Sisters Eternal Dream

permanence of adolescence

I do have a reason as to why I ride my bike to work every night. People are asking me that question quite often, and I do try to avoid answering, because they think I have some funny reason why I choose to ride a bicycle to work instead of driving. I do not have a funny or clever reason. It is not for my health, or for fun. It is not to work out my thighs, which are most peoples assumptions. I have my reasons, I tell them. That's all I tell them. Only very few people know why I ride instead of drive.

I work at the local supermarket, about fifteen minutes away from my house, and have been working there for seven, long, tedious years. Its not that much of a party down at Harry's Food and Drug, but it gets rid of the ever ceaseless flow of bills. A normal day at Harry's consists of stacking cans down the ten isles, turning those cans so they face the customers, mopping up messes caused by adolescent delinquents, bagging miscellaneous items as they slug down the conveyor belt, and smoking outside on my break. I just have to say, I hate working at Harry's Food and Drug. The hours are too long in a dead market and the pay is too low for my standards.

The store is closing for the night, all the customers walk out into the cold rain, their breath smoking out of their faces, and I'm watching the last customers of the day, a young mom and her small daughter, walk away from the cash register and drop a quarter. Holding hands, they walk out into the night. 

In the employee bathroom I stare at the sharpie scribbles on the tiled wall as I urinate in the toilet, noticing my older brother's name written in all caps. ARTHUR ANDERSON. Arthur worked here years ago before he moved out of home, out of town for that matter, and into the hands of some collegiate facility, leaving me and my family behind forever. I haven't seen him since the day he drove off in his car, boxes and suitcases the only thing visible through the windows. 

Dancing down the cereal isle with a mop, music blasting out of my head phones, I take a mental note to bring home some Lucky Charms to my older sister Sarah. Oh, and some Pop-Tarts.  And frozen  waffles. Sarah would throw a fit if I forgot to bring home the essentials of her diet. All she mainly eats is cereal and waffles and toast, any food along the lines of breakfast. I grab the box of cereal for Sarah and walk to the employee locker room. 

The room I am so acquainted with is a fairly small room with green lockers on each wall. The cold in the room is almost tangible as I walk in, and the fact that the lights are off makes the air seem more chilly. I flick on the switch, the room is illuminated and as if the light had any affect on my ears, I hear the rain gently tap against the roof.  I set the mop against the wall, noticing pieces of rubbish tangled up in the mop head, and attempt to unlock my locker. The lock never opens, partly because it is the lock I used in high school so many years ago. After three frustrating attempts I swing open the locker door and an old picture of me and Sarah taped to the metal stares up at me. I stare a little too long than I usually do, and my eyes water slightly. Old Sarah. I grab my cigarettes and jacket and hang up my work apron, hiding the smiling faces of a happy past, and slam the locker door. 

I walk out the back door where I usually take my many smoking breaks and unlock my bike from a pipe snaking up the brick wall. The rain is coming down softly, and the water is numbing my cold cheeks. I curse myself as I realize I left my backpack and the cereal in the employees room and run back inside to get it.

The ride home took a bit longer than usual due to the limb-freezing rain, and my jacket is drenched with angry October precipitation. The moon is bright, like a blinding bulb behind the shade of a cloud. I look behind me as a car drives by, head lights temporarily blinding me, and the front tire of my bike hits a mailbox, my mailbox I notice, and I fall onto the sidewalk. The smell of wet concrete travels up my nose and a memory is played in my brain, like an old recording, of me and Sarah and Dad playing outside in the hot summer sun, Dad squirting us with a hose, the cold water---

I shake the memory out of my head and stand up to push my bike, which now has a flat tire, in the garage of the home where I have lived my whole life. I go around the side of my house and open the gate to the back yard. I can hear splashes in the pool, evidently Sarah. 

The patio light is on, the dull yellow of the bulb reflecting off the tiny falling rain drops. Sarah was in the pool as I had assumed, her kicking legs splashing up water, creating waves that surged to the side of the pool and flowed back and forth. I leaned against a tree and lit a cigarette, sucking the relieving chemicals into my lungs. Watching Sarah's lithe body swim like a fish made me want to jump right in with her if it wasn't fifty degrees outside. I wonder what she feels, there in the pool of freezing water. Her nervous system is obviously ignoring the sharp, piercing cold temperature of the water. Its amazing to realize how much of your body is controlled by your brain, and if the brain is damaged in just the right way, parts of your body won't become a necessity to focus on, much like Sarah's nervous system. 

