La Hermana (The Sister)

 

2001

Hermosillo, Mexico

 

    The tiny bathroom reeked of pot, pee, and cowardice. Maybe someday Anna would be the big sister Rachel deserved, but not today. 

    Today Anna felt buzzed, weak, and small and couldn’t find the strength to say she was leaving. She filled her lungs with smoke, counted to ten, and exhaled out the small, glassless window. Sitting on the dirty toilet tank, her back against the wall, with one foot on each side of the seatless basin, she pinched the still burning churro in her right hand and spun a small, red plastic flower in her left.

    Muffled laughter and Latino rap thumped through the door.

    “My little quinceañera,” she said, handing the joint back to her younger sister, who was standing next to her, leaning against the sink. “I can’t believe you’re fifteen.” 

    “Time flies when you’re miserable,” Rachel said, taking a short pull of the dank, cheap, homegrown Mexican pot.

    Anna made a short snorting sound that was half laughter, half acknowledgment of the truth. “Hey, but you’re here, right?” she said, waving the flower at the door. “Being out with me is better than being home. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in a house full of party-crazed drunk-fucks, who’ll probably end up shooting off a toe before the end of the night?”

    “I think they’re just waiting for me to pass out so they can feel me up.”

    “Yeah, got that going for us,” Anna sighed. After a pause, she shrugged, “Still better than being at home.”

    “Safer anyway,” Rachel said. 

    “The truth,” Anna said, appreciating the dark humor. She stood up on the rim of the toilet and jumped off. “But listen, it’s your birthday. I didn’t bring you along to depress me. Come here.”

    Anna was only two years older than her sibling, but she was easily six inches taller. She opened her arms, embracing her little sister. Rachel pulled herself closer, laying her head against Anna’s shoulder. 

    Anna rested her cheek on Rachel’s head.

    “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Rachel whispered.

    Anna couldn’t say anything.

    “It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.”

    “I can’t take it. I can’t do this anymore,” Anna said, finally. She closed her eyes tightly but couldn’t prevent the tears from escaping. They landed softly on Rachel’s head, making her pull closer, tightening her grip around Anna’s waist.

    Anna held the moment in her mind, trying to capture it to help with whatever lay ahead. After a few seconds, she pulled away, wiped her face, and rested her forehead against Rachel’s, their noses inches apart. She said, “You’re the smart one, little flower, like Mom was. You know when to keep your mouth shut. But I can’t. I don’t know why, but even when I know what he’s about to do, I can’t. I thought he might change, you know, eventually get over it and move on. We have to. But he’s just getting worse, drinking even more.”

    Rachel was silent. Anna knew none of this was news to her.

    “Come with me,” Anna said. “we’ll run away together.” She said the words but didn’t mean them. She wasn’t even sure that she had the strength to take care of herself, and if Rachel were to say yes, it would only make it harder for both of them.  

    “No, I have too many friends here,” Rachel said, turning away, picking up the joint and holding it out for Anna.

    Anna took it back. “You’re sure?” She asked, relieved. Her younger sister was a loner with few friends. And she was wiser than her years.

    “Yes, I’m sure,” Rachel looked up, smiled, and grabbed Anna’s other hand. “So where are you going, and when does this big adventure begin?”

    “In the morning, and I don’t know, north. Tijuana maybe, then San Diego, maybe even LA, if I can figure out how to get across the border.” 

    Anna knew her younger sister had intentionally changed the subject. Once she left, it would be just a matter of time before Rachel became the object of their father’s wrath. But there was nothing Anna could do. Survival meant everything, and her little sister would need to learn to survive, just as she had. She’d be okay. She had to be okay. There was no other way. 

    “And maybe you can learn English and become a movie star,”  Rachel said.

    “Like that’s gonna happen,” Anna said, “I couldn’t even remember enough to pass general studies.”

    “You never know,” Rachel said. “Life’s not all flowers and lollipops, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be that way sometimes.”

    Anna pulled her little sister close again. “I love you. You know that? I’m sorry I can’t make your birthday special like it should be.” She squeezed her tightly. 

    And I’m sorry I’m so weak.

    “Toilets and joints are practically the same thing as flowers and lollipops,” Rachel said. “And yes, I love you too.” 

    Their eyes were red, they wore second-hand clothes, did a crappy job of cutting each other’s hair, and they would never be models, but at that moment, Anna thought her little sister was beautiful.

    There was a pounding on the door and an impatient male voice. “Hey! What’s taking so long? I have to piss.” 

    “Happy Birthday, Sis,” Anna said, shaking her head. She stepped back, held her arm out, and asked, “You wanna go out there and break some hearts?”

    Rachel smiled and took her sister’s hand. “Let’s do this.”

    Before Anna opened the door, she turned to Rachel and said, “Promise me one thing, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    “If he hits you, if he treats you like he treats me, promise me you’ll run too.”

    “I promise.”

    Anne slid the plastic flower behind Rachel’s ear, stopping for a moment to look at her younger sister one more time. “Good,” she said, “let’s party.”

    The door opened, and the two sisters danced out into the smoky music.

​

 

 

Chapter 1

 

2019

Bristlecone, Colorado

 

    Will stood alone in the kitchen, staring at his empty cocktail glass. 

    Kari would have used a stemless wine glass, and at the end of the night, it would have had little red rings circling the bottom, the remains of some Malbec from Mendoza. Tonight, past the piles of plates, glassware, and other remains of the evening’s get-together, the Argentinian red stood inauspiciously as the only still unopened bottle in the rack. 

