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Fifteen Years

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She looked down at me. I lied in the palm of her hand, and waited for her to say something. The attic, filled to each end of the walls with boxes and disregarded knick-knacks, became a storage place for every ignored possession of the family. Emily grew up so much. Her face developed from that of a child’s to a woman’s, bearing make-up and a tone of maturity. She changed so much in the years that I didn’t see her. The light that broke through the wood on the walls shone on her face and reflected the tones of her cheeks. Cobwebs complemented lost time and harmonized with the buzzing flies in the room that smelt of mothballs and old newspapers. Slightly dark shadows brushed the outer dimensions of objects that the eye could not make out. It appeared as though Emily began a search through old boxes in hopes of finding me, perhaps to even find something that would fix a smile on her face.

Her calmed whisper slid through the dusty air and hit my plastic ears, “Daisy, you haven’t changed in years, besides the dirt on you. My, you’re dirty.” She picked at my little, velvet vest that stretched across my cotton filled torso. Her eyes searched for something on me that she could remember with fond thoughts.

I wouldn’t reply if I could. Her empty promises lie in the back of my mind with our times spent together.

Her expression changed to a slight frown, probably because my silence didn’t have an effect on her like it used to. She used to be able to tell what I was trying to tell her like telepathy. We used to be inseparable.

She went straight to the point, just like I knew she would; she was never one to beat around the bush, “I’m getting married soon . . . and I was just wondering if you could give me some advice.”

It felt like her words cut my chest open like a dagger as if she mocked me with a laughing tone, “I was never your best friend! I only lied to you so you would want to be around. I never needed you. I only wanted you to be my therapist. Why don’t you give me some advice so when you’re done rambling on, I could put you back in your coffin? I’ll be back when I need a helpful ear.” Instead of giving her what she wanted, I laid tranquil across her deceitful hands.

“C’mon, Daisy, I just need some advice. James wants me to marry him, and I just don’t think I could be committed-“she whimpered.

“Of course you can’t be committed! You couldn’t stand to be around me for more than a year!” I wanted to scream, but my stitched-on smile prevented syntax from seeping out.

“Remember the good times we had?” she asked. I wasn’t sure if she was reminiscing for us, or trying to convince me to give her the advice she wanted. “The zoo?” she continued, “We saw the tigers together and I almost dropped you in their exhibit. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She dropped a few tears from the corners of her eyes that crashed onto the floor. “Ya’ know, I only wanted you to help me out,” she whispered.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted so badly to yell, “You only wanted help? Do you even know or care what I wanted? I wanted a friend! I needed someone to cherish my existence, and be there when I needed them. I wanted to see the light of day, not the fractured bits of light that shine through the confinement of your attic! I wanted you to care for me forever like you promised me when you were eight.”

She stared down at me through my glass eyes while she waited for me to say something. I could see her concern running down the side of her face.


I continued my rant in my head, “If you wanted some help, why don’t you throw me back in that goddamn cardboard box like you did fifteen years ago and leave me the hell alone?”





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