Sarah was oblivious to my presence as I walked to the edge of the pool and leaned down, balancing my body on my legs. I blew smoke up into the black sky, and Sarah suddenly became aware of me. She stopped swimming and floated in the middle of the pool, looking away from me. I stood up and dropped the dead cigarette, stomping what life remained in it out.

“You're smoking again.” She floated her body towards me and looked up into my eyes with adolescent indignation. “Did you get me my Lucky Charms?” Her breath came out as a white cloud.

I leaned down again and looked in her pale face. Her body may not be able to feel the cold but it sure does show. 

“Of course I did, if I forgot you would chew my head off.” I ran my hand on top of the surface of the pool, the icy water bit at my fingers.

Sarah let out a wave of laughs and her smile made me smile. 

I ask quite anxiously, “How long have you been swimming, Sarah?”

“Oh, I don't know,” she turned around and swam in the other direction. “A while.”

I stand up and reply with an attempt at an authoritative voice, “Sarah, what did I tell you about swimming too long at night? Its too cold to swim, and it's time to get out of the ---”

“I'm not cold.” She laughs and lets her whole body disappears under water.

“Sarah!” But she can't hear me. Sarah, my older sister who once had an excellent job as an accountant, Sarah, my older sister who once drove an eighty thousand dollar Porsche, is now holding her breath under water for as long as she can until I do something about it. Something she used to do to my father as a child. I yell at her again but still get no reply. “God d****t, Sarah!” 

I stand and look at her lifeless body at the bottom of the pool, blurred by chlorine and scattered dead leaves, and decide to get her out the way I always get her out. I take off my shoes and socks, let my already wet jeans slide down my hairy legs, pull off my jacket and jump into the pool. The pool is impossibly cold, and the water suffocates me even with my head still above the water. I dive under water and grab her by her arm and pull her up to the surface, where it will be even colder in the air. 

“Sarah, you have to stop doing this!” I scream at her face. “You have to listen to me when I talk to you.” 

But I know this will continue to go on, she won't listen to me. I drag her to the side of the pool and get out and pull her up out of the pool, noticing that she is only in her underwear. I grab a towel resting on a chair and dry her off. Her skin is like ice and I tell her not to go swimming at night. Its too dangerous. Sarah lets her head drop and starts to cry softly. We walk in the house and I run up the stairs to her room, clothes scattered about, pick up some at random and run back downstairs to clothe her frigid body.

There are warm tears slipping down her blue cheeks, Sarah's mumbling I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and her breath is still a cloud of carbon dioxide inside the house. I force a shirt on her and some Spongebob Squarepants pajama bottoms, and she's apologizing. She doesn't understand what's happening, all she thinks is that she's in trouble. I hug her tight, partly to comfort her but mostly to keep her from getting pneumonia. 

“Come on Sarah, lets go to bed.”

She doesn't resist.

I dreamed that night about the accident. Not Sarah's, but my parents. Blurred faces talking to me about death, I glance at a completely eradicated automobile, glass sprinkled on the black road, blood on the yellow divider line. The flashing lights of an ambulance, bodies blanketed on a gurney. In the dream I was looking through the rear windows of the ambulance, peeking at my dead parents bodies. They were laying in a bed next to each other, but they did not resemble dead people. They looked alive, for their skin was rosy, almost glowing. I was startled when my father leaned up in the bed and spoke to me. I don't really remember what he was saying to me, but that he was apologizing. He was crying, and then the ambulance suddenly just drove off. Leaving me behind in my dream. A police officer appeared, the same one who I spoke to in reality five years ago, and put his hands on my shoulders and shook me.

“Wake up, Tom. Tom, wake up! Tom!”

My eyes are scared open, and the first thing I see is Sarah on top of me, smiling and shaking the sleep out of me.

