I wasn’t always invisible. Once upon a time I had a life. I had hopes and dreams. I even thought I was somebody. A little part of me still believes that, but the majority of my brain is telling me I’m invisible.
It’s kind of childish but you grow up thinking you can be an astronaut, doctor or for those really scarred by incessant lying from their parents; even president. My parents were never so blind or foolish. The did not lie to me feeling no remorse for building their children’s dreams up and letting the real world tear them down one tier at a time. My parents never filled my head with ideas that my life might actually mean something or that I could possibly make any difference in life.
They told me it was important to do well and school and go to college. They never told me to have a plan, or do something significant with my life. Maybe they thought that they were leaving all the decisions up to me and by having no involvement in my life they were not liable for the person I turn out to be.
You see serial killers on TV and you wonder what in their lives happened to make them that way. We truly believe that know one is born with that kind of malevolence in them. That something in their life must have happened to make them that way. Who better to look at then the people who gave them all the knowledge they needed to go into the world?
My theory is that if my parents don’t get involved in my life if I were to become a serial killer they could just say that they didn’t have much to do with raising me. I doubt however if I did become president they would be so humble as to say that they had no involvement in my up bringing.
I love my parents dearly. I do. I can’t say that they were never there for me. All those years ago I wonder why they let me model. I wonder if it was out of their own self-interests. I doubt that though, I guess I never really looked into the laws about your parents taking your money because I never had to. They never touched a dime. It’s all in a trust until I turn 18. I have no idea how much money is in there or anything about it really. I guess I will have to wait and see.
My brain and my heart are constantly fighting. I feel as if they are in a war. My brain tells me no and my heart tells me yes. I know that is cliché, but its cliché for a reason. The reason being that its true.
I used to go to a private school. Everyone was very close and we all got a long rather well, until one day I was dragged away kicking and screaming. Everything I knew, everything I was, and everything I loved was there and one day it was just gone. Crying wouldn’t change anything but in my moment of weakness all I could do was cry. My lips quivered, my hands shook, my heart bled, and my brain slowed down into a state where I could barely process anything. People would probably think that I was being dramatic but the fact of the matter is I didn’t know anything else and I was being forced to start all over again.
The reasons for moving made sense to my parents. In their minds that’s all that mattered. I think much more mattered though. I know they were doing it because of Indi but that wasn’t really fair to me. Indi and I had grown apart over the years and she never wanted to speak with me. I knew our time together was limited but it didn’t mean anything. After all these years she was still jealous of me.
I suppose the irony of it all is Indira’s name. Her name means “beauty”. She had never seen herself as unbeautiful. She was very pretty, but never as pretty as she thought I was. She always seemed to be in constant competition with me. It crushed me that petty competition was the basis of my relationship with my sister.
I know most people would think having a new start is a good thing. It wasn’t though. When you have everything in the world, being told to rebuild that is neither easy nor enjoyable. I had no interest in starting a new life nor did I know how to do it. At my old school things had always just been the way they were. I never had to try very hard to make friends and I never had anyone to impress.
Things were simply handed to me. Eventually all the boys started to like me. And who wouldn’t want to be friends with the girl that all the boys like? I had my own clique. Which looking back on it now kind of disgusts me. If I wanted to be student council president it was handed to me, if I wanted to be dancing queen I would have my coronation the next day. It was actually sad; I didn’t live in the real world.
At this time I would sweat self confidence. No one could bring me down. No one could possibly hurt me I was impregnable. All of this was before I was invisible. Before I faded into the dark background and before no one cared what I had to say. At this time people actually cared about what I thought, I felt like I was loved and that everyone was there for me. Time to time I would fight with friends, usually over insignificant and irrelevant things. Looking back at it now, time spent fighting was just wasted time because in the end we were all as close as ever.
We cried, we screamed, we fought but we were still lovey dovey. I remember those people as the only people who loved me. These last two years no one has ever loved me the way these people loved me there. I always felt like I had a place I never felt invisible.
The last day I was living there was the best day of my life. That day all the hardships and anything outside of perfection were forgotten. Friends and I shed some tears, yet that morning we had the whole world to look forward to. We took the train down to the beach.
The train was a whole world in its self, it resembled the freedom we had. We could go anywhere, do anything. Our parents trusted us and we trusted ourselves.



