dreams-taking-flight

[dreams-taking-flight]

Dandelions

This short story was an ongoing process from High School through college. It is not a final draf, but it is more of where I had originally intended the story to go. This story was originally a "Song Story." A writing prompt from creative writing class where you pick a song and write a story that is inspired by it. The Song for this story was "Don't Jump" by Tokio Hotel. Enjoy. :)

TW: Depression, drug use, suicide

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Dandelions

Denial and Isolation

    There it was, that deafening silence that only I could bear witness to. It was unwanted, unwelcomed by my mental state, but it was there and I couldn’t escape from it. I wondered if I ever would. Standing in the doorway was hard enough, but I’d done it constantly in the past couple of days, waiting for something to change, waiting for Hilary to stomp into the room and tell me to leave so she could spend the rest of the day on the phone. I would give up anything in the world to have that happen again. I’d give my happiness, my future, anything to make this nightmare something of the far distant past. My bottom lip fell capture to my teeth, and I tried my hardest to keep myself from crying again. I’d let too many tears fall since it happened, more than I ever wanted to shed in my lifetime. I stood straight, lifting one foot to step into the room, but I hesitated, my sock clad flesh lingering over the soft carpet. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go in there without her.

    A large part of me wanted to believe that it hadn’t happened. That what I’d seen was just a joke, a cruel intended joke to force me to shape up and do better with my life. I had been slacking at school a little, but that was hardly cause for something so dramatic, which is why it still didn’t make sense. With forced effort, I made it one step into the room. The walls were a faded sky blue. I remembered painting them when I was younger, a Crayola paintbrush in hand and a less than steady grip to follow the sleek and careful lines my father had made. Hilary was beside me, a larger more sturdy brush in hand as she followed dad’s example, grinning from ear to ear when she looked down at me. I could see that childlike smile on her face, her then short brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, fringed bangs held back by a thick pink hairband. The window was open, the paint fumes a welcomed reminder of the fun that was to be had. Hilary had noticed my struggles. ‘Like this Beth’ she’d said, her hand gripping my own, folding over mine like a mothers would an infants, and led my hand up slowly and steadily and then back down. The excitement had burst through me that much I remember perfectly. Hilary was what I wanted to be, she was who I wanted to look up to. Running my hand down the wall now it seems so lifeless. The bright color the room once had was gone, because the one who had inhabited it, had grown lifeless as well, even before tragedy struck.

    Messily taped on the walls were some wrinkled posters of bands I knew nothing of. Dark painted faces of men with pearly white teeth flashed in a snarl, guitars clutched in their grips like they were weapons of mass destruction. I only heard the pulsating beats from the walls sometimes, never really listening like I should have. The bed was neatly made, sun bleached yellow sheets and a matching comforter lay in place, with sky blue pillows at the head of the bed, along with a few stuffed animals. I didn’t dare sit down, I couldn’t mess it up. Mom had been in Hilary’s room an entire day, lying limp on the floor with her back against the bed, trying to wrap her mind around everything. My eyes fell on a stuffed teddy bear nestled between the pillows and the wall. I had the same one in my room mashed between pillows, now stained with the tears I had been shedding nightly. I went back to that cold and snowy morning.

    Dad had been away for weeks, and it was Christmas. Hilary and I were eager to open our Christmas presents, but we wanted to wait for dad. I didn’t think it was fair that he wasn’t home, even though the anticipation was clawing at me, depleting any patience that was built up in my eight year old self. After an hour or two of watching what we could on the old television set in the living room, the front door finally rattled, and the familiar high pitched click of the lock was heard.

“Merry Christmas!” he walked into the house, a suitcase in one hand and a large bag in the other.

    He handed the gift bag over to Hilary and she ushered me over to the Christmas tree where we sat on the floor and frantically began pulling the tissue paper out, littering the floor. We pulled out two matching teddy bears that would later become the best companions we would ever have, and now my only companion.

    I still didn’t want to believe she was gone. Looking around the room I felt so alone, and for some sick reason I wanted to stay like that. I didn’t want anyone to ruin this room for me, but just the memories were enough to ruin it on their own. Everything was still here, her room was still open and full, but I was the only one who felt the sting of emptiness. Silence finally broke when my mother called to me from the edge of the hallway. She hadn’t been able to stand being near Hilary’s room after that one day. I answered weakly that I’d be ready soon, but the words felt as though they hadn’t even fallen past my lips.