“Tom, I'm hungry.” There's brown smudges visible on her chin and around her mouth, obviously the chocolate I brought home last night.

“It looks like you've already had some breakfast.” I say with a grin, trying not to sound angry after last nights incident, which was still fresh on my conscience. Sarah smiles a guilty smile, like the smile of a child who broke into the cookie jar. 

“No I didn't have any breakfast, Tom. Tom please get up, I'm hungry!” She's jumping up and down and hitting my chest lightly.

“Okay, Sarah, okay, get off me, you're too heavy.” I notice the scar that runs down the side of her head and look away immediately. 

Sarah slides off the bed onto the ground and runs out of my room downstairs, the pounding of her running feet very audible.

In the kitchen Sarah is sitting at the table, her eyes glued to the television which is displaying a cartoon. I ask her what she wants to eat, already knowing what she is going to say, and she mumbles back 'Lucky Charms'.

I open the cabinet and reach for the cereal box, but my eyes land on a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. Suddenly a rush of memories run through my head, and I think of Sarah and her previous life. Her chronic drinking problem. The night she was too drunk and she knocked over my parents television. I think of her dead Porsche. I think of her lying in the hospital bed, stitches stapled around her head...

I pour the cereal into the bowl and the sound makes Sarah look towards me. The fact that she is unable to do this herself resonates a melancholy sensation in my brain. I fill the bowl with milk and set it in front of her.

“Spoon?” She's on the verge of laughing, a smile cracking her face. Sarah still enjoys annoying me, and is still fluent in the language of sarcasm, just like she was when we were kids. I toss her a spoon and she attempts to catch it, fumbling with it in her little palms, and when the spoon hits the ground the phone rings. 

I pick up the phone and say hello, (Sarah in the background: “Eww, it landed on the floor”) shushing Sarah with my finger and she goes silent, sticking her tongue out at me. I flip a finger at her and she throws cereal at me. Its Jessica on the phone, one of my co-workers, who I've had a crush on for two years. 

“Hey Tommy,” I can here her smiling, flashing her bright, perfect teeth, I can see the ocean of her blue eyes, and I want to swim. 

“Hello, Jessica. How are you?” 

“Oh, okay. I just got back from a jog and I'm going to jump in the shower.”

“Can I join you?” Laughs.

“Shut up, Tom. So how's Sarah?” I looked at Sarah and she was back in her television trance.

“She's doing okay. Shes watching cartoons right now. Actually there was an incident last night.”

“What? What happened?” Her words were laced with concern. Oh I love her.

“I'll tell you later.”

“Alright.”

“So whats up, Jess?” I hear muffled noises in the background.

“Hold on,” she sets her phone down and walks away to do something. She picks the phone back up. “Sorry. Well Tom, I was wondering if you want to come to Smith's tomorrow night with me and James.”

James is another one of my co-workers, and also my best friend since high school. Smith's is a restaurant/bar in town. 

“Well, Jessica, you know I don't drive my car unless I really have to. And I told Sarah I'd spend tomorrow with her doing, uhmm, something.” Why did I say that? Of course I want to go!

“Oh come on Tom, you can bring Sarah with you.”

“Well, let me ask Sarah.” Sarah was eating her cereal slowly, still giving all her attention to the television. I walked over the table and noticed that she was only eating the marshmallow pieces. I laughed silently and tapped her shoulder, awakening her from her trance. “Hey, do you want to go to a restaurant with Jessica and James tomorrow?”

She looked up with bright eyes. “What? Where?”

I knew this already meant yes. I don't blame her, she never really gets to do much anymore. “I said do you want to go to Disneyland and see the mouse?”

Her smile faded slightly, but she knew the familiar joke. “What? No way!” Sarah had bad memories of Disneyland. When we were kids the mickey mouse mascot came up to us, intimidating to a couple of little kids, reached out his big white hand for a high five, and tripped on his shoe and fell over, the mouse mask rolling off onto the ground. Sarah screamed at the unattractive bald man behind the mask, forever tainting  her image of Mickey Mouse.

“I'm joking, do you want to go eat with Jessica and James tomorrow?” 

“YES! Yes! Yes! Is that James on the phone? Hi James!”