We rode the train for over 40 minutes, a few times we had to get out and switch trains or walk a bit to the next station. We didn’t mind at all because as long as we were together we were happy.
I remember stopping at a candy store. In this store the candy was piled all around us, sorted into beautiful colors and different types. I didn’t want any of it but we stopped here any way. The boys bought a bag with ham flavored puffed chips. I was reluctant to taste one but I did anyway and sure enough I hated them.
I suppose trying new things is a part of life. It can also be a part of life you can hate. I was one for consistency. I liked order in my life. I liked sitting at the same chair every day at lunch and putting my shoes on from left to right. I suppose when I was with my friends that day there was a different kind of feeling that surrounded me. I had no fear of the unordinary, I felt safe with pandemonium filling the air around me. I was so high on my cloud at that moment nothing could stop it.
I don’t understand why everything over there seemed to have ham flavoring. I guess its kind of like the way every candy in Mexico seems to have a hot pepper flavor. I guess as long as it appeals the consumer there is no problem with it. I suppose that’s why they have McShrimp at McDonalds in Germany. After all this world is all about giving other people what they want at your own cost.
The bag in a way kind of went to waste. We were stupid teenagers and like most stupid teenagers instead of eating food we would throw it at one another. Hell broke loose on that train. There were puff chips lying everywhere. Luckily it was midday and there was no one on the train to pester. We were classic irresponsible annoying teenagers. All we were missing was an old man shaking his fist in the air screaming, “Come back you hooligans.”
That day seemed like something from out of a movie. They day was a montage of fun that seemed to fly by in just moments. What I would do to be able to rewind that day. Even if I couldn’t relive it I would just like to see it again. I would love to see the merriment that caressed the air we breathed in.
Once we finally arrived to our destination we could barely contain our excitement. We ran out onto the white powdery sand. The sand was fine but at the same time a bit coarse. It showed me how clean and simple something can be while still having rough edges.
The beach was surprisingly clean; usually there was a condom in the sand or a floating pad amongst the seaweed. The beach that day was perfect though. It wasn’t so much the beach as it was the people I was at the beach with. I was there with my best friends.
The more you replay a memory in your mind and tell your self that it was a good one the better it seems to feel with each glance back into the past. With the realization that you can never relive those moments again and that they only exist in your memory fading away a bit more each and every day tends to bring a feeling of dejection along with it.
I go back thinking “what if” and “what could have been”. I rack my brain knowing that I will never know the answer that and that unknown that fills me just tares me apart. I feel as if maybe I have missed out on something important in life. Whether it was a good or a bad thing it may have changed me as a person. To think “maybe if” could have completely changed me. That I truly could be someone else, someone that if my closest friend saw me walking down the street and said hi to they would never recognize me.
Even though we thought we were inseparable, my parents found a very good way to separate us.
The Pizza place at the overpass of the beach had shut down. It place was taken by a chicken place. Out there we had KFC but we believed in helping out small businesses besides the convenience just made more sense. Not to mention the curiosity of a new place got the best of us. We were all hungry and as we walked in the smell of friend chicken filled the air. Which in reality was just the smell of grease and French fries. I didn’t really mind the smell. Looking back at it now, the smell only brings good memories. I can picture my self back their laughing and smiling.
I wonder if I had stayed if that would be our new hang out. Maybe if I had stayed we could have had some of the most heart wrenching and important conversations of our lives sitting at those aluminum tables.
We ordered the chicken and were surprised by how cheap it was. We spent the rest of the day on the beach eating chicken. It isn’t fancy and it doesn’t seem like much but it really was. In all its simplicity it was remarkable.
When a person like myself over thinks every little thing you tend to appreciate the simplicity in the small things in life.

Little moments like that are the ones we hold onto forever. I can remember everything about that day. The tide was a bit lower than usual even though the water was choppy. As the waves broke all that was left behind was a smooth surface of tiny bubbles that would soon rest and break. The water was cool but was refreshing due to the heat out side of the water. The sand wasn’t burning hot and we spent a lot of time laying in it.
After that day all I felt was empty, as if no one could fill it since there is always a place in my heart for those people. Those people are a representation of my home.
Every once in a while I will meet someone that finds out that I’m not from here. Their first question tends to be where did you grow up. That day on that beach was where I grew up. That singular moment in time I stopped being a child. I learned what appreciation feels like. That day was just the beginning of the things I would lose and how I would have to learn to move on or stay still.
If people understood the pain that comes with feeling you have no one they would make more of an effort to give a helping hand. They may feel bad enough that they would actually notice me. I don’t want anyone’s pity, which may be why I am now invisible.
I sometimes look back at the things I did or didn’t do back when I was living there. Now it doesn’t matter at all, it never really matters because once things are said and done there is nothing you can do about it. Wishing that you could have done something differently is nothing but a waste of time. If we did have a time machine and we could only go back once in our past most people would fix things they regret. I wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel regret because I do, it just mean I know that if I were to go back and fix things they would change who I am today, all I think about is how I could change for the worst. I’m happy with who I am now, even if I am invisible. Sometimes not good enough for the rest of the world is just good enough for me.
Back when I was living there I’m sure I had things I would regret, but since leaving there I can’t seem to remember any of them. I guess I have selective memory and my brain chooses to select only the good times.
My mother thinks I haven’t moved on, that I a, still living in the past and haven’t moved forward. I have moved forward but its hard not to miss the past when it was some much better than the future. I have moved on but that doesn’t mean I have to like the present more.
I guess it’s easier to think about the past when you had friends and family. All that lies in the future is despair and sickness that is running its course and taking souls by force.
I wish I didn’t think about the past so much, maybe then I would be happier about the present. It’s hard to see that though when the present has nothing to offer except more pain. If the present were good maybe my selective memory would add new, better memories. If only I had the people in my life to help me move on, and for me to make a new life.
But I’m looking forward. I’m looking forward to a new and better life. The last two years have been the exception, I’m moving again and this time it will hopefully be better. Hopefully this will be the change, from special to invisible to a new chapter in my life.
Now that Indi is gone I’m supposed to have closure. I’m supposed to be moving on with my life. Its amazing how much thinking about closure really only makes you sadder.
Before I left home I had one of the best feelings, I had the feeling that I was special. I never felt out of place and I especially never felt ordinary. I always felt like I had a place and everyone wanted to be my friend or my boyfriend. I felt like I was on top of the world.
One off the feelings I miss the most is feeling pretty, not just pretty on the outside, I like that as well, but feeling pretty on the inside. Before I left I was voted best sense of humor in the yearbook. I look back at that yearbook and see what every one wrote. It’s a sad nostalgic feeling. I read the memos in their voices with their faces lined along my eyelids. Their voices lingered softly in my ears. I’d like to say I could remember them, but it felt as if I couldn’t. Like their faces had slowly melted in my mind and I no longer could picture them.
Sometimes I still think about my friends. I still keep in contact with some of them. I thought they would always stay the same, so innocent. But like all things they change in time. Some changed for the good, others for the bad, but all were changed. Their lives went on without me there and that seemed to be the hardest thing to swallow. Knowing they continued with people that loved them and they moved along while I was so pathetic I had no one and yet it didn’t matter to anyone. I guess the funny thing about having no one is the fact that no one cares. You are the only one there to feel bad about your self and it just makes you feel me despicable and unworthy of love.
I know I still knew them and who they were, but we had drifted apart. The funny thing about drifting apart is noticing how they no longer become a focal point in your life. You learn to trust others that are much closer; people that are there for you every day; someone who at the end of the day you can easily talk to about your problems.
I had always hoped Indi would be that person for me. Towards the end I got my wish. As the end drew closer and closer it seemed like if she were granted another twenty years on this planet it sill wouldn’t be enough.
Along with distance come obstacles. The further you are the harder it is. I felt like I was on the moon. I was so distant from everything and everyone. Eventually you just give up trying to have human contact.
The first day at my new school I had been eating lunch alone. I knew nobody, but the thing that kept me going through that day was that I had someone to speak to while I was in my lunch period. One of my only friends, Alvin. I called him and it was like being at home all over again. It was a piece of home that let my turning stomach calm, and my world seemed just a little bit smaller.
I like small, I think you learn a lot more from small. There isn’t nearly as much to learn as big. I liked being in a big world though; it seemed like I had a place to hide from people I really didn’t want to see. There were plenty of times I wanted to hide.
Alvin didn’t know it but I was even hiding from him. He was my best friend and I knew I could trust him with anything. I didn’t tell him why I had moved though because it didn’t seem right. It seemed like it was Indi’s thing to tell, not mine. Besides I don’t think I could have stomached telling him then.
He did show up when I needed him though. A hard lesson to learn in life is who is a real friend. I see these people on facebook bragging about how the have 1200 friends. The sad thing is they actually see that as some kind of accomplishment. As if the number of “friends” you have on a website is a true measure of your popularity and the quality of your relationships in life. When I was back home I thought everyone was my friend. It turns out that I didn’t actually find out who my real friends were until they showed up on the other side of the country at the funeral.

