Dead at 15

I was five years old when I vowed I’d never go swimming again.

I beamed as I looked down at January. She held my small frame high enough so that the water barely came up to my hips.
“Having fun birthday girl?” She asked. I giggled and nodded, a huge grin plastered on my face. “That’s great!” She then set me back down in the water and swam off to join February and March who had the large blow-up ball and were ready to play a game of some kind.

I noticed April swimming around wearing a snorkel, a pair of flippers and a diver’s mask so that she could count the tiles at the bottom of the pool. Mom was sitting in the shallow bit of our pool with November and December who were only two and one year olds at the time. Both had floaties on their arms and Mom was careful to keep them from getting water in their mouths. This was routine in summer though, and both of them were getting more accustomed to being in the water. December had only begun walking a month ago.

Dad held a rather quiet October on his back, while swimming in the deep end. She was looking around in an almost bored manner. It were as if she’d been born old and that nothing entertained or interested her in the slightest.

I was swimming over to join June and July when I was swept under the water. I kicked my legs frantically but May and August held them down – both wearing equally large grins. I tried to break free but they held my legs in what seemed to be an iron grip. It wasn’t like I was a particularly strong swimmer either. As my panic continued, my legs were released but as I tried to reach the surface to breathe, August shoved and held my head under the water.

I desperately needed air but my legs that had practically ceased their thrashing, weren’t helping and my arms were in the same state. I was getting tired, tired and dizzy. I tried to scream but of course, nothing came out and water forced itself into my mouth, then I was yanked out of the pool.

The lack of oxygen, forced me to pass out. Fortunately, my eldest sisters managed to get August to let go and the noise alerted Dad that something had gone wrong. Dad was the one that performed CPR. Apparently if I’d been held under much longer, I would’ve drowned. Not that it took a genius to work that one out.

I guess that was where some, no, the majority of my dislike for August came from. Thanks to her and May, I was fifteen and couldn’t swim – unlike everyone else. In summer, all I could do was sit on the side of the pool (so no one could drag me in) and tan, looking all superior. It wasn’t much fun really, or very refreshing. So I, naturally, took out a lot of my frustrations on August.

I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t the slightest bit happy that August had died. She always thought she was so much better than everyone else and had control over us – and this was before she was given the ‘responsibility’ of being the eldest Lambert daughter. If there was anyone who deserved a bitch slap, it was her.

She got what was coming to her, but even I had to admit that the trampling was nasty and totally sick. I wasn’t so sure about it being unnecessary though. She was another one we had a closed coffin funeral for January, March, May, July and now August, were all deemed so disturbing that closed coffins were necessary. Feb, April and June were all done up nicely with make-up and stuff to cover the discoloration of the skin and such. I didn’t totally understand why Mom and Dad shelled out to have them put in the ground. If it were me, I would’ve had them cremated. It would’ve been a lot cheaper.

***

I applied the glossy pink nail polish to my right hand perfectly before handing it to November to do my left hand. If it wasn’t already obvious, I was a lefty. Mom and I were the only ones who were. When November was done, she began to apply the eyeliner.

“I can’t believe Mom and Dad are letting Matt come over on your birthday,” she stated.
“Yeah, I guess it was surprising…but I mean now that over half their daughters are dead I think they just want to make us happy,” I replied almost smugly. She went quiet for a second, even though I meant it as a joke and expected her to laugh.

“Makes sense…”
“Yeah, plus all you have to do is make a sad face and Dad will give you twenty bucks,” her eyes widened even larger than usual.
“Really?!”
“Yeah, you should seriously try it sometime. I mean, not that we were like poor or anything but they’re seriously like so much richer now.”
“Why?” Oh she could be so dumb.
“Duh, no July means like no expensive school fees. And well, not so many mouths to feed.”
“Oh. I get it now.”
“Exactly.”

***

I pulled a cute, above the knee, light pink dress on with a cream colored cardigan, brushed my caramel brown hair then tied a pink ribbon, the same shade as my dress, in my hair so that it acted like a headband. I then assessed myself in the mirror. There was no doubt about it, I looked totally different to the girl who called her sisters ‘fucking little shits’ if they woke her up too early in the morning. I was the master of deception. I smirked smugly. I could wrap people around my little finger if I wanted to.

“September! Honey, Matthew’s here!” Mom called. I fixed a smile on my face before hurrying to the door. There he stood. Matt was tall with blond hair, blue eyes, one dimple and a bunch of red roses. It was so sweet, but he had no understanding of the concept of color clashing. (I was the only one who knew that his Mom actually chose his outfits.)

“Hey beautiful,” he said, passing me the flowers.
“Hi babe! Thanks for the roses. December!” I yelled. The black haired girl wandered lazily down the stairs.
“What?” She asked. I smiled at her without nearly as much of the malice as I wanted to put into it.
“Can you put these in a vase for me or something?” I held them out to her and she snorted.

“You have two legs don’t you?” I clenched my teeth.
“But it’s my birthday and I’m busy.”
“Obviously,” she said and smiled at Matt. He waved back. “How’s it going Matt?”
“Uh, great. Someone’s grown up,” he replied.
“Look who’s talking,” she smirked and lowered her eyes to his pants for a moment before focusing her gaze on her nails. I glared at her. It was embarrassing how young she was and using sexual insults to be a bitch to my boyfriend.
“Shut up you little cow, just put these away,” I hissed. “I’m fucking busy.”
“No you’re not.” She jerked her head in the direction of the living room. Sure enough, Matt and Dad were watching motocross on TV.
“Ugh! Just do it okay?”
“Nope. Do it yourself. Just so you know, I didn’t come down because you called me, it’s almost dinner time and I want my peanut butter cup.” And with that, she sauntered off, leaving me with the roses.

***

It was about ten o’clock. Matt and I were standing on his front doorstep. His place was just a few streets over from my own. I was always the one to walk him home for some reason. Whether we'd gone out on a date or if he'd come over. Well, actually, his curfew was earlier than mine and I always liked to get back after December had gone to bed so I could avoid her snide comments till at least the next day. She seemed to have taken up August’s habit of being a total bitch to me.

Anyway, Matt’s house was on the street next to the old park that March used to disappear off to, apparently. There was a stream there that you could cross with a little bridge but it had no railing. It was rather swollen that night because of the unusual amount of rain we’d had lately. Matt, of course, had insisted we go that way over the bridge because it cut ten minutes off the walk, despite how scared I was of the water. It wasn’t like it was that deep even with the larger volume of water but it always had a strong current underneath which Dad was always warning us about.

“I forgot to give you your present,” Matt said.
“Yeah?”
“Close your eyes.” I obeyed and shivered when cold silver touched the sensitive skin of my neck. “Open.” I looked down to see a tiny, silver, heart-shaped locket with intricate designs carved on the face. It was beautiful. I grinned and threw my arms around Matt, attaching our lips.
“I love it! Thank you so much babe!”

A few minutes later, I left. I began walking up the street and was nearly at the corner when an old woman stopped me, a shawl hiding her face.
“I wouldn’t go that way deary if I were you. Some young’uns have been at the drink – fighting and the like,” she said.
“Uh, okay, thanks a lot.”

I didn’t want to go back over the bridge but I didn’t want to get caught in a fight or raped either. The stream seemed to be my best bet. I shuddered when I looked at the rushing water. It took me a few minutes to even slightly prepare myself for crossing the bridge, but I forced myself to take the first step. See, that wasn’t so hard! I even smiled at my small accomplishment. That was when somebody pushed me in.

Another closed coffin funeral. Scratches and cuts can’t be covered up with make-up so easily.

September Rochelle Lambert
O9/05/91-09/05/06