magnolia trees

I woke up, as usual. I expected myself to get up sharp, fake smiles, and make my bed. But I didn’t. Not since Molly died. And the last words I ever told her were ‘I hate you’. It was just one of those sibling fights. But now we’re adults. I had tears in my eyes, and she did, too. I can’t even remember how it all started. Something about money and taxes, I don’t even know. But I loved her. I love her. I can’t help that she’s up in heaven, singing with all the angels. But maybe I could have.

I got up slowly, my chest tightening. I needed to get to work. Dying didn’t stop me from functioning. Wait, dying? I wasn’t dying. Molly was. Molly did. So why am I dying?

I looked at my phone, the thing dormant since her death. No sympathy, since I said I didn’t need it. But I want it. Oh, how I want it. I thought that if I acted all tough and strong, that it would affect me less. But it does anything but that. I thought about texting my boss. Hey, can’t come today. Felt sick. Also, my sister died a couple days ago. Sorry for the inconvenience.

I didn’t text him.

I washed my face, trying to conceal the acne scattered across my forehead. My skin had been falling apart with me, and it disgusted me. I took off my pajamas and put on my work clothes. I worked in finance. I thought I knew everything. That’s what our fight was about. I thought I knew everything. Obviously I don’t.

I looked at myself in the mirror after I got fully ready. I plastered on a smile, my cheeks hurting. When you’re smiling for real, your cheeks don’t hurt that much, because you don’t mind smiling. But when you’re faking it, they hurt because you mind the smiling. It feels other-worldly.

I remember back when we were little kids. It was me, Molly, and Drew. We were sorta reckless. I was always the most responsible. I was the oldest, so I looked after Molly and Drew. And they fought a lot, yeah, but we were all in it together at the end. We grew up that way. Drew moved to Poland a while ago with his wife, Anastasia. They were happy. I don’t know if he knows about Molly. I guess we’ll see it at the funeral. I don’t know when the funeral is. Mom texted me when she died- that’s how I found out- and she said that we’d probably do it around next weekend. I had plans, but my friends will understand. They always do. But then I see pictures on Instagram of them having fun. Without me. When I was supposed to be there.

I sighed, looked at myself, and grabbed a protein bar on my way out.

I had to wait a little bit at the subway stop for my (late) sub to come, but when it did, I was glad that I had come a little early, as usual. I sat down, trying to take up as little space as I physically could. I stared at my phone for a little bit, opening and reopening all of my apps. I looked around at all the brokenness around me. How can the world be a beautiful place when there’s all this sadness? Somehow, we get away with it because of love and skyscrapers. But there’s still sadness. There’s love, but there’s break-ups and divorces. There are skyscrapers, but there are earthquakes and accidents. Sometimes the good outweighs the bad, but sometimes the bad outweighs the good.

Once the short subway stopped, I got off, staring at my work building. Something in me snapped.

I walked away from the building. I thought about how Molly died. A car crash, right? I didn’t want to remember it. You’d expect a whole backstory and then the tragedy of her death, but I don’t want to remember it. I don’t.

I walked around town for a little bit, walking around some comfy shops that I popped my head into. I got some fun needle points to do from a little needle point shop. I bought a journal with a nice pen, and then I decided to go out to lunch. I considered this my PTO, so I attempted to splurge. I’d been saving since last year, obsessively tracking my spending, making sure I didn’t waste a penny. After the stock market crash of everyday, I really had to watch what I did with my money.

I walked around a little bit, suddenly wishing I had a companion, or like, a hand to hold or something. I finally settled on this little cafe on North Main. It was breakfast, and it was kinda early (it was 11 am) so I was ready for some food. I got a salad and a chicken biscuit, with Earl Grey tea. It was really good. I made a mental note to come back to this place later.

After I finished my food, I walked around a little bit. One thing I loved about our downtown area was that it was filled with magnolia trees. They were beautiful. They were always Molly’s favorite, but just because they’re tied to her doesn’t mean I can stop loving them forever. Something about them just makes me feel all warm inside.

I finished walking for a little bit, and then I got a text from my boss. I inhaled, expecting the worst. If you expect the worst, when it's less worse, you get a little happy. You never expect good.

Hey, where were you today? It's not usual for you to miss work and not have a warning. I hope you're doing well.

Sorry, I typed back, I wasn't feeling well and decided not to come. I forgot about notifying you. I promise to catch up on work tomorrow. Sorry again.

I didn't have to tell him about Molly.

I looked around where I was. I recognized it. I was only a twenty-minute walk away from my condo. My condo that I needed to pay rent for this month. I looked at my watch- fifteen thousand steps. I whistled slightly and kept walking, my legs becoming increasingly tired. Soon enough, I reached my little home. I stared at my door, sighing. I remembered that I put my key in my bag, which I had just been lugging around this entire day, along with the journal, pen, needle points, and a full stomach. I grabbed it and unlocked my door.

I inhaled the air-freshener in my home. My shoulders felt heavy. Like they were carrying something far more weighted than my blazer. They probably were. But I'm not accusing anything. I'm kinda over that now.

I got out of my work clothes, applied some deodorant, and put on my pajamas, despite it being mid-afternoon. I sat on my couch, the couch that I got from IKEA in 2018, and turned on my TV, the TV that I also got from IKEA in 2018. I grabbed my needle points, specifically the one that I was going to give to my friend, Elsie, a little golden doodle that looked like her dog. I curled up with a random show that I had put on my watch-list a long time ago, and started relaxing. My shoulders slumped, but not from weight. I didn't forget anything, but I could breathe. I could breathe.

After I was bored of needle pointing (I was about 1/3 of the way finished with the golden doodle), I opened the journal. The spine cracked, and I smelled the pages. I just loved the smell of new notebook paper. It didn't have the same smell when it was poisoned with ink, but the new feeling couldn't last forever.

I wrote my name on the first page, a ritual that I'd done since fourth grade or something, and then I flipped a few pages (for secrecy, duh). On that page, I wrote something.

Mama, your little girl is tired.

I quickly crossed it over, and wrote something under it.

Mama, your little girl is tired.

I am tired, but I can still survive. I am breathing, I am breathing.

I crossed that off as well. Sometimes, even I was breathing, I wasn't surviving.

Mama, your little girl is tired.

I am tired, but I can still survive. I am breathing, I am breathing.

It doesn't have to be okay. In the end...

I didn't know what to write. I tapped my fancy pen on the paper. I could write 'it'll be okay', and know that it's a lie, or I could write 'it doesn't have to be', and maybe I would be satisfied. I looked at the paper.

Mama, your little girl is tired.

I am tired, but I can still survive. I am breathing, I am breathing.

It doesn't have to be okay. In the end...

I decided not to write, but to doodle. I drew a UFO, some stars, and a cute bacon. Also a pig. I drew my name, adding little doodles to the letters. A song came on, randomly.

Sometimes I feel like people can smell the lonely on me/

It eats me alive/

I looked at the doodles, and my name. Sure, the lonely could have seeped into my perfume, or been spilled onto my laundry, but I could still go on. I didn't have to immediately. I wouldn't, I can tell you that for free, but I could allow myself to breathe more. To escape more. To un-suck my stomach, to live free from my head. It would take a while, and I might still be escaping when I'm up in heaven, but at least I can still draw little cute pigs and UFOs and stars and bacon.

So I'm still here.