A friend is a very imperative thing for a teenager to have. It may seem untrue but for me a friend gave me purpose, a friend is a person that could truly define me, a person who would define me in their eyes.
Its funny how we see our selves. An article I read the other day said wee found our selves six times more attractive than we actually are. I don’t think that is true.
I look at myself and I see physical features. I seem my brown hair cascading down my back. I see my eyes as picturesque almonds. My nose is tiny and skinny yet fitting. I see the bump so prominent at the bridge of my nose were it meets my forehead. My eyebrows are well groomed, not thick and adventurous nor skinny and risqué. My lips flatter my face for the most part if your can get over the lack proportions between the top lip and the bottom. Though none of my features set out as particularly ugly I cant help to feel that way. They say you can be ugly on the inside but I don’t think that is true either.
I used to think of my self as a good person; that was funny and beautiful. I walked into my school two years ago with the upmost self-confidence. For a few months even I kept that self-confidence. People never seemed to share that confidence about me nor did they warm up. It wasn’t the fact that I wasn’t being told how pretty and important I was, what brought down my confidence was how often I was being told I wasn’t worth anything, their favorite line was, “How about you just go back to where you came from.”
I wanted to do that more than anything; I wanted to see the people that had truly been kind and loving to me, the people that when I felt most a lone in the world they held my hand.
This was not my home nor would it ever be. I felt all alone here. I could barely look in the mirror and see the same person. I felt different, very different but I didn’t know how to describe it. I felt like less of a person than I was before.
I spent my days wishing I could just disappear into the background, if I just sat very still in my chair and closed my eyes no one would notice me. I hoped day after day they would forget. I felt as if the didn’t even have things for them to be mean about so they just did me little disservices. They would slam a door in my face, or cut me off in the lunch line. Little things that made me feel like I had no one on my side.
A felt like every day I was trying to dodge a train, if I did one thing that was any different they would make fun of me for it, they would make fun of my clothes, my hair, the way I spoke, of anything they thought would hurt me.
High school is a cruel place; California seemed to be even crueler. I wish it upon no one and yet everyone has to do it. Those who still talk about high school like it was the best time of our lives clearly never had a life after high school.
How can the high light of someone’s life really be that pep rally or hitting that home run? It’s sad. I think about all the other things in life that a person should look forward to, those moments that really do matter. I would want to look back at the end of this life and say that it really wasn’t so lonely; that my high light was falling in love or having a kid. My high light would be something that I can be proud of and love. I’m sure you can be proud of that one football game where a you scored the winning touch down but it’s not the same. In fact I am incapable of explaining how it’s not the same, it’s just something you have to feel.
The ones I really feel sorry for are my high school teachers. Did they really love their high school lives so much they decided to come right back because four years of it just simply wasn’t enough. Others got their degrees thinking they would go far in life but instead failed so badly at their chosen career they some how ended up teaching a freshman English class.
No one is at their finest in high school, we don’t even find our selves in high school, because finding your self in high school would mean that people would actually have to be tolerant of being different. And we all know that is the one thing teenagers are not; tolerant.
In high school being an outcast is nothing new, in fact the people who are in the “in crowd” never really make it very far. They got there by stepping on every head beneath them and by drinking the tears of the others who did not reach such a high social standard. Not to mention the “in crowd” is notorious for their love of puppy meat. That’s right…puppy meat. How else could someone actually tell you that you are the freak with dead sister? That is where the line was crossed and I decided to move on my own.
People like to describe high school as chaotic. I disagree the first few days of school are a controlled pandemonium but the rest of the time everything else is in place. Not necessarily a good place but in place none the less. Everything that comes along is individual anarchy. Each clique goes through their own set of problems and its own set of drama. There seemed to be a lack of drama in my clique though. A clique of one, that is. I guess self-disappointment and pity doesn’t make a compelling story to be official gossip on twitter. Occasionally I would get quite rude with my self though. Don’t think I went easy on my self just because others seemed to forget about me. At times when people seemed to realize me enough to be able to muster up enough hatred and insult me I would walk away insulting myself only further.
I met a few people here and there that I had become friendly with, but I was never able to merge with their groups, I never really belonged anywhere. I would spend my lunches walking around aimlessly and saying hi to people here and there. All of it was superficial though, the ones who pretended to be nice to me would just rip into me the moment I walked away.
I guess I have no respect for anyone who talks behind a person’s back. I am a big believer in “if you have something to say, say it to my face”. People try to hide behind their words, if you aren’t going to stand up for what you believe in or what you say then why say it at all.
I guess I’m kind of cut and dry in that sense.