“Ssshhhh, calm down,” I raised the phone back up to my ear. “Did you hear that?”

Jessica was laughing. “Yes, I heard all of it. So Sarah has some infatuation with James, huh?”

“I guess so,” I looked over at Sarah and the television regained control over her. I grabbed my cigarettes off the counter and went outside. The sun was already really bright and I winced at its glare. “So what time tommorow?” I lit the cigarette and puffed on it. 

“Seven. Or eight. I'm not sure, but I'll let you know. Are you, are you smoking?”

I looked around my yard, thinking she was watching me. “Uhh, yeah, how did you know?”

“I talk to my mom on the phone and she smokes, and I can just tell. You know you really shouldn't do that, Tom. My dad died from lung cancer, and he smoked everyday.”

“Oh come on Jess, don't make me feel guilty. Besides I don't even smoke that much.” That's a lie.

“Sure. I can smell you when you get off your lunch break at work. I'm not stupid, Tom.”

“And I'm not going to die from lung cancer anytime soon.”

There was a hesitation, and I went to take a drag off the cigarette, but instead dropped it in the grass. 

“I'm sorry, Jessica.”

“Sure,”

“No, really.”

“I'm just concerned about you, Tom. Ever since Sarah's accident, you've been, I don't know, a little depressed. Okay, a lot depressed. You have a lot on your plate, with your parents gone, and Arthur in California. Have you talked to Arthur?”

“I haven't talked to Arthur in a while.”

“You should. He could help you, Tom.”

“That's what you think, but he's too damn busy with his life, too damn busy to even consider that I might be struggling, no, suffocating down here.” My grip on the phone was uncomfortably tight. I let out a sigh and calmed myself. Goddamn I need a smoke. 

“Tom, I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you need anything. Anything. I care about you too much. Have you considered putting Sarah in a, uhh, you know,”

I lost it. “Are you kidding me, Jessica? Shes not retarded, shes not a vegetable. Do you honestly think I'm just going to abandon my sister, let her live a fake life, with people who put on fake smiles, and--”

“Tom, I didn't mean it that way, I was only trying to help yo--” 

Beep.

I wanted to throw the phone across the street, throw it at the stupid Prius that drove by. I walked back inside and slammed the phone down on the counter. Sarah spun her head around with a far away look in her eye.

“Are you mad at James?”

I got back home from a bike ride around four, this time drenched in sweat instead of rain. I had to leave and burn off all the uncomfortable anger inside. 

Inside Sarah was laying on the couch watching her favorite movie for the thousandth time, Toy Story, and she was also talking on the phone. I could guess who she was talking to, the only person who she has any other contact with besides me. 

I walked over and sat next to Sarah and stared at Buzz Lightyear on the TV. I could hear Arthur's deep voice drone out of the phone. They usually talked for about twenty minutes a couple times a week. To me, what he was doing was terrible, teasing her with false companionship, planting God knows what kind of ideas in her mind. But I didn't interfere; I couldn't say no to such a seemingly harmless activity.

I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and walked upstairs, passing Sarah's room and glancing in. The light from her window seeped in through the closed blinds, revealing scattered clothes, a bed made of mountains of blankets and sheets, and toys from her childhood brought back to life. Her mirror had old pictures posted to it, faces she will probably never see again. I continued down the hall and went into my dark bedroom. Falling on the bed I buried my face in a couple of pillows. Listening to  Sarah's conversation muffled through the walls I thought of my life as an endless dilemma.

The money owed  to the hospital, my parents gone forever, the dreams I had of going to college washed away by Sarah's decision to drown away her life in alcohol. I forgot to mention my eternal fear towards the automobile.

These intense thoughts were parasitic to my mind, desperation screaming in my ears endlessly throughout the day. My life was one big psychological disorder, and no matter what attempts I made on resolving all of my problems, they came running back to my front door, slamming its problematic fist against the door of my life.

I was falling asleep, my eyelashes seeming to tangle together, when Sarah called from the living room. My gloomy state was aroused by Sarah's shout and I hurried down the stairs. 

“There's someone on the phone who wants to talk to you, Tom.” She handed the phone to me and ran off up the stairs, most likely to her room. The phone was warm with the ghost of Sarah's palm, slight perspiration in between the buttons.