    Will tapped the heel of his glass lightly on the hard granite countertop, and the small sound echoed big through the hollow kitchen. They’d gone together to pick out the granite the day after purchasing the house. A reddish slash of color cut through the otherwise grey and white polished stone, and he ran his finger over it. Kari had insisted on this particular slab precisely because of its imperfections. 

    “Who wants perfect?” She had said. “I did marry you.” 

    He could picture her walking away from him, laughing, the words floating over her shoulder, trailing her like little bubbles of champagne happiness.

    Will closed his eyes and again tapped the glass on the counter, wanting the hollow sound.

    He’d wanted to chase her, maybe tickle her or give her some other playful punishment for her jab. Perhaps he did. He couldn’t remember now. It was a long time ago when they were happy and floating through life. That was a Kari word, “Floating.” She used it to describe a time when everything was running smoothly, when you’re old enough that finding a job or a home was no longer a worry, a time when income exceeds expenses, when friends are plentiful, and pains are few. It’s as transitory as it is precious, but Kari had always made space to appreciate the life around her. They’d been floating for over ten years. The hollow sound of glass against stone became a symbolic echo of his sinking life, a life no longer floating, one that was slipping downward and was now striking the hard bottom of reality.

    Will opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing at the counter, alone, holding the glass. It’s easy to lose a sense of time, submerged in the past. Dirty glasses, fancy dishes, paper plates, empty bottles, and used black cocktail napkins covered the countertop. Kari had purchased the napkins last year for his fiftieth birthday, a fiesta she’d planned for months. However, this time the get-together was more solemn, and like the funeral, like all funerals, had to be arranged quickly. Will had grabbed whatever he stumbled upon in the cabinets. This evening the little black napkins, which once had playfully signified the death of his youth, had to shoulder more somber duties.

    Focus. He shook his head and set his mind to the task at hand, filling the sink with soapy water that smelled like tangerines and started on the dishes that hadn’t fit into the dishwasher. 

    Will washed with vigor well beyond what was necessary and stacked the formal plates back in the upper cabinet where they belonged. It was unlikely anyone would be eating off them any time soon. Kari was the social one. She was the one who delighted in parties, who responded to invitations, and kept in touch with old friends. Maybe the only child in her had something to do with her love of people, but the truth was that others also delighted in Kari. She dragged Will to places, both physical and emotional, where he thought he didn’t want to go, but inevitably, once there, he was happy she’d pulled him along.

    The get-together had been Kari’s friends’ idea. They said Kari would have wanted it, and they were probably right, but Will was glad it was over. Women fawning over him, men trying to distract him, everyone saying what they thought was the right thing, it all made his head want to explode. 

    “I know how you feel.”  - No. You don’t.

    “I’m so sorry.” - Not as sorry as I am.

    “Is there anything I can do for you?” - Maybe make my wife come back from the dead?

    “Did you see the Broncos won yesterday?” - And that’s important because?

    Will said none of these things out loud. These were his friends, and he knew they had come to help him. He turned this into a mantra and repeatedly reminded himself of it. It was the only thing that allowed him to make it through the evening. A required box was now checked, however, and it was over. Against the wishes of nearly everyone, on Monday, he would go back to work. He couldn’t stay home if he wanted to. He couldn’t bear it. 

    He’d been cleaning for three hours. Two months ago, it would have taken him less than thirty minutes. He was tired, and the semi-cleaning effort had been long enough of a respite that going to bed now felt like a reasonable option, even though he knew sleep would present its own set of demons. Life had become a series of finish lines. Make it through the day, go to bed, make it through the night, repeat. 

    Will knew the process. His father had died years ago. He also knew he wasn’t the first to lose a spouse, and in the distant future, he would once again likely have an at least semi-normal life, a life not including Kari. For now, the thought hurt more than it helped. He drove it out of his head and focused on setting more finish lines. Cross one off, set another, and another, until there’s no need to set them anymore. That was the only way to get through this. Move your feet long enough, and you will eventually arrive where you want to be. Smile and be appreciative of the intent of the silly things people say in their efforts to be helpful. 

    Mantras. Mantras that killed time until the pain was at least bearable. Mantras to fill the hollow silence.

 

*    *    *    *    *    

 

    When Will finally woke up, he was surprised at how soundly he’d slept, the first time since Kari died.

    Kari died. 

    The concrete words clunked their way across his brain and made him stop brushing his teeth for a moment. He rinsed his mouth, ran a towel over his face, leaned forward, and stared at himself in the mirror.

    “Kari died.” He said the words out loud. “Shit.”

    Will was reasonably sure it was Sunday. Only twenty-four hours to kill before he could get back to work and shiny-object himself through another day. Look over here!  Don’t think about your dead wife. It was odd, looking forward to going to the office. It had always been something he had to drag himself to do. He steeled himself to march through the first days of whispers, odd looks, shoulder pats, and occasional hugs. Hopefully, his coworkers would be as motivated as he was to make it past those awkward moments and slip back to normality. It would be good to get back to work in the morning, but today he’d promised to drive over the pass and back to Denver to visit his mother. She’d be worried about him. 

    The idea of helping to alleviate some of his mother’s worry was comforting to Will. If she were freed of her pain, maybe some of his own might fly off along with it.