When I first arrived in California I accepted the fact that it was my new bowl. Good old California. I’m here to shatter that perfect image of the beach and hot blonde guys that will sweep you off your feet. Then you surf together and fall in love, because Californians are just so lovable and irresistible. They are especially lovable if you are superficial and self-absorbed. I however am a little different. So I admit that I see myself that way some times, but these people take it to a whole new level.
Women here actually make me sad about life. They are all defining themselves by what a man thinks and what they think a man wants. I may be a hopeless romantic but I’m not about impressing a man so that he can hump and dump me. As long as the girls here get the humped they don’t care if they get dumped, they are all chasing the same fantasy. They all want a man to take care of them and they are sleeping around to get it. I however know that the men that have the money are not interested in brain dead whores that will pop out a couple of little buggers so that you are stuck with her or you have to pay child support.
I think that some of these girls say they want the whole love story thing but in reality they want the sex just as much. So many girls here just can’t wait until they can add another charm to their bracelet. It is somewhat pathetic that they have some need to fill some kind of hole so they go around trying to get men to fill that hole for them even if it is in the back of a car and only last thirty seconds.
My sister still looked relatively healthy when we moved here. She told me she did it because in a few months when she was too sick she didn’t want to have to look back and think of all the things she could have done. Maybe instead of having sex to fill her “daddy issues” hole like the rest of the girls she did it to fill her “dying wishes” hole.
I guess I know that rich men don’t love that is because I was among those men once upon a time. Back when those men were my friends and I prided myself on being smart and having a good sense of humor. Turns out I don’t have any of that though. Just ordinariness all around. But those rich boys believed I did. I guess that’s the grand illusion all the girls aren’t seeing, if you don’t have it, make them believe you do. Rich guys like charity cases but they don’t marry them.
Don’t think that I am shallow for thinking that all Californians are the same. I’m sure they aren’t. Actually I’m not so sure about that. Very seldom did I find anyone that traveled away from their self centered and pretentious ways.
After all aren’t we all just labels? Isn’t that what high school is all about? Jocs, Cheerleaders, Geeks, Dorks, Genius’, Whores. I capitalize each of these words because in high school each of them is it’s own little country and very few people have a passport; also known as “balls”; to travel from the norm of their own ways. And it is always about the show you put on.
I guess that is what bothered me most about these girls. There parents were middle class families just like mine. However they were living in shacks of houses driving clunkers just so their daughters could have a Channel purse to take to school and brag about. My family was never rich. My mother worked just to keep us in private school back home. Once I started making some money things got easier on the family. They were able to take money out of my trust to pay for school. The people around me however were not struggling at all. They had money to throw down the gutters and yet they relied on that money so much less. I never felt out of place having less money than them due to the fact that they genuinely didn’t care. And if they didn’t care, then why would I.

