Alive Again

Dakota Reese Wallace had always been a very light sleeper—even as a newborn the most subtle of noises could rouse her. She would wake up feeling almost as tired as she did when she initially went to sleep and therefore took more naps than the average person during the day. The slightest sound could steal her away from a near-dream: a car door slamming, the pipes or the creaking of a door opening. Sometimes even headlights illuminating her room could awaken her. Her younger sister Clarissa—or Clary as Reese liked to call her—and her mother were both extremely heavy sleepers and would not be bothered by these noises.

This of course meant that it was Dakota alone who heard the friction of wood on wood as drawers were opened and closed in succession. Her eight year old self crawled out of bed with her heart hammering in her tiny chest cavity. Being an imaginative child she jumped to the worst case scenarios, burglary or maybe even a serial killer. Moving as silently as she could, she found the baseball bat hidden under her bed and paused to listen to the movements coming from down the hall. The softest whine of an aging floorboard that had too much weight on it cracked through the dark house. Dakota remembered her father’s instructions and choked up on the bat.

The softest whisper of fabric moving on fabric and a click of foot meeting hardwood floor had Dakota stiffening. It sounded as though it was right outside her bedroom door. Moving with ghostlike precision, Dakota pressed herself tightly to the wall as a silhouette moved past her slightly opened bedroom door. She held her breath until she heard the distinct noise of the first stair gasping under the weight of someone’s foot.

Dakota’s ivory cheeks puffed out and deflated as she let out her held breath. Being as small as she was when she was eight years old she was quite able to sneak through the small crack between her door and its frame. The bat trailed behind her much like her sleeping gown, purple and silk with a picture of the princess Jasmine from Aladdin. Dakota knew which spots on the floor would speak to her if she stood on them; she knew which stair would cry out under her weight. She hadn’t needed to worry about the squeaky stairs though.

At the bottom of a set of stairs that had never seemed so high were two suitcases and a figure that was nothing but a black mass. The lock slid slowly before it clicked out of place. The knob turned with a less than quiet whine. The suction sound of two things separating echoed through the house, but only Dakota heard it. The street lights and the moonlight lit up the open doorway and Dakota recognized the figure immediately.

“Daddy,” she stated in recognition causing her father to pause in the doorway. Dakota tried to remember if her mom or dad had mentioned a business trip. She tried to recall if her father had mentioned anything when he tucked her in for bed six hours previously. He hadn’t said anything other than for her to have sweet dreams and that he loved her.

He kept his back to her, but she felt encouraged to keep talking. His hair as always was cut short and slightly curly and it was dark brown. Yet somehow the light from outside made it look in complete disarray like he had run his hands through it repeatedly and in some places tugged violently. He was wearing Dakota’s most cherished red flannel shirt. When he wore it she couldn’t help but want to cling and push her face into the warm and soft fabric.

“Where are you going?” His hands shook as they came to rest in his thick hair and his fingers captured his unruly curls. He had his eyes closed as he tugged painfully on his hair—his way to punish himself for what he was doing. He ignored his eldest daughter, cursed to have his name forever, and waited for his nerve to return. He hadn’t counted on Dakota hearing him, although he should have expected it. She was like him when it came to sleeping. Maybe he had expected her to hear him, but he hadn’t thought she’d have the nerve to investigate or follow. When Dakota was scared she opened her mouth and screamed like hell, usually for him.

Hesitantly she climbed down two stairs before she allowed her lips to form another question. Her voice was wavering from the pressure of the suffocating silence in the house. Her father had never denied her an answer before.

“Dad, will you be home in time for my birthday?” His hands fell from the top of his head to his sides with a slap. The mention of her birthday, two weeks away, had startled him. He considered going back, or at least it seemed like he did when he finally turned to face his daughter. Dakota had never seen him like this—so youthful. She could see the teenage boy that he was when he met her mother. In the pictures that she liked to look at he looked so happy, but tonight he looked like a crazed man at the end of his rope.