    I was like that a lot. I would say things that I didn’t really understand how or why they’d even left my mouth. It was a subconscious reminder that I wasn’t entirely myself anymore. Half of me was missing, the better half at that. Inhaling, the scent of nail polish and acetone filled my memory, and I didn’t want to walk away. I could see myself perched on the edge of Hilary’s bed, her dark chocolate locks pulled back in a loose braid as she sang some spunky pop song to me while painting my nails a bubblegum pink. In my mind I smiled, but nothing but tears threatened to fall. Finally, I left the room, lumbering toward my own to get ready. The funeral was it, and then what?

Anger and Bargaining

    I was just going through the motions now, motions that I wouldn’t have even thought twice about before, but now are all I see. I looked myself over in the vanity near the window. It was sunny out today, perfect weather for the old Hilary. Days like today she would always want to enjoy, and I myself was usually drug along for the ride. I never complained though, she was all I had and more. They say a sister is a best friend, and I believe that. So when your sister is ripped away from you, your best friend is gone too. My hand touched my face, fingertips running gently over the dark circles forming beneath my eyes. The mixture of tears and lack of sleep had an effect on all of us. Mom looked like the living dead, and dad looked like he’d been locked away in a basement for years. I wasn’t ready for this, but I had to be.

    I didn’t understand why she had to do what she did. A large part of me was lost and confused, but an even larger part felt frustrated and enraged. Why hadn’t I noticed things sooner or done something to prevent this? Would it have even helped? The car ride to the funeral was silent. The Dodge Caravan my parents had bought a few years back was full. I was squished in the back between my two aunts while my uncle and cousin sat in the pilot seats in front of us, mom and dad sitting silently before them. No one spoke, no one knew what to say. I stared at the floor of the van, which in days prior had been covered in junk due to my sister’s constant use to drive herself and friends to parties. Mom and Dad had come down hard on her, and I wondered if now, they blamed themselves for what happened, more so than they blamed me for not stopping her.

    My family had hardly spoken to me since it happened, and that both angered and satisfied me. I knew they felt I was to blame for it all, because I had seen all the warning signs and had kept quiet about it. Yes, I had been there when it happened, and I had tried so desperately to stop her, my efforts ending in vain. No one was holding me, no one was comforting me. No one knew what I had seen and what I had gone through, no one seemed to want to know. Those thoughts fueled my hatred and the tears that dared to keep falling. Quickly, I took to my iPod, which would relieve me of the twenty minute drive to the funeral home outside of town. I had loaded all of Hilary’s music onto my own, hoping that somewhere I might find some solace in the shrill voices and raging guitar licks. I couldn’t understand why she’d done it, why she’d left me when she’d promised me she’d always be there for me.

    I wish I had noticed things before they turned. I wish I had seen the changes were something that were troubling her. The months leading up to her death, everything had been different. Instead of the bright bubbly brunette that I loved so dearly, she had become a little more brooding and obsessed with booze and partying. There was only a three year difference between us, and her being a senior meant nothing to my meager freshman status. I knew the people she hung out with and I didn’t like them. Hilary would often come home in the middle of the night loudly. I’d be asleep and hear the car pull into the driveway and the slam of the door following shortly. Our parents, no doubt waiting up for her, were ready to meet her at the front door, and when they did, all I heard were slurred shouts from Hilary and angered commands from our parents. I didn’t like this Hilary, and I wanted to know what had changed her.

    That’s when I’d snuck into her bedroom while she was in the shower. There had to be something in there that could tell me. She had replaced most of the bright things for the grungy posters now taped to the wall, and her clothes were strewn across the floor when they used to hang up nicely in the closet. There had been a box on her dresser that I hadn’t seen before, and curiosity had gotten the better of me. I listened for the shower across the hall, hearing the water still going strong. Carefully and quietly, I lifted the lid of the box, and I wasn’t so shocked to see its contents. Clumps of green were stuffed inside a clear plastic bag, and another held little oval shaped white pills, and upon further snooping, I’d found to be Xanax, plus a fake ID resting idly at the bottom. Most of my fears had been confirmed, but I didn’t know what to do. Now I realize I should have told mom, I should have told them all, but I didn’t. After all, even though she’d changed she was still my sister, she was still my best friend and best friends don’t rat each other out. I wish I had a thousand times over.

Depression

    I followed my parents into the church, and the recognition of following footsteps took me back to that night just 5 days ago. My legs began to shake, but I kept walking until we were met with my sister’s closed casket. I could have prevented this. That kept running through my mind, as did the replay of the events that I tried so desperately to hinder at the very end.

