Carissa’s room on the other hand is very unique. She loves art. Her yellow walls are covered with sketches and paintings, bright colors everywhere. I was always jealous of her creativity. I like to sit at her desk and look through her sketch books, but as soon as I hear Mama B come home I quickly leave and run back to my room.

One morning I went into Carissa’s closet, I wanted to borrow her baby blue cashmere sweater. It was one of her favorites, but she would let me borrow it sometimes. I slipped it on, and I could still smell the perfume she used to wear. I remember when she got this sweater because she made such a big deal about getting it. She begged our parents to get it for her; it was from some high end boutique in town—very expensive. Mama T thought it was too over priced and told her she could find a similar sweater at another store. But of course, Mama B the push over gave in and she surprised her on her 16th birthday. That’s one of the things I love about Mama B, she seems tough on the outside, but she’s really a softy on the inside.

I checked myself in the mirror, the sweater fit me perfectly. The older I get the more I resemble Carissa, I was just as tall as her even though I am three years younger.

I went downstairs to eat breakfast with my parents. Mama B’s eyes widened as she watched me sit at the table.  “What are you doing?!” Mama B yelled.

“What do you mean?” I asked confused. I started to eat the cereal Mama T made for me.

“Don’t touch your sister’s things without permission!” her voice was still stern and loud.

“Bette please…” Mama T said quietly.

I had no idea why she was yelling at me. I always wore my sister’s things.

“Permission from who? She’s not here!” I yelled back.

“Put it back right now!” she yelled again, this time I could see her eyes gloss over with tears. I shoved my cereal away as I stood up and run back up to my room.

I hated this. I hated that I couldn’t even bring up her name, or that anything that reminded them of my sister was locked away never to be seen. I didn’t want her memory to be sad or forgotten. I just couldn’t understand how I could still talk about her, or relive her memory but they couldn’t. Yes, I still cry from time to time because I wish she were still here with me. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Was I the one that was in wrong? Why wasn’t I as distraught as my parents?

I changed into a sweater from my own closet and put my sisters back in her closet and made a point to shut the door behind me. I quietly crept down the stairs; I could hear my parents talking.

“Bette, I know you’re hurting, we all are. But you shouldn’t take it out on Angie.”

“She shouldn’t be going in her room.” Mama B stood up and left the kitchen ad I quickly ran out the front door to avoid confrontation.

I started running down my usual root to my middle school; I just wanted to get far away from my house. It was too depressing being around my parents.  Just before I reached school, I stopped. School was just as bad. Everyone stared, everyone knew about what was going on. Teachers were always saying how sorry they were about Carissa, over and over. I turned around and started walking aimlessly into town.

After an hour of walking, I reached a familiar street. I decided to visit the only person who I could actually talk to these days. I ran up the two flights of stairs of the apartment building and rang the bell at Door 203. The door swung open and Alice looked down at me confused.

“Hey kiddo, aren’t you supposed to be in school?” she asked.

I shrugged, “Yeah, but…can we talk?” I asked.

“Sure…come in” Alice stepped aside to let me into the apartment.

To Be Continued…