they started when i was

three.

they happen
once or twice,
sometimes three or four times
every month.

Mia
and my parents
all agree that it’s just….
something.

they don’t know
that i’ve been sneaking
their headache pills
trying to make myself better

at night is the worst.
clutching my head
under the covers
Eyes squeezed shut
tight
and nobody knows.

school,
for me,
is like jumping out of a frying pan
and into a fire.

i’m not dumb.
i float by with B’s
and in ELA,
one shining A
and my parents
never see it

they see my
mediocre B’s.
and it’s all
Mia’s
fault.

Mia is smart.
very
very
very
smart.
and teachers never see me,
only the
short,
stupid,
sister.

even my parents.
of course
they pretend,
because who wouldn’t?
but i know
it’s fake.

they always wanted
a perfect girl
and two of them
would be even more
perfect.

but i didn’t turn out
just right.
and now, i’m
left-overs.

there’s one thing.
my one prized possession
Mia is jealous of.

she wants it
almost as much as skates.

it’s a box,
all fancy glass
edged in real gold
and inside
a beautiful doll.

it belonged to Grandmother
who i barely knew.
Mia knew her well,
better,
but i got it
because in the will,
our names were mixed up.

Mia ended up with a wineglass
that hadn’t even belonged
to Grandmother.

that
was the victory of my life.

when i get home
from another day of
school,
Mia is already
there.

she’s happy,
glowing.
holding papers
and then she cries out,
“rose,”
“rose, look”

i glance,
and i see words.
harvard university
congratulations.

she hugs me,
spins
laughs
and i try to be happy
i laugh with her
smile and say
congratulations, Mia
wondering if she knows
it’s fake.
until my parents get
home.

when they do,
i’m left
to the side.
they are delighted
because their oldest child
does not disappoint.

and as she runs off
to share the news
to friends,
she does a dance
down the hallway.

my parents give me a glance
and say,
“you’re sure to be just as good
Someday.”

they have weak smiles
pasted on.
but i’m not fooled
at all.
i will never be
as perfect
as Mia.

two days
after Mia’s news,
things have settled back down.
i’m glad.

but then,
suddenly,
my parents call Mia into the kitchen
i’m still eating dinner,
and i chew as slowly
s
l
o
w
l
y
as i can.
they hand her a box
wrapped in silver paper

i have a suspicion
growing with every second
she opens it.
my chest drops.

her eyes light up
like blue flashlights.
“skates!”
and i sink low
down
lower
into my chair.

the next day is the weekend.
Mia is out the door in minutes
the skates dangling from her shoulder.
“i’m off to the park”

and i watch from the table,
and suddenly
saturday waffles
don’t look so good anymore.

after,
i slip out the door
and walk
until I get to the park.

Mia is there,
with her friends,
all complimenting her on the
skates.

my hands are like stiff
clamshells
as my sister and her
friends
skate away.

of course,
Mia is good at everything.
It’d be bearable,
of course,
if i had some hidden talent
something,
anything,
i could do better.

but i’m only
Mia’s stupid little sister,
the one with only
stuffed animals
for company.

Mia can do
everything.
she even learned
already
in just two weeks
to skate.

sometimes i go
sit on a bench and watch
as she skates
with friends
she sometimes stumbles
but the friends lean over to help.

and then,
one day on my bench,
i realize.
This is it.
Mia’s not so good
at skating
as she is math
and i know i could.
after all,
i’ve dreamed.

it’s raining
and Mia is home.
i open the curtains
and see a group of girls-
exactly my age-
skating
down the sidewalk. 

i hold my hands together
in silent prayer.
please
let them see me
let them ask if i’d like to borrow
a pair.
the girls skate by.

and then one turns back
glides once, twice,
and stops.
and then, she points
to my window.
my heart soars,
and i’m about to fly
when the girls all laugh
and float away.

i’ve never ever been
so mad.
i shut the curtains
wishing they weren’t fabric
so that i could slam them

and then i flop
belly down
onto the bed
and cry.

i must have been loud,
because in ten, twenty minutes
Mia appears at my door.

she should look worried
concerned
but it is a frown of
annoyance
spread across her face.
what is it now, Rose
i’ve got work to do

i get up
and slam my door
in her face.

later,
when it’s been two hours
i am empty
numb
a blank void.

and i hear it.
tiny, tiny, tiny
sniffles.
i head in the direction
of the crying
and find myself
inside Mia’s room.

