peach light fading

two

Rochelle popped open the trunk and carefully placed her suitcase inside. With haste she stuck out her hand for my bag. I gave it to her silently before turning back to Sherry who was still staring at me, eyes blank with a knowing smile on her lips.

I looked to the ground, dusted with snow that refused to stick, and opened the door to the backseat. I had never been in a space so clean. The air smelt familiarly of lilacs akin to the flowers that grew outside their house in Spring. Rochelle and Sherry entered the car in unison.

"Your hair looks stunning like that Ellie," Sherry said, tugging on a braid.

Rochelle smiled politely, as my mother had taught her, "Thank you."

I spoke up, tilting my head, "I know! Mashallah, it looks beautiful."

Rochelle fell silent, turning her head to look back at me. I knew the rules, but they were easy to forget. Arabic were the vines that bound my sister and I.

I shrugged, whispering, "Asifa"

She gave me one last glare before turning to face ahead of her.

"Okay! Let's get this show on the road," Sherry said, clapping her hands and slipping off her satin gloves.

When I walked into the Ford's house I was quickly reminded of its size. The last time I'd visited their home I was 10 years old and found the place terrifying. I remember keeping beside my mom's legs the whole time, not daring to run off with Rochelle and her friends. That was the first day I felt my older sister getting tired of asking me if I was okay. And still, I wasn't okay, finding it's long hallways and sparsely furnished rooms daunting. There is something chilling about too much emptiness.

Rochelle was the first one to walk inside, stretching her arms out, as if she visited Sherry's house every weekend. Her dark eyes could find the fuzzy feeling of home in anything.

"I'm so tired," she yawned.

"Kamaria, I thought you could sleep in the guest room if that's okay with you," Sherry said, slipping off her shoes. Rochelle and I had already discarded ours out of pure habit.

I found it a little funny that she phrased it as if I had an option. As if I would ask to sleep on the couch or, dare I envision it, with them in Sherry's room.

"That's fine," I said. "Is your brother around?"

It was a genuine question, with innocent intent. After all, we were incredibly close as children. That boy was golden to me, capable of no wrong. Once Micah had given me a painting he had done of me with about a dozen hearts around it. It wasn't hard for him to become my first crush, over orange popsicles and crayons he began to fill the role with ease. Then he was about 9 years old to my 6 and I couldn't even guess what he would look like now.

"He's actually not in right now," Sherry said. "But he'll be back for dinner probably."

"Did you want to catch up with him?" Rochelle asked me, tilting her head.

I knew the answer was a million yeses but I just shrugged.

It's odd what time does to a person. I was no longer a cute little girl, lanky and bright eyed. The world had worn me well, and all of my features seemed faded and frayed at the edges. It seemed unimportant but I wondered what the world had done to Micah, the boy whose smile was made of sunshine.

"He was a nice kid," I spoke softly but the conversation has already swept away to other matters.