It was the loneliest feeling in the world. I felt the air escape from the world at that moment. Each breath became harder and harder and the gasps only became more gradual. My mind wasn’t blank however. They say when you get news like this everything goes black and the whole world around you fades. For me though, it wasn’t the case. I felt so overwhelmed by every thought. Motions became fast but the world was slow.
My pounding chest could feel every motion in the world; in fact the feeling in my chest was a very particular feeling. One that can not be described in a word or a phrase, one that is made up of the experiences of a lifetime, a lifetime in which I had just begun living. Some may describe it as drowning. The feeling that your lungs are filling up and each gasp becomes more desperate than the last. In that aspect it is like drowning. I always saw drowning as a kind of peaceful thing. I would be looking up at the distorted world, the ripples in the water above me changing with every last breath that escapes. Tranquil bubbles floating to the surface where they simply dissipate above the water.
Looking back now it wasn’t like drowning at all. Loud noises filled my head relentlessly. The incessant chatter in my ears. I know I was hearing the words. I know I understand the words, but for some reason at that moment the words were not registering in my mind. I recognized them however they had no meaning to me.
My body did not feel weak in fact it felt lucid. Its as if it wasn’t even a part of me. Not in the sense that it had a mind of its own. I felt it, it was real, my body was in fact still a part of me but and overwhelming numbness fell over it. The same kind of feeling you get when you sit on your foot and it falls asleep. That moment right before the pins and needles kick in.
I was limp. Every part of me. I wonder if it can be compared to being in a coma. I was fully aware of the world around be, though hazy, I knew it was very real yet I physically was incapable.
That was a word I could barely fathom, “incapable”. It rolled of my tongue sharp and serrated. I had never felt incapable. I was always in full control. From time to time I would lose my temper but I was never in the least bit incapable in any aspect of my life.
I was always the strong one. Indi was the one that had emotions running high. Indi was the one that would break down and be “incapable”. I would never see anyone cry. I would never let a stranger see me from the inside out and see my unexplainable vulnerability. The only thing worse than a stranger seeing was the boy I would love.
The only time I had felt anything remotely like this was one time when I had a nightmare. It wasn’t one of those nightmares that you wake up in a panic from. It was something much worse than that. It wasn’t a dream that was the cause of a scary movie or a bad night. It was something that crept up on me. Something that breathed down my neck as I slept. The thing I feared the most was that every aspect o the dream was engraved into my mind when I awoke. The images of the dream only last moments. It seemed as if I was trapped forever though. The weirdest thing is that it wasn’t me that was in danger, it was some one else. I witnessed the dream as if I were God looking down upon the cruel world unravel before my eyes.
This person, he had no distinguishing features. This man didn’t even have a face, he was just John Doe as far as I was concerned. The dream began so tranquil and peaceful, as though it was a trick.
John Doe sat there in the water. The water was as calm and as patient as could be, not a ripple could be seen among the horizon. The funny thing about this ocean was how stagnate it was when I knew the water was moving. The sun was setting and an array of oranges filled the sky. Along with the dark sky came the dark reflection of the water. The water was not the least bit murky. It still had the clear in pure qualities of the ocean on a beautiful day however the water was dark. All the light in the world was being sucked into this vast pit of nothingness and darkness below the surface of the water. John Doe’s feet disappeared under his board.
All but too soon the day was no longer tranquil. There was a disturbance in the peace of the water beneath him. In the darkness a shimmer of light reflected as the shadow of a large creature became apparent and then faded again. John knew something was wrong; he could feel it and I could feel it. I could feel his heart beat, his heart beat along with mine, his heart was in fact mine. His legs lifted out of the water and onto the board. He began paddling out of desperation. Out of fear of what might be below he kept his sight forward.
He seemed to paddle knowing where he was going. He was only going further out to sea though. The further John paddled the darker the water became. All essence of life in beauty faded amongst the darkness. As the world around him became darker he no longer knew where to go. Finally he had reached his destination. It was a subtle structure of rocks in the middle of the ocean. He climbed along, climbing further and further to the top of the rock formation. Not looking down, or having any regard for what was blew him. Knowing that if he looked back he would only see his death in the eyes of what was beneath him.

When John Doe reached the top of the rocks finally felt like a weight has been lifted. he felt secure, he even felt safe. all while I sat their knowing that he was in fact not safe at all. That's a scary world that he had paddled so hard and so far to escape had followed him along the way. there was in fact no escaping what had followed him. was the shark is symbol of life, or death, anything at all. the shark possibly just be a part of the story. Symbols of my own life or something that I myself do not understand.
So in this moment when John Doe was catching his breath at the top of those rocks, I knew this dream was close to an end. As the shadow leapt up from the air became all but real John Doe disappeared under the water along with the figure.

I felt the pain John Doe felt. It was a cold hand that clenched up at my heart. I woke up in a panic not knowing what to do with myself other than cry. The moments passed and I don't know where they want. Maybe it wasn't the moments but instead myself that faded. Little by little after that day I disappeared. I had not felt panic such as this since the day of that dream. And all too soon my dreams and nightmares became all too real again.

Eventually I had no choice but to rejoin the living and breathing world. When I found out that Indira was sick the world seemed to make no sense. Yet when Indi left us it never seemed to make as much sense as in that moment. I know it's hard to understand. Hell, at first I couldn't understand it. Maybe it was just my own way of saying that I didn't accept it. Who would want to accept some like that? Knowing that my sister only had months, maybe years at most to live brought things into perspective. It made the whole world seem a whole lot greener. Made the air seen a lot fresher. Most of all it made every moment seem like a blessing.

I was never fan of running away from my problems, yet that seemed to be my parent's solution. the second that they found out that Indi was sick they packed our bags. All they could say was, " we need a change of scenery." that didn't seem like a viable answer to me. When everything that I knew in everything that I loved was here in this town. It didn't seem fair to Indi either. when she was sickest she needed to be surrounded by family and friends. Not torn away from everything that she loved in hopes that she would forget and start a new life on the idea of that things could be better somewhere else. there was nowhere else to go. No matter where we left to, no matter whether we crossed oceans or continents she was still have cancer and she would still be dying.

