Carmen

i.

one;

 

ONE OF Helen’s fondest memories of Carmen was rather bizarre. It was the last time she had seen her. Eden, Carmen, and Helen all drove to the beach and they rode our bikes down the boardwalk and bought those cheesy shirts or sweaters with the beaches name splatted on it. And, much to Helen’s amusement, Eden bought a snap-back with her name spray-painted on it and she had insisted on wearing it while they designed her name. Much to her misfortune, the spray paint got in her hair and all over the top half of her forehead.

That day wasn’t anything special; no, they’ve had far more special moments. The reason Helen loved that memory so much was because I saw Carmen as she is. She didn’t have that bitch, top dog aura she always carries with her. She was having fun, and she was still amiable. She never understood why Carmen insisted on keeping herself intact and protected. Helen always asked her about it but she told her, “You’ll know soon, Helen.”

Maybe she would tell Helen a week, a month, or even a year later. Never did Helen think she would die before I knew.

“Helen!” Helen groaned as she heard the wicked witch herself call her name.

“What?”

“Your father called,”

Helen’s blood ran cold at this. She felt a shiver run down my spine and through her body, giving Helen goose-bumps. The familiar lump clogged her pharynx and trachea, making it hard to breathe. She walked to the hallway leading into the kitchen. The cold wood tiles from beneath Helen’s feet creaked with every step she took. Helen’s mother stood in the kitchen. Her body frame turned towards the fridge.

She was speaking into the phone quietly and rushed. Helen heard small snippets of what she spoke but not enough to understand what she’s talking about. Hesitantly, Helen gradually made her way to her anxious mother. Her mother saw the tall shadow from the corner of her eye, she knew she had to end the call or pass it to Helen.

“H-He wants to talk to you.” Helen’s mother still wasn’t facing her; she knew that if she did she would break down. Her mother turned around and shoved the phone in her hand before hastily marching to the lounge. Helen’s hand trembled as she held the phone in her hand. Slowly, she brought it up to her ear. Helen took a deep breath before speaking.

“Hello?”

Helen heard the crashing of what she assumed to pots and pans in the background. “Helen, sweetie, is that you?” Helen nodded before she realized he couldn’t see her.

“Y-Yeah, it’s um. It’s me.”

“Oh. Um, how are you?”

Helen ended up speaking to her father for quite some time. By the end of it Helen felt relieved. She knew that the big problem they had before was now resolved. Helen was glad that things were looking up. After Helen hung up she pranced into the lounge where her mother sat drinking a glass of wine. Her mother’s cheeks were glistening with what seemed to be tears. Her mother hadn’t noticed that she was there so she decided to leave before she did notice. As Helen sat in her room she noticed a small shining coming from the corner of her room; it was from the small opening in her closet.

Helen’s eyebrows crinkled in curiosity as she walked to her small closet. When Helen reached it she threw it open all at once; her toe getting scraped by the folding door. Helen winced and cringed as she saw the small trickle of blood seeping out of the cut. I’ll treat it later, Helen thought.

She crouched into a squat and observed the area she saw the shimmer come from. Then she saw it. Helen’s eyes bulged out of their sockets as she saw a knife resting in the corner of her closet. Much to her surprise, Helen stayed calm. She reached out and grabbed it and slowly slid her finger across the side. Helen was more than confused; she was terrified. Someone had been in her room and left a weapon; and Helen had no idea why.