It was all I could do lto nod along to her words, agree that yes, Melody was too young to die and no, she never should have died. Our family from both sides were all crammed into the room, each voicing their own thoughts on what they thought about her dying.

          "I agree fully with you, Amy," my mom's sister, Aunt Jane, was saying. She was the younger of the two, therefore more robust and ready for the world. "Melody shouldn't have died yet. But we all have to accept it." She was also the more spiritual of the two, believing in The Greater Good and Just Accept It. I agreed with her too, sometimes. I wasn't exactly like her; McDonald's was too large a part of my diet to go vegan or vegetarian.

          She died from being T-boned on both sides in the middle of an intersection. She was speeding through it slightly, as the cameras told us, and didn't make it all the way through when the light turned green. The impatient drivers intersected her, crushing her car until it was no longer a car, but a hunk a metal. Exactly like my aluminum soda cans when I finished them, crunching them down until they couldn't be repaired. The same goes for the car and Melody.

          As my mother cried to various family members and told them stories of Melody - just Melody, never involving me - I went into Melody's room, sitting down on her perfectly-made bed. The pale blue bedspread went along perfectly with the pale blue walls, and her furniture being a smooth maple. It was all perfect, like she never lived in it. Even the pillows were arranged and perfectly plumped so that they never appeared to have had a head resting on it the night prior. That was just the way it was with Melody: Everything had to be perfect, and if it wasn't she'd fix it.

          In a way, I was expecting Melody to come back from wherever she was and fix things. Fix the holes in our hearts, the empty room that'll never be used again . . . Everything that'll be affected by her death. Because she was the most dynamic person in our small family, always popping in and out, fully of energy.

          I knew from my years of snooping in her room that she kept a journal under the top-right corner of her mattress, filled with details of the day prior. I knew most of what happened, due to us going to the same school, but it was always refreshing to have it told from her point-of-view.

          So I sat down in front of that corner of the bed, and lifted up the mattress. There, in plain view, was her journal, bound in faux crocodile skin, to bright to be real. I grabbed and pulled it towards me, letting it drop into my lap as I let the mattress fall back down as well. I opened the journal and turned to her last entry, even if there were still pages to go.

          Journal,

               Today Matt broke up with me. I shouldn't be a big deal - I saw it coming. It still hit something deep inside though, and I don't know why. Maybe it was because I fully trusted him, or maybe because I thought he would be The One for awhile. Either way, I don't get why it hit me so hard. But I guess it'll just be one of those things that happen.

          Melody

          I remembered Matt, her now ex-boyfriend. He was a guy on the football team, who she called a "bench warmer." The few times I've ever gone to one of Carlisle High's football games, I've seen it for myself. Matt would always be watching from the sidelines, watching his team get crushed by the opposing. Whenever the coach took someone out, his shoulders raised a bit with his hopes, only to slump back down in defeat when he wasn't chosen.

          Melody was always going out with him, as he was another dynamic person in our lives. I'd see him at least once a week in our living room, awkwardly standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a small smile on his face. He was a sweet guy, always talking to my parents while simultaneously flipping his head of sandy hair to the side so the locks would get in his eyes. Melody would go one about his "cute and adorable hair-flip" to me when she would find me awake whenever she got home. I would nod along, pretending to listen while really just wanting to sleep. She'd notice this and let me, but not before brushing my hair off my face and behind my ears.

          "Evie," she'd say, pushing the hair behind my ears. "I hope you have sweet dreams, and dream about who you love, like me." Then she'd give out a girlish giggle and leave the room, turning the lights off behind her. As I fell asleep slowly in that darkness, I'd think over what she said to me.

          As I left Melody's room, turning off the light behind me, I remembered that she never came in my room last night, though the light was on signalling I was awake. And I felt sad, because I wished we could have one last talk like that.