Indi and I were never incredibly close. I think her being sick both brought us closer together and then in the end tore us apart.

When I was little my father had a favorite saying every time Indi and I would get into a fight. “Ani,” he would say with a defeated and disproving tone in his voice, “Oh, Ani what are we going to do with you?”

“But Daddy!” I would argue, “It wasn’t me, its Indi!”

“Ani, I’m telling you this because you are the older one. You need to behave, your sister doesn’t understand yet because she is too young, but one day we will be gone and all you will have it each other to love.”

I truly believed that day would never come, and it didn’t. I used to think my parents were invincible and would be around forever, it wasn’t because they were in fact invincible that the day never came but because Indi wouldn’t be left behind with me.

The story really starts when Indi was twelve. I was fifteen at the time and I felt unstoppable. Some how life had just seemed to be going right for me. Nothing ever stood in my way and Indi felt that. She thought everyone favored me, and it wasn’t that they favored me its just that Indi was a difficult child. She always seemed to have some kind of a chip on her shoulder and pushed everyone away even as a small child.

I had a certain kind of whimsical being that Indi never had. I would watch romance movies and wish of an unstoppable love and Indi would just make fun of me. Secretly she knew she wanted the same thing but she would never dare to admit it. Indi saw weakness in love and emotions. She sought out to be cold and distant, yet she resented me for being personable.

There was nothing we had in common. Possibly only our beauty, and even then we were two very different kinds of beauty. Though we were both tall I of course being three years older had a good few inches. At the age of twelve though she was already 5’6. I was tall and lanky with no meat on my bones; she however was full and muscular. My blonde waves cascaded down my back and her short brown hair was scrappy and messy. My eyes were almond shaped and colored like hazel nuts while her eyes resembled a cat’s; emerald glowed dark in the night. We depicted complete opposites yet we both had a unique beauty. Indi never saw it that way though.

Boys often gravitated towards me, I was perky and cheerful and if they didn’t talk to me I would speak to them. Indi in no way possessed that skill. She was cold towards them; she would shun anyone who would attempt to be kind to her.

Yet Indi still held this envy towards me, when it was due to her own shortcomings that could easily be fixed. The attribute that I hated most about Indi was that she loathed pity and yet all she would do was wallow in her own.

About two months from Indi’s thirteenth birthday she got sick, it was just the flu. Indi however was as melodramatic as could be. She looked for every excuse to be able to get out of going to school. At some point my parents just gave up trying to force her out the door, it became more of a battle than it was worth.

Once she had spent three days off of school my parents finally forced her. This time was different than usual though. Usually after spending three days off of school Indi would take what she could get and be proud that she got away with it for that long. This time was different though, she didn’t beg for them not to send her and it didn’t become an argument instead she just lay there motionless. She seemed to know have the will power to fight; instead it was just easier to give in. That was not like Indi, Indi would never just give in and mope around.

With Indi there was always a volcanic eruption, an overexposed amount of fury and lava that came pouring out with out cease leaving everything in ruins and covered in ash. But this time everything was temperate. I thought it might be the calm before the storm but the storm never came that day.

My parents let Indi stay home for yet a fourth day in a row. She was however running a fever. When she first got sick no one thought to even check her temperature, most likely because we all assumed she was faking it.
There was also something unusual about the state of her room. After a day of Indi being left home alone sick for the day there was usually a full kitchen in her room, about fifty percent of the houses plates and cutlery would end up in there by the end of the day, this time however her room was clean and she had barely eaten her dinner from the night before.
I began to worry about her, something just didn’t feel right. It was a gut feeling and I usually didn’t go off those, gut feelings tend to be irrational but this one played out in the long run. I still question what would have happened if I didn’t follow my guy. I thought maybe I should stay home that day, nothing too important seemed to be going on at school and I figured I could use a day of ease anyway.

Ease was something that I very seldom came by. It seemed that I was always busy in one way or another. No fifteen year old girl should have to spend her entire life busy because other people tell her that is something she has to do. That was something I always admired about Indi. She always seemed to have the balls to be able to say no. I didn’t I was complacent and had a need to help everyone out. Indi was selfish though and everyone needs to be a little selfish sometimes. If you spend your whole life worrying about others instead of your self than it wasn’t really your life you were living for.