“Hello?”

“Hey Tom, its Harry.” Harry Smith, my boss. I can see him right now, sitting back in his office chair, a big man resting a drink on his bloated stomach.

“Hello, sir. Hows it going?” I heard Sarah running down the stairs, laughing. I sat on the couch and stared blankly at a commercial.

“Good, Tom, thanks for asking. Look I'm going to need you to do me a big favor and come in tonight. Are you free?” I sense guilt and desperation in his question.

“Uhhhm,”

“If you can't, I understand completely, I know you have a lot on your plate.” 

“No, of course, I'll come in. I need to get my mind off things, and having something to do will ease my conscience.” 

“Excellent, thank you Tom, I appreciate it. I just need you to work the register for a couple hours, and--”

“Sure, Harry, no problem, I'll be there in a bit.” I tried to get off the phone now before he starts asking about Sarah.

“Okay, Tom, thanks again. And--”

I hung up. Setting the phone back in its cradle I looked out the window and saw Sarah jump into the pool, splashing water on her clothes set by the edge of the pool. I slid open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio.

“Sarah, I have to go to work, I'll be back in a couple hours, okay?” I sounded like my father talking to a child.

“Okay, Tom.” Her hair was glued to her face with water and she slapped the surface with her hands, getting my shoes wet.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,”

“Don't stay in the pool too long, okay?” 

“Okay,” She pushed the wet hair out of her face, revealing her scar. I shuddered slightly.

I turned back to the door and before I went inside I told her again. “Not too long Sarah.”

“Okay, Tom. Hey wait!”

I paused and replied with just a look.

“Can you get me some more Lucky Charms?”

“Why? I just opened a new box this morning.”

“Well, uhmm,” she pushed wet hair out of her face and gave me a guilty look. “I accidentally spilled the box on the ground, and the Lucky Charms went all over the place. Then I threw them in the trash can. I'm sorry Tom.”

I sighed. “Sarah, I'm not going to keep buying cereal for you to eat half of and get tired of in two days, or spill it all over the house. If you're hungry just eat some chicken in the fridge.”

Her face was a mirror with the reflection of an innocent child, and I just shattered it.

“Tom, please! I'm sorry I spilled the Lucky Charms, I promise I won't do it again, Tom I promise you, please.” This was hard for me to do, but she's going to have to learn to eat more than just cereal.

“No Sarah. That's the tenth box of cereal I've bought this month. You have five other kinds of cereal to eat for God's sake.” Her eyes turned red and I realized she was crying. “Go eat some chicken, it's better for you than cereal.”

“Tom please, I'm sorry!” She was leaning over the side of the pool, reaching out to me with her hands, begging, crying. I walked away. Why did I have to be so harsh?

“No Sarah.”

I left on my bike and once I was on the road I thought I could still hear Sarah crying.

The rain started to fall when I got to work. It was a warm rain and the air was only slightly cold, and that eased my mind about Sarah being in the pool. Remnants of the sun still hung in the horizon, vague pinks and purples painted in the low clouds. I locked my bike in the same spot as usual and in five minutes I was standing at a register. Looking around the deserted store I noticed about one customer every ten minutes. 

There are five check out isles, but there is always only one open. Occasionally I would get a customer, an old lady or some fat guy. A customer rolled a cart up to my register, and I gave her a blank smile. I was lost in my thoughts, pushing buttons and scanning random items. Bacon, (beep). Coca-Cola (beep). Soup (beep). Hot dog buns (beep). Ice cream (beep). Ground beef (beep). Ravioli (beep). Sour dough bread (beep). I paused at the last item. Lucky Charms.

This awoke me from my inanimate trance, and I stared at the leprechaun on the box of cereal a little too long before scanning it and sending it down the conveyer belt. I watched as the items moved down the belt and forced each other into one big mass of food. The leprechaun stared at me with his cynical smile. 

I looked in the customers face and realized that I recognized this person. She was an older lady, hair graying, face overwhelmed with wrinkles. She smiled at my puzzled face through horn rimmed spectacles, and I suddenly remembered who she was. She was my English teacher from high school, but I don't remember what grade. I smiled back at her.

