“I miss you, you know,” I inform Anne.
I’m sprawled across the end of my bed, arms folded behind my head. Anne is sitting back against the headboard, absentmindedly arranging my small horde of stuffed animals. As hard as I try not to let a waver slip into my voice, it hitches slightly. My sister has no idea how much these words gut me. “It’s just so far…”
Anne snorts, lobbing her stuffed dog Benji at me. “Please.”
I only manage to catch Benji before he hits my head. “Please what?” I toss him back at her and roll over onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow so I can look at her better.
“You’re gone literally all the time now.”
Benji comes flying back at me. “There’s more to life outside a small town, Sara,” Anne points out. “If you got out of the house every once and a while, maybe you’d see that.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Why bother?” I mutter, snatching Benji out of the air. The poor dog must be getting airsick. “No point going anywhere if you’re not going with me.”
“You could hang out with your friends for a change.”
Halfheartedly, I throw Benji at her head. “Meh. Be nice if I actually had friends.”
Anne catches Benji and holds him in her lap, frowning at me. “What do you mean you don’t have friends?”
“Exactly that.” I stare at the flower-printed quilt bedspread, running a finger along the seam. “Things kind of… fell apart.”
“What happened?” Anne looks down at Benji, smoothing a hand over his fur, her brow furrowed. “Sorry. I know I’ve… missed some things, lately.”
I push myself upright so that I can sit crosslegged and face her. “I just… I don’t really know what to do with myself now that you’re not here.” I bite my lip and stare down at the quilt.
“I’m here now,” Anne interjects, but I ignore her and keep going.
“Hanging out with anybody else doesn’t seem all that appealing, to be honest.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You should have a social life, you know. It shouldn’t consist of only me.”
All I give her in reply is a one-shouldered shrug.
Benji bops me on the head, and I pull him from Anne’s hands as she tries to snatch him away. “Cheer up, idiot,” she tells me, tone rather affectionate for someone who’s just hit me on the head with a stuffed animal.
“Mm. And why should I do that?”
“I dunno.” Anne spreads her hands out in front of her and grins, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “Maybe because you’ve got an amazing older sister who likes to come back home and hang out with you?”
I snort. “Not nearly enough—”
“Sara?” Mom pokes her head through the doorway.
I freeze, Benji still in my hands. That all-too-familiar twist in my gut is back. “Mom?”
She frowns ever so slightly, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she leans against the doorframe. “Who are you talking to?”
The silence hangs heavy over the room. I stare down at the bedspread, tracing a seam, my shoulders tightening. Mom is still staring at me, her gaze boring into the top of my head, but I don’t look up. I don’t want to meet Mom’s gaze—or Anne’s.
Mom sighs. “We’re going to have dinner in about an hour, alright?”
Quickly—too quickly?—I nod, fidgeting with Benji. He’s almost older than I am, stuffing uneven and lumpy in places. “Yeah. Sounds good. Do I have time to go for a run?”
Anne sighs. “Again, Sara? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it and all, but…”
“As long as you’re back in an hour,” Mom says, glancing down at her watch.
Mom leaves, and I pull on my running shoes. In a few minutes I’m outside, feet pounding the packed dirt trails.
One could not ask for better weather for a summer run. It’s warm with a light breeze, sunlight filtering down in golden shafts through the canopy of light green leaves above me. Every once in a while, leaves rustle off to the side of the trail, and I’ll turn to catch a glimpse of a chipmunk or a squirrel as it scampers off. The occasional songbird chirps from somewhere, hidden by branches.
Two miles in, I turn right, down a narrow trail. It’s not well maintained like the other trails, but I’m able to easily step around the rocks and roots; I know this trail by heart.
The trail opens to an overgrown grassy meadow, bordered by a low stone wall. I hop the wall and slow to a walk, trailing my fingers through the tall grass, picking a small yellow wildflower as I cross the meadow, sticking to the trail I’ve worn through the tall grass.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I sit down in the clearing in the center of the meadow, leaning my head back against the sun-warmed gravestone. “I miss you, you know,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “I miss you, Anne.”
Only the wind in the treetops answers.
Sammy Biggins ‘28, Contributing Writer