I had followed her, as if I were some undercover cop tailing a murder suspect, creeping behind and only hoping that my footfalls didn’t echo too loudly. Oddly, Hilary had left the house without the car, and that was very unlike her. Without much thought, I’d followed her, hoping to see what she was up to. We often walked around town on the weekends, so I was no stranger to the badly lit sidewalks and the quiet alleyways. Sometimes I wanted to escape too. Maybe that’s what she wanted to do. She’d been so distant to me lately, maybe it was what she needed. I kept my eyes on her as she turned on a side street leading to a large parking structure that was under construction for the time being. That was odd, why would she be here? I kept following her, past the caution tape and the large mechanical tools left to lie alone until the workweek resumed.

    She walked on past the newly poured cement drying on the ground to an old metal staircase along the side. Hilary was walking oddly, and now that I noticed everything about this wasn’t right. Her footsteps were heavy, like the weight of the world had just pressed down on her. It looked like a struggle to lift each leg and take one step after another, but she did, and I followed. The cold air met my skin as we climbed higher, until the open top of the parking garage was visible. I looked around, seeing the surrounding dilapidated buildings cloaking it from view. I pulled my jacket closer and looked around for my sister, and when I found her I nearly stopped breathing. There, standing on the ledge of the garage was Hilary.

“Hilary what the hell are you doing!” my voice was much harsher than I had intended, and to Hilary who hadn’t been expecting it at all, quickly looked behind her.

“Go home Beth!” she yelled. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I clamored over to her, my legs nearly falling out from under me as I tried to get to her. I didn’t know why she was doing this, I didn’t know why she even thought about it.

“Why did you follow me?” the sob that escaped her was crazed, full of some emotion that I had lacked to see in the past months. “Why are you here?”

            “I just wanted…”   

“No, go home! You don’t need to see this!” she wiped away at her tears, her body shaking visibly, eyes darting from me to the ground eight stories below. “I didn’t want you to see this…”

“Then don’t do it.” My own cascade of emotions was free falling now, and I was perilous to stop it. “Please, let’s go home. We can fix this.”

“Fix what? My life?” she forced a laugh, but it wasn’t like I was used to hearing. This one mocked everything she ever stood for, everything I had ever aspired to be. “I’m not graduating, I have nothing to look forward to. No college… no career.” Her voice dropped lower and she looked down at me, green eyes swallowed up by the biting red of tears. “I’m sorry Beth…”

“No…Hilary we can fix it! I promise!” I was clinging to her jeans now, trying to pull her forward onto solid ground but it didn’t work.

    Before I could say anything else, she’d whispered on last sorry before kicking me forcefully out of the way and letting herself free fall into the cold crisp air. I had never screamed so loud in my life, nor had I felt so dead.

    Now came the time of eulogy and respects. I sat in the front pew beside my mother who was crying silently into a tissue. I didn’t feel like I could cry anymore, and that was a grief in its own. I barely listened to the preachers words, they passed like a good night’s sleep, but I was unaware that the dream had become real. We stood when the final prayer was spoken, and next came the flow of hugs, condolences and so forth. From the days before I was used to it, but now it all seemed wasted. I didn’t need a stranger’s comfort, or a family members long embrace, I needed my sister. This too passed before my eyes, each hug and each smile was forced and felt like I was repeatedly hugging a stiff teddy bear that had been lost in an attic since the dark ages. What could that bring me? I was alone now.

Acceptance

    When they piled that dirt onto the casket was when I knew things were real. I could look at the dark earth, I could run my fingers through the cold damp clumps and know that my sister now lay beneath it. Six feet underground where she was at rest. Maybe she was better off, if that was what she saw as her only outlet, then it must have been for a reason. I don’t find any kind of suicide justified, because there is some reason that a person is driven to it, be it harassment, sadness, life even overall. I set the rose I had kept in my hands for the longest time on top of the mound of dirt, hoping that somehow the red petals that held my pain, my sorrow and my love would seep down through those compacted layers and reach my best friend. My eyes traveled up to the headstone which now marked the last place my sister would ever lie. Hilary Elizabeth Hamilton Beloved Daughter and Sister 1990-2007. Those words I feel are etched into my mind and cut deep into my heart.