she looks at me with red eyes
and stands.
for a second, i think
she’s going to hug me.
and then,
she hits me.
it’s not painful
or a hard slap,
but it makes me stumble.

then comes the yell
STOP,
she screams,
hurling words at me
you don’t know how hard
i’ve worked
and you throw a tantrum
just because
I”VE GOT THE SKATES
NOT YOU
and i step back,
scared
of the hailstorm
and she keeps going
you’re always such a crybaby
GROW UP1
and i’m turning,
running back
and through the hall
she follows

it’s just not fair
i earned the skates
and i back into my room

i see behind her,
my parents are running up the stairs
come to comfort her
and all i can think of is
no one ever tries to comfort me

they glance at me
and are about to say something
but i’ve already shut the door.

today
is the day,

Mia is at
a sleepover,
and i am free
in these early hours of the morning.

i slowly open the door
to her room.

then,
i see them.
hanging on the rail
of her bed.

only now
do i realize
how beautiful they are:
blue, pink, purple
colors cascading across the sides
and i wonder
what they’d look like
in motion.

and then,
another realization:
Mia’s feet
are so, so much bigger than mine.

for a second,
looking down at the beautiful skates,
fear pierces me like a needle.
but i shake it away
and head outside.

once i’ve settled onto the steps
fastened Mia’s helmet
and tried my best to lace up
way-too-big skates,
i get up.

I’m moving
s l o w l y,    s l o w l y
with hands against the bricks
and suddenly i’ve got it.

and then i’m flying,
streaking in a beautiful blur
across town
and Mia can’t skate
like this.
i must be dreaming.

a bright neon-colored sign
is in my eyes,
and i read it
Caution; wet pavement

i consider turning back,
but once i’ve started
i never want to stop.
i keep going.

i skate
onto the pavement
it’s not wet.
the skates are fine.
i glide,
like a beautiful bird

and as i try to roll off the pavement,
something happens
my feet shift inside the too-big skates
and just like that

i’m
F
    A
        L
            L
                I
                    N
                        G.

and suddenly my head
hits
the ground.
before i can think
of pain
i’m gone.

i can hear Mia’s voice
crying, saying
“Rose, you stupid girl,
i’m not perfect.”

i doubt it.

above me, light blurs
and i surface from what feels
like sleep.
i see my parents hovering over me,
their faces teary messes
and Mia in a chair next to the bed.

the bed?

white.

i’m in the hospital.
that’s the moment
when all the pain registers
and i close my eyes again.

when i wake,
my family is there again.

i try to sit up,
but Mia stops me.
your leg is broken.
don’t try to get up.

so it is.
my parents hug me
and scold me.
then they turn
expectantly
to Mia, who mumbles,
feel better.

my parents give her disapproving looks,
but i say
i’m not expecting anything
from her.
no one says anything.
Mia leaves.

i ask my parents to bring
the golden box.

i’m on the edge
of the row of beds
in this room,
so i’ve only got one girl next to me.

i’m lonely,
so i turn to her and say
hello
and she turns to me.
slowly.
she eyes me for a minute
before she shrugs.
hi.

i guess she can tell i want more than hi,
so she says
what brings you here?
i reply a broken leg, a skating incident, what about you?
and i wait.
she doesn’t seem to have any injuries
not a bandage in sight.

she looks down at the ground.
heart disease
in a few weeks, i’ll be dead.
her voice is passive
but her hands shake.

the girl turns away
and i don’t try to coax
anything else.

why would they place a girl
with just a broken leg
right next to one with heart disease?

today,
Mia will be with me
while my parents go downstairs
for information on my leg.

she sits in the chair,
and looks up, up
at the ceiling.
i look too
but i don’t see anything interesting.

finally
i say
i’m really sorry about the skates.
she is quiet.
i try again.

Mia, i’m really, really sorry.
she sighs
i know.

it’s fake, i can tell
so i give myself one more chance
please, Mia, you know I’m really-
she cuts me off
It’s fine.

