Lauren Sanders is struggling to rebuild her life with her aunt and cousin after her family's tragic death. But what no one knows is the truth about two things: how her parents really died and her battle with schizophrenia.
One day, Lauren stumbles...
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I thought about wanting to confront Lauren about the truth. I have imagined telling it to her in a variety of ways, but I would still hesitate whenever a good opportunity arises. Maybe I'm scared she'll see me differently after that—someone who pities her. It'll most likely be my fault if she decides to not talk to anyone ever again.
This secret of ours with my aunt, on the other hand, is practically crushing me to the core. Not telling her is like breaking the code of ethics or some law—a friendship law. I should tell her sooner, I'm just not too sure when sooner is sooner. The only question that would come before and after that is what would happen to us if she finds out the truth.
"It's a good thing it's a weekend today," Lauren says, taking a huge bite of the double cheeseburger she ordered.
The diner seemed to be our go-to place now. If she and I weren't discussing about the notes, we're either playing the game "would you rather". Most of the time, though, I would just listen to her talk about her sister. And she'd also talk about her parents, although, less of her mom, more about her paintings. More of her dad's dad jokes, less about his profession.
We still laugh about what happened back at her house, the night after receiving the note. I recall her saying that she never imagined the place to be left in such a condition after what happened two years ago.
When she stood there outside her old home, I knew that a wave of nostalgia brought her back home and as she walked inside the door, I could tell something was upsetting her, but I couldn't bring myself to ask her why or what it was.
"My sister loves to write. I would see her stack poems inside her drawer, and sometimes, my mom, dad, and I would force her to read them out loud during our family night."
Lauren admired Elise's ability to transform her emotions into profound poetry that allowed people to read and feel what she wrote. She said that it filled her with so many emotions that her poetry was unbearable and that she missed the feeling she gets when her sister reads her poems.
"It was an insurmountable joy that I never wanted to escape from," she says, as she thought about that time.
"What's that?" Lauren points at the notebook in front of me.
"Just a notebook filled with written poems," I say as I exaggeratedly erased a sentence on the notebook before Lauren could even grab it from me.
She starts flipping through some pages and starts reading poems randomly.