“Oh, Hello Tom Anderson! I thought I recognized you!” She said with a cheery tone. “It sure has been a while. How have you been Tom?”

I wanted to tell her that I've been struggling to maintain my sanity for the last five or so years. Trying to support the life of a twenty seven year old child all by myself. Instead I forced a surprised grin on my tired face and made an attempt at being polite.

“I've been wonderful, Mrs. Baxter, just great.” I pushed my cheeks back into a smile and made eye contact. “That will be twenty seven, seventy nine.”

Mrs. Baxter rummaged through her purse and pulled out her velvet wallet. She handed me a twenty and a ten and I took the bills mechanically, trading them to the register for a receipt. 

“Paper or plastic, Mrs. Baxter?”  

“Is it possible that I can have both?” She looked at me through her glasses with a solemn expression.

“Of course.” I bagged the items, plastic first then paper, and set them in her cart. Mrs. Baxter grabbed her change off the counter and hid it away in her velvet wallet, which then disappeared into her purse. “Okay, you're all set to go, Mrs. Baxter.

She looked up from her purse and smiled at me. “How is your sister, oh what was her name? Samantha?”

“Sarah.” 

“I'm sorry, of course. Sarah Anderson. The last thing I heard was that she was attending Princeton. Is that right?”

“Oh, uhh, yeah. She's still in school.” My lying eyes let go of hers and I looked at my feet. “She's doing real good.”

“That is so wonderful to here. I always saw potential in that girl. It's so refreshing to hear a student of yours doing so successful.” I could see the dying smile on my face reflecting off her glasses.

“And your brother, Arthur? How is he?”

“Hes doing utterly fantastic, Mrs. Baxter.” Evidently she did not sense the sarcastic impatience in my tone; her smile was still genuine. 

Mrs. Baxter gripped her shopping cart with mountains of knuckles and said goodbye and thank you to me and I mumbled back a goodnight. The automatic doors swung open and a cold draft breezed in. Mrs. Baxter disappeared along with her shopping cart out in to the gentle rain.

I looked around the store for a moment and vanished into the bathroom. While I was using the urinal my eyes caught Arthur's name written on the wall. A sudden insurmountable feeling of resentment washed over me and I shuddered convulsively. Staring at my face in the dirty mirror I discovered traces of Arthur, traces of my parents and Sarah. Sarah and I have the same eyes, I thought to myself. Arthur and I the same nose and chin. I was overwhelmed with these thoughts and walked out of the bathroom in haste.

I stood back at the register, staring at the rubber mat at my feet, staring at my old shoes, the laces becoming weathered and torn. The dull lighting of the store made me tired and I yawned, closing my eyes. Half awake I leaned against the register, my elbow pressing buttons. I heard the footsteps of another customer tap their way up to me. Letting another yawn escape I leaned off the register and looked at the box of Lucky Charms that appeared on the counter.

Sarah stood in front of me, her pajamas drenched, her hair a juvenile mess. She was shaking lightly. Her eyes pierced mine and I wanted to look away, but I was frozen. I was completely astonished.

She reached into her pocket and came out with a handful of change, spilling it on top of the counter. All I could do was stand and stare at her. 

“How much is it?” she said. I wanted to cry.

“Sarah,”

“How much is it, Tom?” 

“Sarah, I--”

I had no idea how to react or what to say to this spontaneous occurrence. So I did what a normal employee would do and scanned the box of cereal. The price appeared on the small screen in green text, and Sarah began to count out change, whispering under her breath. When she finished she pushed the change forward and took the few remaining coins. 

“Sarah, I'm so sorry.”  I saw her stand in front of me through a prism of tears.

Sarah grabbed the cereal box and walked to the exit, the automatic door opening at her exasperated departure. I yelled at her but she was gone. I left the coins on the counter and ran outside into the rain. I ran after my sister. I ran after Sarah.

Reviews

[Naraly Godinez]

On wait I've read it love it... This should be one of the stories in your book max I love this one it made me cry!!!!!! I forgot about this one and it is golden

[Naraly Godinez]

Before I read this in go it to comment wow is long!! OK now time to read=)