My Sister Hope

Sensitive Content Warning: Death of loved ones.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” A woman's voice says, jolting me back into consciousness.

I don't know how I ended up in this room. It’s small and dark, despite the two large windows looking over a grove of trees. I’m sitting on a couch, facing a woman who has all of her attention focused on me. She is middle-aged with kind eyes. Clearly a therapist, as her many achievements and degrees state behind her, framed on the wall.

She looks sad. I wonder if she’s sad for me, or if she’s unable to bring her mind into this moment, living in her terrible memories just as I am doing.

Outside the clouds seem to have a mind of their own as they roll across the sky, threatening to drench the Earth below. I fixate my gaze on them and a sense of calm washes over me.

It feels like I have been floating around in my brain for days, and finally, like a snow globe placed back on a shelf, I am settling into my new normal.

My memory has been acting strange since the accident. I’ve heard that can happen to people- forgetting things after a traumatic experience. But I think I forgot everything.

Everything except the accident.

The fatal car accident that killed my twin sister, Hope.

Before the accident, we were inseparable. The kind of twins that movies portray. We would finish each others sentences, share clothes, share friends, spend every waking moment together. My parents used to joke about mine and my sisters names. They would say, ‘you can’t have Hope without Faith.’

Fearing that I’m about to fall back into the haze of memories, I force my attention back to my current surroundings.

“Not really.” I say, my voice hardly sounding like mine.

The woman nods and folds her notebook closed in her lap. She leans forward and rests her arms in her lap, staring at me while she takes long deep breaths.

“I know it’s painful,” she begins, “but there are a lot of studies showing the benefits of reliving your trauma. I think it will help you move past it if you can walk me through that terrible accident. We need to show your body that you are safe.”

I nod, but it feels forced. Unnatural.

“Okay.” The word comes out so quietly I don’t even feel the breath on my lips as I say it.

“Why don’t you tell me where you guys were going when it happened.”

I don’t want to relive this. I look back out the window, searching for the comfort the clouds brought me a moment ago, but the giant rainclouds are moving faster now, filling me with a sense of unease.

Betrayed by my body again, I hear myself begin the story.

“We were going to see the Nutcracker as a family. None of us had seen it before.” I pause, and then add, “Still, none of us have seen it.”

Am I crying? I’m making the noises of someone who is crying, but I don’t feel the tears on my cheeks.

The woman nods at me and continues staring. “And then what happened.”

“Our car slipped on a patch of ice and the car lost control. We rolled into a ditch.” I’m sure the room is silent, but in my head there is the deafening sound of tires screeching. I can’t focus on what I am saying. My mind has been shaken up again and it takes real effort to bring myself back to this moment. I tune back into reality and realize I am still talking. “And my sister…” I trail off into another pained cry.

The woman writes something in her notebook but remains silent until my sobbing turns into sniffles.

“You did a really good job today.” She stands up, reaching an arm towards me in an indication for me to do the same. I stand up, barely feeling my legs move beneath me as I follow her out into the waiting room.

I am so relieved to have that over with that it takes me a while to realize who is in the waiting room for me. It’s my grandparents, looking older than I have ever seen them. Why are they here? They live four hours away from us. Where are my parents?

I look around, positive that my parents would have been the people to drop me off, but my memory won’t stretch to anything that has happened between the time of the accident and right now.

I internalize my confusion. The last thing I need is to seem like a crazy person after just coming out of a therapy session.

“Are you ready to go sweetheart?” My grandfather says, using his cane to support his weight as he walks us into the hallway and presses the elevator button.

We ride down in silence.

Maybe this is what my life will be like now. Standing in a silent room with people, unable to remove the screeching car tires from playing on a loop in my head.

When we make it to the lobby of the building the rain has begun pouring down. I can barely see the cars parked across the parking lot through the downpour. My grandfather and I wait in the reception area while my grandmother goes to get the car for us.

“They would want you to be happy, you know.” My grandfather says to me. “And you have a whole community of people who love you. We will figure out what’s the best for you going forward." I can hear the pain in his voice, but confusion overrides my sadness.

My grandmother pulls up with the car and I watch as my grandfather makes his way towards the door. I stand there, stupefied by the events of the last few minutes.

When he makes it to the door he turns around and looks at me. “Are you coming, Hope?”

In that instant, my body goes cold as I watch my sister step towards the door, coming from the exact spot in the room where I am standing. I watch as she helps our grandfather into the car, and sits herself in the backseat. They drive away. None of them realize I am right here.

My head begins to spin again as the deafening sound of a car crash fills my head, and then I remember…

A ghostly vision of my parents materializes on the sidewalk outside the building. I look down, and see the outline of myself in the same ethereal blue as my parents, and my memory rewrites itself. My body tingles as I remember my sister, crying over me and our parents in the car that night. She was the only one that made it out alive.

The weight of the world releases itself from my shoulders, and I walk through the doors into my parents arms.