His fingers fidgeted with his flannel shirt that wasn’t buttoned up. It had been thrown over a white t-shirt like a second thought. He had wanted to leave it behind like his old baseball gear so that a piece of him would stay with his daughters. His blue eyes seemed to glimmer somehow with an emotion Dakota was too young to identify. He had only turned back to look at her in silence, he didn’t say a word. He slipped his arms out of the flannel shirt she loved so much and tossed it so it landed halfway between them.

And then he picked up his suitcases and left. Despite her confusion, Dakota felt an internal obligation to rush down the stairs in pursuit of her father. She stepped around the discarded shirt and made a beeline for the door. Gripping onto the warm doorknob where her father’s hand had just been she leaned out of the safety of her home to watch her father slam the trunk of the family’s second car. He didn’t glance back at her as he slid into the driver’s side and shut the door. The sound seemed to echo in Dakota’s head even after the engine had come to life and the car pulled away.

She hadn’t a clue how long she stood out there staring at an empty street. Perhaps it was a minute, maybe three but eventually insecurity got to her and she shut herself back inside. Reaching up she clicked the lock back into place, not taking as much care as her father to keep quiet. There was no point now, Clary and her mother wouldn’t hear a bomb going off. Feeling the exhaustion beginning to creep up on her, Dakota decided to make her way back to her bed.

Leaning down she picked up her father’s discarded flannel shirt. The thin fabric felt heavy in her hands, she dipped it up and down finding most of the weight concentrated in the breast pocket. Sticking her short clumsy fingers into the pocket she felt the cold metal of a key ring.

Staring down at the key ring with one lone key on it, Dakota made her way up the stairs. At the very top she began to turn to go back to her room but jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of her younger sister. The keys fell from her hand and Clary’s six year old eyes followed them down. They hit the floor with a clatter and her eyes, looking much older and wiser, shot up to Dakota.

“You knew he wasn’t coming back, you should have stopped him. I hate you.”

Crash, the sudden loud noise in the once silent night made Reese’s eyes snap open in surprise. Her mind was pleasantly detached from her body at the rude awakening but slowly the use of certain senses was coming back to her. She assumed that her sister had broken another lamp or knocked more things off of her bedside table in the heat of the moment.

“Oh God, oh my, oh my God, uh,” Reese squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of her sister’s cries of ecstasy. Clary has been doing this for so long now that Reese almost found this a normal soundtrack to wake up to, a fact that disgusted her. She knew that her sister never said a man’s name when having sex. Her partners changed too frequently that the use of their name could be catastrophic. Reese herself has never had sex or made love (as Clary called it) but she knew that accidentally calling out the wrong name would be a major mood killer.

Instead Clary referred to her lovers as God. If the neighbours ever heard her, she could sound like a religious person. Each night seemed to be another night of worship. Sometimes she might change things up and use the endearing term, baby, but most of the time she was calling out to some sort of sex God. Reese had learned to just ignore it the best she could, although there were some nights where she would be directly involved. Tonight however, she just pressed play on her iPod once more and let the music drown out the activities happening just beyond the joint bathroom she shared with her younger sister.

Clarissa Wallace wasn’t at all a bad person, Reese never ever thought of her sister in negative connotations. Of course that didn’t stop the kids in their school from talking and judging. There was hardly a rumour being spread that didn’t somehow involve Clare Wallace. People thought of her as a slut or a whore, they said she was easy. Reese couldn’t deny that, because her sister was pretty easy but she knew the truth of the matter: Clary was just trying to find love from a male figure. Growing up without a father had affected both Wallace sisters immensely and although they dealt with it differently both girls reacted with the same fear of abandonment. This fear stemmed from their father walking out on them and that left Reese and Clary terrified of the people they love leaving them. Clary would do anything to keep the people she desired from leaving her.

She had a big heart and she shared it with many people without restraints. She wasn’t afraid to try to find love, she was constantly searching. However, she wasn’t searching in the best of ways, more often than not she was the one that got burned. A few sweet words and false promises and she would be on her knees and willing to please. No one had told her to respect herself; no father was there to intimidate the boys she brought home or to interrogate boyfriends. In fact, their mother hadn’t been around much either. After the girls’ father left she had to take on another job to make ends meet. If their mother had been around there would be no way that Reese could get away with being afraid, and Clary wouldn’t be so willing.