Indi didn’t have a care in the world though. For a young one she was pretty damn wise. I remember just a few weeks before I began having a panic attack. I was freaking out because my whole committee had ditched me and I needed to finish writing a proposal for the student council budget that year, I also had a huge unit test in AP World History. Indi had no interest in calming me down or helping me at all, that wasn’t in her own self-interest however having an incessant need to blab out anything that came to her mind was.
“ You spend too much time living for everyone else. You have to live for your self every once in a while or you might just die trying to live for everyone.” Those were the words she told me. And even in that moment I understood their importance. I no way did it help me from having that panic attack, that continued right on schedule until I was able to calm my self down but the words ran around in my head. Like a dog trying to chase its tail, every time I thought I knew exactly what they meant it just slipped away.
I know realize that I wish I could live for everyone. I wish I could help everyone and make all their troubles go away and make everything better for them. I wish I could just take all their pain and they would have none to deal with. I had my own pain to deal with though; pain I didn’t yet know was coming or how to face it. And the harsh truth is you just can’t save the world and the more you try to the more the world just walks all over you.
Indi always understood that. She never let anyone walk all over her and she never let anyone take the pain for her. She never allowed anyone to do anything for her; she was so independent that it made her intolerable.
When Indi was eight she broke her leg, I would offer to carry her book bag for her to the car while she went down the stairs on her crutches but she always refused to let me. It wasn’t the fact that she would just say no; she would cause actual physical harm to the person trying to help her if she didn’t want them to. She would beat me with her crutch until I would drop the backpack and allow her to carry it. I would just have to sit idly by as she struggled to slip the back pack on and then moved down the stairs with the probability of falling over any minute.
I know Indi didn’t want me staying home that day from school taking care of her but I did anyway. She didn’t argue at all, she didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. I said goodbye to my parents as they set off for work that day.
“Watch Indi, and don’t hesitate to call me at work if anything is wrong,” she waved out the window and drove away. I walked back up to the door and locked the door behind me. I slowly climbed the steps to Indi’s room and stood in the doorway. I just watched her for a few moments as our mother had done when we were younger. Mom never realized that we knew but we could her when the doors squeaked open as she peered in to make sure we were safe.
“Ani? Is that you?” A weak frail voice from under the covers escaped.
“Yeah, do you need something?”
The sound of her lips smacking together filled the empty room, “Just a glass of water please.”
I shut the door with out making another sound. Once I got to the kitchen I rustled around for a clean glass. Knowing Indi though, she wouldn’t care; she didn’t really care if anything was clean. She however was very particular about how she wanted her water. She liked the ice cubed and the cup was to be filled one- thirds filled with ice and the rest filled with water.
I crept back up to the room slowly opening the door and leaving the glass on her nightstand. Her back was turned to me and I could barely hear a breath escape.
“Ani?”
“Yeah”
“Do you think maybe you could lay down with me for a little while?”
“Yeah, of course.” I lifted the sheets and crawled into the bed with her. We hadn’t laid down in bed together since she was nine. She was very private and often didn’t even want me in her room; all I was to her was an annoyance. I shut my eyes and wrapped my arm around her, with in a few minutes I had drifted off.
“Ani! Ani! Acantha! Wake up! Ani!.” Shouting filled the room around me and I awoke in a panic.
“Indi! What’s wrong?” She was hunched over the side of the bed coughing uncontrollably. She couldn’t breathe. She was gasping and gasping for air and I felt as if there was nothing I could do. I crawled over the bed and down onto my knees besides the bed holding her. Her hands were gripped to her face, “What’s wrong Indi, what’s wrong?” At any moment I was going to have a panic attack. I pulled her hands away from her face to hold them but what I saw was a whole lot worse. Her hands were covered in the spatter of blood. Little droplets filled her hands and ran across the lines dripping off her fingers as I held them in mine.
Surprisingly the time where I would have been most likely to have a panic attack I was calmer than ever. I had no idea what to do and the fog in my mind turned into clarity.
“Indi, where’s your phone?” I asked while I wiped the tears running down her face. She pointed across the room. I pulled out my phone and called mom. As the number rand on speakerphone I ran to Indi’s phone and began dialing 911.
“Ani? Is everything alright?” My mother’s toned was not worried as much as preoccupied at moment.
“Mom, Indi is spitting up blood, she can barely breathe. I’m calling 911. ”
“Call them! Tell them to take her to the hospital near the house; I will be there as soon as I can. “ I could hear my moms keys jingling in the background right before she hung up.
My fingers ran across the keypad on the phone. I had never had to call 911 before and it seemed so surreal. I dialed the numbers and placed the phone to my air. As I did that Indi fell over on the floor. She was barely conscious and just sat there gasping for air, she was a fish out of water. I could hear the ringing tone on the phone as I ran over to hold her up. The phone never seemed to stop ringing, no one was picking up, the tears ran down my face as Indi’s motionless body sat in my arms, every passing moment I became more and more hysterical.
“911, what is your emergency?”

