I think of you all day long.
~Running though Aunt Carol’s sprinkler for six strait hours in our matching striped swimsuits and gulping orange Kool-Aid until our tongues turned a deep tangerine. It was July and the sun blasted upon our faces like sizzling salsa dancers. Your chubby cheeks changed into the color of ripe tomatoes.
I thought about growing up in the old white house on 65th. The arguments about clothes, chores, makeup, boys. The time you had two dates standing at the door, but didn’t answer it. We sat and giggled until they finally both left cussing like sailors.
Then I sat and cried my eyes out.
Because I miss you so much. Because I ache for your tender touch. Because I am suddenly half a human being.
I found a card you gave me yesterday scripted with:
“Kimmie, God has great plans for you. I love you. I love you. From you bestest sister.~ K. Marie
I sobbed like a baby. I sobbed and sobbed like it was completely characteristic to lay on the kitchen tiles like a worn out, damaged, forgotten rag doll.
Because nobody believed in me like you. Because nobody will love me like you. Because the planet weighs less than it did before.
I sobbed because you’re gone. Gone. A flower left out.
I actually went to a wedding this past weekend. I didn’t want to, but Dave made me. You know how he is. Always trying to take care of me. Always trying to ease my burden. He’s fearful. He thinks I may be going crazy. He thinks I may want to go where you are. He thinks I may have become Sylvia Plath. He wonders where I am when I stare off into space, when I pace around without direction, when I drink too much red wine, when I can’t remember where I placed the keys, or my mind.
At any rate, I went to the wedding with my sprayed hair and big fat fake smile. That sort of stretched smile people have when their sister is dead, the sort of smile that screams, “please don’t ask me any questions. Please shut the hell up.”
Everyone was blissful, laughing, discussing this and that—-that and this.
Insignificant. Monotonous. Irrelevant. Nothingness.
I used your silver purse. It matched my summer dress, or perhaps it didn’t. I just wanted part of you with me.
I was a bit satisfied that I actually applied makeup, combed my hair, and took a bath. It was noteworthy for somebody that is robotic and scarcely functioning. It was momentous for somebody that is on the verge of insanity. I mean, to move from one place to the next, to sit in the warm water with my own dark thoughts for a while.
To just be…
is unbelievably, unimaginably, undeniably…Well, it’s hell on earth if you want the truth. It’s pure hell to go forward without you loving me.
Anyway, as I was searching through your purse for my lip gloss, I found your Marriot Hotel Key from Minneapolis tucked inside one of the pockets.
Yes, Michael’s wedding!
You were shamefully beautiful in that shimmering silver outfit. Your hair piled high like Audrey Hepburn and those long earrings dangling down to your ballerina neck.
We stayed at that hotel last August and boogied barefoot all night long. We danced to Bon-Jovi, ACDC, The Rolling Stones, and Beyoncé. And we hooted and hollered and drank dirty martinis in plastic glasses until the DJ kicked our asses out at 2 AM.
That’s why I’m crying.
Because there are pieces of your exquisiteness sprinkled all over the place. Because I don’t have a bestest friend. Because I shall never have your glittering pink mouth against my cheek again.
Because life goes on without you…