Reese knew that it was her cold exterior that had originally set Clary off. Growing up Clary watched as Reese built her defences against the abandonment issues that had plagued her since the age of eight. Her tactic was simple: keep things light, don’t get attached. She had relationships but they weren’t strong, she was constantly detached and wary. Clary didn’t want to be her sister; she didn’t want to be that angry and that cold. Clary, or Clare as she liked to be called in her search for an identity in high school, wanted to be open and warm. There was no telling whether or not Clary had decided aloud one day to be different, or if it was a subconscious idea that manifested into this personality.

Reese however knew that there was no length that Clary wouldn’t go to feel alive again. If that meant being promiscuous and having dated half their school in search for her special someone, then Clary would do it with an eager grin. Maybe Reese was just as bad as Clary in the sense that she did nothing to discourage her sister. She didn’t want to tell her what to do because her recurring nightmare was constantly reminding her that she had those ten minutes. She had the flannel shirt, she had received the keys and she hadn’t stopped her father. Not only that but she was left with what could be interpreted as a token of his affection.

When their father left that night, he took Dakota Reese with him and left Reese behind to pick up the pieces. He had done so much damage to the family that Reese had to stop going by her first name because it was too painful to be reminded that she shared that title with a quitter. She wanted to shed any evidence of his favouritism, and yet she couldn’t find it in her heart to throw out that damned shirt. Two sisters who were once best friends barely talked now, all because of that shirt. Resentment had built up for the past nine years and Reese couldn’t find it in herself to fight Clary back anymore. Reese was tired of fighting; she was trying to move on. Her mother had to deal with so much already; her two girls not getting along had only brought the stress levels up in a time of crisis. As the oldest Reese wanted to do whatever she could to help their mother. If that meant sitting up in bed trying to ignore the sounds of animal pleasure, then so be it.

Another thing that hadn’t been the same since her father left was her birthday. Leaving so close to her birthday had ruined the occasion, nearly ten years later Reese had yet to have another successful birthday party. There was always that dark cloud of absence hanging over the family, even Reese’s friends picked up on it. Clary never got Reese a present; she barely even spoke to her.

Reese rolled onto her side facing her large windows. Her eyes shut tightly and she tried to fall asleep. Of course there was no getting comfortable with a headphone digging into her ear, nor was the music helping any (even if it was Mozart). Reese needed silence, a necessity that Clary seemed hell-bent against complying with. As long as Reese didn’t have to hear her sister’s after dark activities, she was fine. She could find time to nap during lunch or when she got home from school.

Even with her eyes closed Reese knew her mother had returned home from her night job as a security guard. Her eyes had been closed but the headlights from the car Reese and her mother shared had temporarily rid the blackness to replace it with a blue hue behind her eyelids. Clary was also aware of the arrival of their mother. Of course her hint was the sound of the car door slamming. From numerous close calls Clary now strained her ears for that sound so that she would have enough time to shove whoever she was with off of her and into the bathroom. If Clary didn’t pick up on her mother’s return, sisterly loyalty forced Reese to hammer on the bathroom door that led to her sister’s domain and interrupt the festivities.

Tonight however the boy stumbled into the bathroom disoriented and without a clue as to what to do next. That was until Reese opened her side of the bathroom and pulled him in by the elbow a little too roughly. In the dark she had no idea who this person could be. She was however aware that he was naked, reeked of sex and currently holding his little friend as she forcefully guided him through her bedroom. He was stumbling over air, not quite getting his footing back after being unceremoniously shoved from Clary’s room. Reese guided him around her double bed and nearly fell on top of it as the boy turned too sharply.

She pushed open the door to her sizeable walk in closet with one hand and dragged him in with the other. All of this happened within the time span of a minute, providing evidence that this was a common occurrence in the Wallace household. Practice makes perfect, or at least efficiency.

“Don’t move, don’t talk and try not to breathe. Wait until I come back okay? Otherwise our mom will catch you and rip your fucking nuts off.” With that warning said, Reese shut the door and practically jumped into her bed. Her hands frantically searched for her bedside lamp and flicked it on with a resounding click. She found the nearest book and leafed through it, forcing herself to read even though her heart was hammering away in her chest.