Mia-
and she’s up
oh, they’re back
and gone.

the girl next to me
with heart disease
has given up on her act

she cries every day.
when she gets her food,
when she sees me,
or a nurse,
i wish she’d stop.

and one day, they wheel her out
i wave goodbye
and she cries again

i don’t think i’ll see her again.

no one will speak to me.
the doctor is silent
the nurses exchange looks
and my family hasn’t come in
five
whole
days.

they show up, though,
looking sad
and they won’t tell me why
even Mia seems to have thawed
and she has tears
in her eyes

and then he tells me
the doctor drops the bomb
just like in the movies
he tells me i’m dying.
the only thing to be done
is to keep you comfortable
for the last days.

it can’t be, i say
after all, it’s only a broken leg
until he asks about the headaches
and then i know
it’s true
and i am like the girl
with heart disease…
i cry.

i cry for the nurses
who said I’d be okay,
for Mia, who’s going to be
an only child,
and for my parents
who will have to answer
to friends and family
without breaking down into tears.

and then, for me.
for skates of my own
that i’ll never have,
for friends i’ll never meet,
foods i’ll never taste.
beautiful sights
i’ll never get to see.

by the time I’m done crying
it’s been two whole hours
and I can almost feel it:
a big clock
with the hours of my life
ticking away.

as i expected,
not one visitor from class.
but lots
and lots
of family:
cousins, aunts, uncles
family friends
who i’ve never even met.

they mostly ask me how i am
if i’m okay
which is stupid
because of course
i’m dying.

except for one girl
a cousin
with sad eyes
she tells me
i had a sister
who died.
i talk to her and find out
her name is Gwen
and the sister’s name
was Vivian
and they weren’t just sisters
they were twins.

the next day,
we talk
a little more.
she is a year younger
than me.
Vivian was loud
and had lots of friends
and the friends were nice to Gwen, too
because you can’t like one twin
and not the other.

now, they keep distance
and Gwen says hi
but no one says it back.

when she’s told me this,
i say
at school,
i didn’t really have friends
either.
i think
she might offer
to be my friend,
but her tone is bitter.
but now,
it doesn’t matter
anyway.

she’s right.

the next day,
her parents don’t come
and Mia tells me
Gwen has hanged herself.

my headaches get worse than ever
that night,
but i don’t even have the strength
to call for pain medicine.

Mia is nice to me
all the time.
my clock has ticked down
to eight days,
the doctor’s estimate.

she comes into my room-
now that i’m dying,
i’ve got one of my own
in the hospital.

she sits
and pulls out an empty paper.
Rose, she says
eight days left.
i see little tears
that she’s trying to hide.
you should make some decisions.

i know she means my last wishes
i don’t want to say them aloud,
so i take the paper from her

my wishes.
to be talented.
to be pretty
and loved
and smart.
to have friends
to be popular
maybe be kissed.
i think about it
for a few seconds
and then
i write

last wishes.
makeup,
a vacation to Disney World,
a pretty notebook
a butter pecan ice cream sandwich
and
skates.

she looks
takes the page,
folds it up and puts it in her bag
almost laughs
and says
i meant…
your things.
i look down
and know she’s talking about
the golden box.

i ask for another paper
and she hands one to me.
then I think.

i think of Gwen,
of Mia and my parents,
and the doctor
and i realize
there’s nobody else
and i’m crying.
wordlessly,
Mia takes my pen and paper,
places them on the table next to me,
and leaves.

it’s
not
working.

when i first came
here,
to this hospital,
i got a button.
they said
if i pressed it,
i could get pain medicine.

i’ve been pressing it
for ten minutes now,
like my life depends on it.

because right now,
it really does.
nobody’s coming.
it’s broken.

i feel a wet tear on my cheek,
because i don’t want to die like this
and i never would.

and here i am now.
it hurts,
but i still hear words in my soul
and i’ve got to write them down
i’ve got to,
even if my hand’s hurting
i’ve got to write a formal
goodb

this is a secret chapter of my story
it’s only in my head
and nobody’s ever going to see it.
ever.

where i am,
there’s no paper.
no pens,
no laptop.
no Mia, Mom, Dad,
no darkness,
no light.
just a vast nothingness.

i’m definitely not alone,
but there is no one else here.
i don’t think of it as heaven
or hell:

i think it’s
an empty forever
filled with my soul.

I give to my sister Mia a golden box on which are inscribed our maternal grandmother’s initials, as well as the files I possessed that contain my work., with which she is free to do whatever she would like. I give also to her the posters that hung in my bedroom.
    I wish that the roses from my bedside table at home be given to my parents so that they may remember me when they wish.
    However, I would like one of my flowers to be placed on the grave of my cousin, Gwendolyn Abigail March, in my honor, as I never was able to physically attend her funeral.
    I leave my other possessions to my parents, to do with them whatever they would like.
    I do not wish anyone to be upset when they remember me.
    Let a smile pass over your face.
        -Rose G. March