“What room is she in?”
“I don’t know yet, I rode with her in the ambulance and now I’m just sitting outside. They said they would call me in when she was set up in a room and stable. Just come into the emergency room waiting room.”
“Okay, let me park and I’ll be in, just a second.” I could hear her voice quiver. My mother was like Indi a lot of times. She had this need to always be strong, and at this moment I could hear her just falling apart through the phone. The door to the waiting room slid open and on the other end was a disgruntled woman. Her clothes were wrinkled and messy, along with her hair that had been practically pried off her head. Mascara ran down her face and tears leapt off her face onto the ground leaving a puddle where she stood.
She peered around the room with a single intention, to find me. I didn’t wave to catch her attention I just sat there emotionless. I was fearful that the second she opened her mouth to ask me what was going on the world around me would disappear and I would be stuck in a purgatory of my own emotions controlling me.
My mother then caught a glimpse of me and ran over. “Is she ok? What happened? How did….”
The words bounced around in my skull. They had no meaning to me for I had no answer to them. I had absolutely no idea what had just happened. I stood there, ghostly pale staring right through her with no idea what to say.
“Dad?” That was the only thing I could bother to say.
“I called him, but he isn’t picking up. I don’t know what to do. I’ve left him about twenty messages now. I’m sure he is just in a meeting.”
Our father was a sore spot for Indi and me. Parents will never admit that they have a favorite but my father did, and with out a doubt it was I. Indi had my mother and I had my father, which was just the way it had always been. I guess it had to do with our personalities, Indi never seemed to have anything in common with my father and every time he tried to make an effort she would just push him away, that didn’t stop her from hating me for taking all his attention though. The funny thing is I never hated her for taking my mother’s attention.
Nonetheless my father would be heart broken when he found out. My mother had always been the strong one, my father wouldn’t cry when he was hurt, he would just shut down. Its as if he just couldn’t process anything. He had nothing to say and nothing to do, he would often just lock himself away in his room until it was bearable to face the world again.
The people in the waiting room scared me. I didn’t know what to do, as people puked into pink containers of held their hands close to their bodies wrapped in dish towels as blood soaked through. I had never been a fan of hospitals, I would rather die before I came to a hospital but I wasn’t at the hospital for me, I was at the hospital for Indi and she needed me.
“Elliot, Mrs. Elliot.” A name from beyond called.
It seemed almost surreal to hear that name. I couldn’t answer.
My own last name felt to have an inappropriate levity at this moment. All I could do was laugh. As the nurse called our last name over and over again all I could do was cackle. My mother looked at me with disgust. I wasn’t being malicious, that was not my intention at all. In fact I did not have any intentions. I simply couldn’t processes anything and the only thing that came out was a long stream of eve flowing laughter. One thing was for sure my life was not the typical banal life of the pretty blonde ditz that got everything she wanted all though that’s what it seemed like. In this time of desperate need when all my mother needed was for me to be serious and helpful I fell apart and in one of the strangest ways she had ever seen.
The nurse led us to a room however she stopped us at the door. As I reached for the handle she took a step in front of the door. Suddenly a new kind of seriousness filled the air, not a single giggle escaped.
“Indira…”
“ It’s Indi,” I interrupted, “She goes my Indi, she doesn’t like Indira.” My mother bumped me disapprovingly to let the doctor speak.
“Indi…” She repeated. “She is very sick, we took some blood work and the results were unsettling. We thing we should keep her over night and do some more test, we also think a bone marrow test will be necessary.” The doctor was without a doubt laconic.
“What does this mean?” My mother became frantic.
“ At this point we are seeing some troubling numbers as far as her white blood cell count and we think it might possibly Leukemia.”
That word fell through me like an anchor. Leukemia. What did that mean? How could my sister possibly be that sick? I mean we would hear the horror stories of kids with leukemia, the chemotherapy and the radiation.
“I’m sorry ma’am, with all due respect you must be mistaken. My sister has a bad case of the flu. She could probably just use a decongestant and we will be out of your hair.” The words were irrational and flew right out of my mouth. I was only fifteen years old and I was telling a doctor how to do her job.
“I know this is hard to hear, but blood test don’t lie. Now we don’t know exactly what we are dealing with right now. We don’t know how aggressive the cancer is or how we will treat it. Indira… I mean –Indi is going to need to stay with us for sometime until we get everything figured out. We will do everything we can to help your sister.” This comment was directed at me. This doctor was primarily addressing me about the life threatening disease my sister had.
The doctor moved out of the way and allowed us in. I saw Indi lying there alone in her bed. I curled up next to her hoping it would help.
“Ani?”
“Yeah, I’m here. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” the words lethargically crept out of her mouth, “they have me on some pain killers so I’m feeling better now. What’s going on Mom?” Indira didn’t have the strength in her body to look over at my mother.
“They don’t know yet honey but they are going to keep you here a few days until they find out.” At that exact moment my father came busting through the door. My father was often an astute man giving me words of wisdom that seemed incredibly austere yet I would have never thought of. Though in all his wisdom he fell apart at the sight of my sister sickly in that bed.
My father came to the side of the bed and kissed my sister on the fore head. His tears ran down off onto her. My mother grabbed his forearm and pulled him out of the room while his lips still quivered. The brevity of there conversation seemed unrealistic, within a few moments my mother reentered the room and my father had vanished from the hallway.
I tried to mitigate for my sister. Telling her how the hospital wasn’t such a scary place after all, she could have jell-o any time she wanted and as long as she was in the hospital they would take good care of her. My voice was mollifying to her and in return her voice did the same. Every moment I felt as if though I were on the verge of crumbling under my own weight. We sat in that room patiently for hours while more blood was drawn and nurse after nurse walked in and out.
I hadn’t seen my father for a few hours, the fear of his capricious behavior loomed over me. It was not the first time he had taken bad news in a more than unsettling matter. When my grandmother died he disappeared for three days, it wasn’t until the day of the funeral that he showed up drunk and disorderly.
“How much longer is this going to be? We’ve been sitting here for hours now.” My mother stopped a random nurse passing in the halls.
“Let me ask for you, what’s you last name?”
“The name is Elliot.” And just like that all the calmness that I had worked for the last few hours to main was buttress into a frantic state. I ran out of the room in a panic pushing the curtains on my way out. I ran through the halls as if all hell had broken loose. I found a bathroom and locked the door behind me. I practically bathed myself in the sink from splashing water in my face. It was an illusion that the water would actually help. I had to reach a state of peace myself and all the water did was make my mascara run.
The mascara skid down my face and pooled in my eyes leaving them red and inflamed. It burned and only left me weeping in pain.
My last name was the only thing Indi and I had in common. It was the only thing that we shared and would never change. Other than out name we had nothing in common. And no matter what that last name on her birth certificate was the only thing proving that she was truly my sister.