When We Meet Again

Chapter 42 | Black, White and Grey

The house was quiet when I entered it.

I find my father in the living room, watching another episode of "The Innocence Files". I watched the screen for a while, not really seeing what was on it. Everything at home seemed so normal. As though a cyclone hadn't turned the whole world upside down. Our home was a glass bubble that I could shatter with my truth. With my confession.

It took a few seconds before my father noticed me. He looked up with a smile, but the look on my face made it drop. 

"Where's mom?" I asked, stepping from one foot to another.

"She went to the office; had to grab something apparently." he said, shrugging his shoulders. He leaned back into the sofa, and turns his eyes back to the documentary. Without looking at me, he said; "Why don't you clean up and come down--I made spaghetti and we can watch Sherlock Holmes."

The tears that had been lodged at my throat moved higher. I choked out a sure, and moved to the stairs. As I climb them I realize I was hungry, I hadn't eaten anything at Alex's and it was almost 11 pm. I pushed the memories that accompany  the realization back and headed to my room. 

I took my time in the shower. I watched black streaks roll down to the floor; hating that not all of that water came from the shower. I swiped my eyes, getting mascara on my hands. 

I felt ridiculous. Crying like a little baby. I scrubbed my face with renewed force; until my skin burned from the abuse. I went over my whole body with a vicious blue loofa. When I stepped out of the steaming shower, I was as tender and as red as a boiled lobster. I put on my baggiest shirt--it was a star wars shirt, with "These are not the Droids you're looking for" written in the famous star wars font. I pulled on a pair of sweats and took a towel to my hair. The short strands were much easier to dry off, and for that I was thankful.

I stepped out of my room, and head--not downstairs--but into my sisters room. I pushed open the door, and enter a room covered in shades of green. Harper was almost as bad as my mother; except she was obsessed with green--not pink. She lay amidst the forest in a bed shaped like a log. Her dark brown hair fanned the pillows, and I almost laughed at the little snores coming out of her open mouth. 

Mom probably dropped her off at Max's again. I wouldn't be surprised if Peter and Harper would become as close as Max and I were. Except Max and I were never close; it was all a lie. I pushed him away and strode to her bed. Behind the closed eyelids were a pair of green eyes that matched my own. 

I remember when we'd been at the hospital on the day she'd been born. She'd been put in a tiny bassinet at the corner of Mom's hospital room; her dark hair mere fuzz on her head. Everyone had been saying she looked like my dad, but her eyes were just like my mothers. All I had seen was a shriveled potato. And when I had said as much, I was rewarded with a bark of laughter from dad and a indignant scowl from mom. 

That night, when mom was asleep, and dad had gone to the hospital cafeteria to get something to eat, I stood by the bassinet and gazed inside; wondering what everyone had seen in the baby. Suddenly, to my utter horror, the little thing had opened her eyes and grabbed my finger. 

When I tried to pull away, her grip around it tightened. Reflexively I looked up; into her eyes. An indescribable feeling entered my chest; for the life of me--even now, I would never be able to describe it. Nothing bad would ever touch my baby sister. Nothing.

And just as suddenly, Harper became the most beautiful baby in the whole world.

I watched her now, as she slept. The tiny thing was only five years old. Tiny she may be, but she was also a pain in the butt; waking me up at all hours of the night and throwing tantrums that made my childhood look like bliss. And yet, over the years, the urge to protect her had grown with overpowering force.