1026

I am concerned about description and imagery, and making sure my scenes are clear.

1026 There is No Better Friend Than You She was my sister. She lived in the bedroom in the basement and I never saw her. I was only thirteen. She was seventeen, a senior in high school, and wanted nothing to do with her ‘baby sister.’ I looked up to her and her friends. I couldn’t wait until I could drive and go to high school coffee houses and leave the house after 10 pm like she did. We were friends on Myspace, and nothing else. She left one night; she said she’d be at her best friend’s house down the street. When our father called her cell phone, she didn’t pick up. He called again and still no answer. I called her, thinking my name on her caller I.D. would seem less threatening. Again, she didn’t answer. Our parents were worried sick but I was used to my ghost of a sister and wasn’t unsettled by her absence. However, out of curiosity, I got in the car with my parents and we went driving around town to find her. “She couldn’t have gotten far, Kirk.” My mother commented. “She’s only ever lived in this five-mile radius. Its all she knows.” The drill sergeant in my dad, a former Warrant Officer in the Army, started to come out. Instead of worry, his mood quickly shifted to anger. He growled back, “She thinks she knows everything and she thinks she can get around in the world by herself. She’s young and ignorant and I’ve had it with her.” Months later, I sat in our dark living room practicing violin for my orchestra class. I really didn’t want to do it, but my mom told me she wouldn’t sign off on my practice sheet if I didn’t, so I played the same three songs I memorized over and over to avoid any real work. The doorbell rang, and both of my parents answered the door. I peeked out of my window and saw my sister’s two best friends. They talked for a minute but it was too quiet for me to hear. My mom came and told me I could stop practicing and go back to my room. I was elated to be relieved of the chore, so I didn’t ask questions. She, my sister, who was really only technically related to me, had texted them. She apologized for what she planned on doing that night. She left her favorite hoodies and Chuck Taylor sneakers on their doorsteps and flowers on their cars. I didn’t find this out until later, until it was almost too late. I would have never found out, if she hadn’t promised her new boyfriend that she would help with the lighting at the school play. My sister was unhappy; she was depressed and planned on killing herself that night. No one in my family knew. No one in my family spent enough time with her to even get the slightest hint she was so miserable. The intervention happened, but I was told to go to bed and not come downstairs. I heard the crying and the yelling and the ‘why-didn’t-you-tell-anyone’s. I felt guilty that sleep wasn’t difficult for me that night. It was Friday and she was home when I woke up. She walked me to the bus stop and carried my violin case for me. She told me everything was okay and that she felt better. I felt like I was having a conversation with a stranger. I felt like I was having a conversation that was too vulgar and too violating to have with a stranger. I waved goodbye without saying anything and went to school. I don’t know if she was there when I got home. Things had gone back to normal it seemed and I figured she was in her bedroom in the basement or gone. They were both the same to me. I stayed in my room all night, alone. I was just excited the week was over. I would have been happy with another boring Friday night playing computer games, drawing, and talking to my friends on the phone. But I heard her yelling and I heard my dad yelling. They never got along and the sound of their fighting wasn’t unusual. But something was different. I crept down the stairs into the living room, then down again into the basement. She was crying with her head in my mother’s lap. There was blood but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. My mother looked shocked and sat silent. My dad was angry. I didn’t understand why he was angry. I ran back up the stairs and I thought what I saw was a misunderstanding, a product of my over-active imagination. For the first time since I learned of my sister’s planned suicide, I cried. I cried because I knew it was real and I cried because I saw it. I cried and no one slept that night. She was admitted to the hospital on a Monday and would stay there for the next month. We talked for the first time in awhile the night she was admitted. She apologized. I told her I loved her but I was crying too hard to be anything close to coherent. But she understood. She knew what I said and she knew that I meant it. She is my sister. She still lives in the bedroom in the basement. She is my best friend. She knows everything about me and I know everything about her. She is happy and healthy, although I wish she would quit smoking. We talk everyday. We share clothes and gossip about the boys we’re seeing and watch scary movies together. I don’t see her as much as I wish I could, but I know she’s alive and that’s good enough for me.


 * __COMMENTS__**

- I think the imagery and the descriptions were very well written, and the scenes were mostly clear. - I was sort of confused with the first two sentences in the fourth paragraph. When she said that night, was it the night she went missing? Or was it the night after the "month's later" ? - Also I think if you can, you could come up with a better title...but that one is sort of good too. - The framing worked well, but the climax could be more descriptive.