“Alis, I apologize if I’ve woken you. I assumed you’d be awake at this hour.”This hour? What even is this hour?
“Um, yes sir. I’m awake.” I look over at my alarm clock.Dammit.It’s 11:30 a.m.
“Right. Well, I didn’t hear back from you after our email exchange and wanted to touch base. Is everything alright, Alis? Your email indicated a family emergency.”
How in the hell do I answer that question?“The past two days have been very difficult for my family, sir. My sister and her family were in a car accident, and we spent that night and all day yesterday in the hospital.”
“Oh my. I am so sorry to hear that. Is everyone alright?” No. Absolutely not alright.
“Um …”deep breath“no, actually. Both my sister and her husband passed away at the hospital, and the driver of the other car died on impact.”
Silence. “Dr. Ryan?”
I hear him clear his throat through the phone. “I am so sorry for your loss, Alis. Is there anything Margaret and I can do for you and your family?”
“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I can’t think of anything right now. We’ll have the funeral for both of them this weekend, and after that I’ll be commuting back and forth from campus for a few weeks to help my parents adjust.”
“I see. Your parents aren’t far from here, are they?”
“No, sir. They’re about forty-five minutes away, in Moraine.”
“Good, good. I read in your email that you’ll need some time and won’t be available to teach next week. I completely understand. I’ve already spoken to Brad about covering the classes for next week, but I’d still like to meet to discuss the next few weeks with you commuting and what responsibilities we’ll need to redistribute to give you the time you need with your family.”Ok, so I’m not losing my job. Phew.
“Thank you, sir. And yes, I can come Monday if that’s alright?”
“Sounds great. I’ll have Linda email you the time and I’ll see you then. Again, Alis, I’m so sorry for your loss. Please give my condolences to your parents.”
“I will, thank you.”Click.
I sit up and stretch, trying to wake up my body after sleeping like the dead. Emotional trauma will do that to you — knock you out cold. I’m glad I packed an overnight bag when I went to my apartmentyesterday so I didn’t have to drive all the way back to Fort Ulysses and could crash at my parents’ house.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand and stretch some more, then head to the Jack and Jill bathroom my sister and I shared while growing up. The walls are still covered in the yellow and white striped daisy wallpaper Belle and I picked out when we were little. I can’t believe mom still hasn’t done anything to update this room since we moved out. She’s sentimental like that.
I planned to brush my teeth and head downstairs, but the door that leads to Belle’s room is ajar and I hear soft music playing from inside the room. I slowly open the door and walk into the bedroom to find Sunny’s noise machine playing soothing music to help her sleep. She’s not in her portable crib, but mom must have forgotten to turn off the machine when they went downstairs for breakfast.
As I look around the room, I’m surrounded by memories. So many memories.
Nights lying in Belle’s bed, talking about the first boy I liked. He also happened to be the first boy to break my heart. Well, only if you count one week of having a fifth grade boyfriend worthy of love and heartbreak. I laughed about it later when I experienced my first real breakup, but my little fifth grade self was devastated and Belle took my feelings seriously. She was always great like that.
The green nail polish stain from halloween my eighth grade year when Belle helped me dress as a ninja turtle. I kicked over the bottle, not realizing I forgot to screw the lid back on, while showing off my “mad nunchuck skills.” No, obviously I had no real skills in martial arts, but I was dressed as Michaelangelo so I had to pretend I was awesome like him. We tried and failed to scrub the nail polish out of her carpet, and eventually moved a standing lamp over the spot to hide it from Mom.
Seated at Belle’s vanity, I prepped for my senior prom. Belle had generously skipped her Friday university classes, driving three hours back home to assist me. Instead of traditional dates, I was going with my two best friends, Skye and Tori. While we had male friends to dance with, we didn't want dates detracting from our girls' night out.As for Tori, she and her boyfriend Chase were “on a break” (à la Ross Geller). That very night, after witnessing Tori dancing with another football player, Chase decided to end their break and whatever reason he'd had for instigating it. Before they got engaged, I doubted he would ever fully commit to her. But they're happily married now, and Chase hasn't had another bout of cold feet since before their engagement. It seems he's grown past his immature high school phase.
Distracted again — back to the topic of prom. My thoughts seldom travel in straight lines, even with the clearest directions.
With Belle's hair and makeup expertise, I felt and looked like a deity. As a sentimental touch, she secured the same gemstone hair clip she'd donned for her senior prom into the side of my styled tresses. Glancing at me through the mirror with mischief in her eyes, she casually inquired if I needed condoms for my clutch. The unexpected question caught me off guard, causing a spurt of sparkling grape juice to splatter across the vanity table. Her laughter was so raucous I half-expected her to lose her composure entirely. Meanwhile, I was left wondering who on earth she imagined I'd be spending the night with. I wasn't seeing anyone and had only recently had my first intimate experience with a guy from the previous month's spring break cruise. That memory was still vivid, and I had no intentions of diving into another one anytime soon.
Sitting down at the vanity, I find a picture from that same cruise on Belle’s mirror. In the picture we’re crazy tanned and I’m wearing the most ridiculous sombrero. I have my arms wrapped around Belle’s neck and her cheek is smashed into my chest as we smile at the camera.God, I miss her.
Gently, I remove the photo and trace Belle’s face with my fingertip. The memories from that incredible week remain vivid, as though it all happened just yesterday.
I let my mind travel to a happier time — a week full of laughter, love, and sun.
When Belle expressed her desire to spend spring break in Mexico with her friends, our parents were far from thrilled. In a compromise,Belle brought her girlfriends on a family cruise. I invited Skye and Tori along, and on our first night, Belle and her crew ushered us into the onboard college club.
With the help of their fake IDs, the college girls discreetly provided us drinks. As we chatted, laughed, and danced, we caught the attention of a striking group of east coast college guys, all conveniently single. Naturally, Belle, with her undeniable allure, caught the eye of their group's leader. I swear, Belle radiated sex appeal without trying. Soon enough, each of Belle's friends found a match from the group. Skye quickly got engrossed with a newfound companion in a secluded booth. Meanwhile, Tori, thinking of her boyfriend Chase back home, stood awkwardly at the table, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I tried to keep my composure amidst the overwhelming surroundings, afraid that any attempt at flirtation would betray my age.
Just as we were about to leave and head to our stateroom, the tall guy with his arm around my sister shoved his friend toward our table and told him to, and I quote, “Stop being a pussy and talk to the girl.” It appeared I was the girl in question. Moments later, I was introduced to DJ, a college senior whose appearance made my heart skip a beat — at least from what I could discern in the club's muted lighting. He nearly lost his balance from the nudge but steadied himself using our table. For a split second, a look of surprise flashed across his face, replaced by an unwavering gaze as our eyes met. His gentle half-smile and the dimple on his flawless right cheek left a lasting impression. With deep brown eyes that exuded warmth, he didn't come off as the typical college party-goer with questionable intentions. I sensed an immediate rapport with DJ. Our silent, prolonged eye contact stretched beyond the usual boundaries of social decorum. Eventually, breaking our mutual gaze, he brushed his hand through his medium-length, bleach-tipped hair.