    I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes and listened to the surroundings. Everyone else had gone to the church for a potluck lunch. I was in no mood to eat, I simply wanted to spend time with her. There were birds singing in the distance, leaves rustling in the spring wind, with new blossoms falling to the green earth in pretty pinks and whites. It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day. Slowly, I looked back around the cemetery, sitting beside the headstone was a small patch of dandelions. I plucked one from the patch and held it up to my lips. Once again I could hear Hilary’s voice and I closed my eyes. ‘Like this Beth!’ she brought her lips into a ‘O’ shape and blew against the flower, sending the fluffy seedlings flying across the yard. Opening my own matching green orbs, I repeated the same movement from my memory and sent the seeds flying, my grief and all its loneliness drifting off with the wind.

© dreams-taking-flight

[dreams-taking-flight]

Smile

This is an Original Story I wrote for my Senior Capstone about 2 years ago. This story was inspired by a single line from a song by Lucy Hale titled "Love Tonight". The line is "I kinda like the way you smile." The style of this piece is also inspired by Ernest Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants." Enjoy. :) Creative and positive criticisms encouraged.

Smile

The café was busy, but only because of the rain. She sat with one leg tucked neatly under the other, a queenly stance offset by the bright red rain boots on her feet. His eyes though, were fixated on her, blue crystal with the sincerest orbs anyone could ask for. She swished around the tea in her cup and he smiled.

“Your smile. I think highly of it.” She said.

“You think highly of my smile?” his cheeks lifted, perfect.

“I do.” She answered. “I think it suits you.”

“I would hope so, it is mine.” He said.

“I don’t like this rain. I do not think highly of it.” She frowned.

“My dear, the rain has a smile of its own. Do you not know?” he questioned.

“The rain does not smile.” She stomped her foot on the concrete. The thunder rolled past them. “It simply is water falling from the sky. Precipitation that waters the earth. It does not smile.”

“Does it not?” he stuck one hand out of the cracked window from his seat and grinned.

“It does not and it cannot.” She folded her thin arms in defiance. “It is not alive. It is not a human being. Therefore, is does not smile. I do not like this rain.

“What do you like then?”

“I like this tea.”

“If you like this tea,” He picked up the cup, pinky raised and eyes gesturing toward the liquid within. “then you must like the rain.”

“I do not like the rain.” She protested.

“Then you must not like the Daisy in your hair.” He chided. “Or the leaves brewed of this tea.”

“They are not the rain.” She touched the white daisy in her blond locks, green eyes staring straight at him.

“My dear they are not.” He said. “But if you do not like this rain, you do not like what lies before you.”

“I take it back then. I do not like your smile. I do not think highly of it.” She barked.

“I am sad to hear that.” He mused. She could hear his heel clicking on the cement, feel his crystal eyes watching her.

    They sat in silence for a few minutes. She, sipping at the warm tea before her. Crème Vanilla. Honey settled in the bottom, mixed with biscuit crumbs. He watched her, and watched the rain, watching the drops smile back at him.

    “So what if the rain really does have a smile of its own.” She said. “How do you see it?”

    “How does one see a smile?”

    “It is as plain on your face as it is mine.” Her eyes rolled dramatically. “I don’t understand this.”

    “It is a simple question.” He laughed. “How do you see my smile?”

    “How do you see mine?”

    He stopped, sitting up straight in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face. The silence was deafening, and her pride was beginning to shine, just like the slowly appearing sun in the distance. After a moment, he sat back in his chair, hands resting on the metal chair in content.

    “Your smile is seen in the wind. As the breeze flows past my skin, your smile is with it.” He said. “I see your smile in that puddle there.” He pointed to a small puddle off of the curb. “A perfect puddle to jump in those red boots of yours. I see your smile plain as day in my heart, each morning I wake up.”

    “That does not show me how the rain smiles.” She scoffed.

    The sun was finally spearing over them. The small café was bustling, but not one soul had disrupted their conversation. Patrons came and went, each with smiles on their own faces.

    “Look at the sky.”

    The girl did so, green eyes slinking back from the sunlight that had taken over the vast thunderstorm. It hadn’t lasted long. In the clearing sky, among the grey clouds, was a rainbow. The sky looked new, looked bright, looked happy. Smiling.

    “A rainbow is not a smile.” She shook her head.

    “But my dear, a smile can be plain as day on your face, and a thousand other things.” He said. “The Rainbow is the rain’s way of smiling.”

    “If you liked my smile, then you liked this rain and the rainbow. We are one in the same.”

    “You’re smile. I do thinking highly of it.” She stopped, looking at him with a growing smile of her own.

    “I do not think highly of yours.” He responded. “In fact, I don’t even like it.”

    She frowned, taking a quick drink of her tea.

    “I must say, I love your smile.”

    “Then I love the rain.”

©dreams-taking-flight