She was thinking of what could have happened in Clarissa’s room. Had her sister hidden the guys clothes and the condom wrapper well enough? How was she going to hide whatever she and what’s-his-face broke? Did she get her pyjamas on yet? Did she spray air freshener in the room? Subconsciously Reese held her breath as she heard her mother enter the house.

She could tell what her mother was doing, if she only listened hard enough. First she tossed her keys in the brass bowl on the table in the foyer (it made a dinging noise like a bell). Then she would take off her jacket and drop her purse next to said table (this was more like a thud). She might go to the kitchen and get a glass of water, but lately she had been suspicious of what happened in the house after dark. Reese could see her coming to check on them first. Of course her mother checked on Clary first because Clary was the child she had to worry about. Clary had boyfriends, the phone was constantly ringing for her, she missed curfew and had gotten her belly button pierced without permission.

Clarissa Mae was the problem child. Reese by default had become the angelic one without even trying. She too had gotten her belly button pierced without permission. The only difference was that she had never been caught. By some unspoken sister law, Clary hadn’t ratted her out for it. Then again Reese had much more dirt on Clary and so her silence was almost a requirement. No one ever accused Clarissa Mae Wallace of being suicidal or stupid (actually a lot of people had accused her of being stupid, including Reese).

Reese held her breath as she heard the cry of an aging doorknob twisting. Her mother was in Clary’s room. There was no sound of shouting, no murmur of suspicion, just silence. The sound of the door bouncing back into place allowed Reese to breathe freely. She was prepared to be checked on and focused harder on the book she was feigning interest in. Her mother would come in through the bathroom, she always did.

Her doorknob twisted, she could see it out of the corner of her eye.

“Reese, what are you doing up sweetheart?” Reese pretended to be startled and blinked her eyes at her mother. Her blond hair was up in a bun except for the wispy hair hanging around her ears and eyes. The lines on her face always seemed more prominent when thrown into shadow. It was more obvious tonight because Reese knew her mother hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours, how her body leaned heavily against the doorway gave evidence to that.

“Oh wow, I only meant to read a chapter. Damn, how late is it? Well you’re home, it must be pretty late. I’m really sorry mom.” Maybe Reese liked to play up the angel part a little bit. Or maybe she just felt guilty about the naked guy in her closet.

“That’s okay sweetheart, I got off a little early tonight. Try to get some sleep though, you have school tomorrow. Oh, while we’re talking. You and Clary might have to walk to school tomorrow. They changed shifts on me. I’m only going to be here about an hour. Oh and if tomorrow you could do laundry for me, I need my uniform cleaned. I’ll call you tomorrow after you get home from school. I’m going to go get some sleep while I’m here. Love you baby.”

Reese forced a smile at her mother and pretended to get ready to pass out. Her mother crossed the room to the door that led to the hall and flicked the light switch that controlled the lamp next to Reese’s bed. With one last fleeting smile Reese’s mother shut the door softly. Reese waited, listening to the creaking floorboards and then held her breath. Her entire focus went into listening to the house. Finally after an agonizing thirty seconds she heard her mother’s door shut with a thud at the end of the hall. By how Reese’s mother was speaking in short sentences she would assume that her mother had just fallen face first on the bed and into a near coma.

Sitting up carefully and moving like a ghost Reese stepped onto the fuzzy blue mat next to her bed. For a moment she shut her eyes and wiggled her toes in the plush fabric. Then she let out a sigh and pushed off of her mattress. Stepping lightly she moved to her walk in closet, losing the sensation of her mat and shivering at the cold hardwood floor. Slowly Reese turned the doorknob and pushed opened the door. Her left hand fumbled around for the light switch and she shut her eyes before she flicked it. When her eyes opened she looked down and staggered backward at the wide guilt filled hazel eyes that met her horror filled blue ones.

A box of condoms: $7.53.
A new ceramic lamp: $19.84
Finding out that your sister slept with one of your friends: priceless.