Jessie
Jessie
Every now and then, Riley had the urge to go knock on his older sister’s door and ask why she wasn’t packing. It only lasted for a second and then it would hit him again: Jessie was gone. They had left her up in Vermont after the funeral. After her funeral. He imagined her bursting through the door, suitcase in hand with an angry look on her face, “How could you have left me at the airport?” But deep down he knew she wasn’t coming back.
He wanted to go to his mother and beg her not to sell the house, but he knew it wouldn’t do anything except bother her. She had just lost her daughter and her marriage was crumbling, why would she want to deal with her son whining about something he couldn’t change? Besides, Riley thought bitterly, So much as been lost so fast. Does the house even matter at this point? And he was right. Much had been lost. When Jessie died, she seemed to leave a gaping hole in the family, ripping open the crack that her illness had put in it in the beginning. Still, Riley did not want to leave the house. He wanted to tell his mother this, maybe she would offer him some comfort. Probably not. She would just tell him how much better it is this way. A new house would have no bad memories, no empty bedroom with reminders of assignments that would never be turned in taped to the mirror. They would move to the countryside, and the new house would save the marriage. Dad wouldn’t be working all the time. Mom wouldn’t be desperately trying to live up to the ideal cooking, cleaning housewife in an attempt to make Jessie happier. Riley didn’t believe any of it. If doctors, therapy, and medicine couldn’t save his sister’s life, how could a house save a marriage?
He drifted through the house the same way his parents did. They skirted around each other, barely speaking, afraid of provoking another sad, tear-jerking memory. The warm, bright colors of the house seemed to mock Riley. How could they be so cheerful when all he wanted to do was lie down and never feel anything again? He drifted into the living room where he saw his father sitting, defeated, head in his hands on the couch. “Son,” he said as Riley entered the room. His father had begun calling him son right after Jessie died. It was as if his father needed to remind himself he still had one child; he still had something to live for. “How are you? Are you okay?”
Riley didn’t answer. Those questions were unanswerable. His father didn’t mean them either. He just needed something to fill up the empty space Jessie had left behind. Riley’s father returned his head to his hands and closed his eyes. Silent moments inched past until his father murmured, “It was all my fault.”
“No!” Riley cried. Panic flared inside his chest. Eyes wide, he backed away from the malevolent yellow room. “You’re wrong!” At that moment, Riley’s suspicions were confirmed. Each member of the family blamed themselves for Jessie’s death. His father believed he had spent too much time at work and not enough with his family. His mother thought she had simply let it happen because she believed Jessie when she said she was alright. But Riley knew it was his fault. He saw his sister’s condition worsening, her mind dissolving into blackness, her body wasting away, but he did not say anything because was afraid of provoking Jessie’s anger and he had quiet hope that she would magically wake up one day fully recovered. How stupid of him.
Suddenly hot, angry tears sprang to his eyes. She had no right! She split the family into broken fragments when she disappeared! She had no right! Sobbing and shaking, Riley sank to the floor. Maybe a new house would be better. It wouldn’t have the memories, the blood on the carpet reminding them all that Jessie took her own life.
He wanted to go to his mother and beg her not to sell the house, but he knew it wouldn’t do anything except bother her. She had just lost her daughter and her marriage was crumbling, why would she want to deal with her son whining about something he couldn’t change? Besides, Riley thought bitterly, So much as been lost so fast. Does the house even matter at this point? And he was right. Much had been lost. When Jessie died, she seemed to leave a gaping hole in the family, ripping open the crack that her illness had put in it in the beginning. Still, Riley did not want to leave the house. He wanted to tell his mother this, maybe she would offer him some comfort. Probably not. She would just tell him how much better it is this way. A new house would have no bad memories, no empty bedroom with reminders of assignments that would never be turned in taped to the mirror. They would move to the countryside, and the new house would save the marriage. Dad wouldn’t be working all the time. Mom wouldn’t be desperately trying to live up to the ideal cooking, cleaning housewife in an attempt to make Jessie happier. Riley didn’t believe any of it. If doctors, therapy, and medicine couldn’t save his sister’s life, how could a house save a marriage?
He drifted through the house the same way his parents did. They skirted around each other, barely speaking, afraid of provoking another sad, tear-jerking memory. The warm, bright colors of the house seemed to mock Riley. How could they be so cheerful when all he wanted to do was lie down and never feel anything again? He drifted into the living room where he saw his father sitting, defeated, head in his hands on the couch. “Son,” he said as Riley entered the room. His father had begun calling him son right after Jessie died. It was as if his father needed to remind himself he still had one child; he still had something to live for. “How are you? Are you okay?”
Riley didn’t answer. Those questions were unanswerable. His father didn’t mean them either. He just needed something to fill up the empty space Jessie had left behind. Riley’s father returned his head to his hands and closed his eyes. Silent moments inched past until his father murmured, “It was all my fault.”
“No!” Riley cried. Panic flared inside his chest. Eyes wide, he backed away from the malevolent yellow room. “You’re wrong!” At that moment, Riley’s suspicions were confirmed. Each member of the family blamed themselves for Jessie’s death. His father believed he had spent too much time at work and not enough with his family. His mother thought she had simply let it happen because she believed Jessie when she said she was alright. But Riley knew it was his fault. He saw his sister’s condition worsening, her mind dissolving into blackness, her body wasting away, but he did not say anything because was afraid of provoking Jessie’s anger and he had quiet hope that she would magically wake up one day fully recovered. How stupid of him.
Suddenly hot, angry tears sprang to his eyes. She had no right! She split the family into broken fragments when she disappeared! She had no right! Sobbing and shaking, Riley sank to the floor. Maybe a new house would be better. It wouldn’t have the memories, the blood on the carpet reminding them all that Jessie took her own life.