A sneek peek...

I was only fourteen when my sister died: it was the week before my birthday. I vividly remember the fact for one reason, when we heard the news the only thing I could even think to ask was would teach me to drive. Of course Mom thought this was widly inappropriate that at such a time the only thing on my mind was the selfish idea of earning my drivers permit and learning to drive. But, at thirteen I didn't understand, or at least couldn't put into words that I had just lost my big sister. Callie was my friend, my confident, my role model and now I was thrown to the independence. Where would I be without a big sister to tell me what to wear, how to do my make-up, how to handle boys and friends and rumours and of course who would teach me drive? Even though I had a family of six...or now suddenly five I felt completely on my own. All I could say ask was "who would teach me?"



Callie was eight years my senior. She was the consequence of my mom's more transgressional era although no one ever cared. Dad loved her just the same (if not more) than the rest of us. She was always the wild child. Maybe it was new parenting or maybe it was just the way God intended her to be. Somedays it felt like she was raised by an entirely different family than the brothers and I. I loved her for it. I still love her for it. It would actually be safe to say that I idolized her for her spirit. I knew I wasn't the only one. In school she was studious, mirthful, compasstionate and although she primarily hung out with the same three people, she was liked by everyone. At her funeral all these people came and shared. I remember that Callie hadn't seen a lot of the people from our small town since she'd graduated high school four years ago. But they still came and they still spoke. They talked about her smile that seemed to go on for days and her laugh that was liable to cause a pandemic. Callie made it seem like the whole world was laughing and as if nothing else in the world mattered; once you heard it you had to join in.

Her collegiate colleagues were a little different; not too many came and those who did didn't share. I was too young to take much notice but hindsight is 20/20 and as I grew older, feelings faded and facts protruded. Something was different about Callie's college experiences; but we all could see that when she was home. She went out every other night only to come home when the dusk devoured the morning fog. She had dropped a ton of weight, sported several tattoos, peircing and her golden brown hair had been dyed dark mahogonay with bright red highlights. She still sang in the shower and enlightened the kitchen with her culinary talent but she was different. She cried less but was angry more. Her softy midwestern heart seemed to suddenly barricade everyone else. She, who had always had a steady boyfriend never had anyone again. As a writer her work changed from hopeful romances to stony independence and her love of music swiftly turned to hard rock instead of melodic acoustic. It was obvious she was different.

Once I asked Mom what had happened and she simply said ' we all have our own demons to fight.' I knew it wasn't drugs or alchohol addictions Callie was too smart for that. I often wondered if something had happened in Europe; she had spent a gap year across the ocean. I never knew what it was or who it was that seemed to steal a little piece of my sisters soul.

.... this is just the beginning of a piece I've been working on. I'm about 12 pages in but it has the makings to be something far longer than anything I've ever written. I'm pretty excited about it. let me know what you think.