Status: Complete(:

Death is Black and White

She Fights With Herself

I stare at the slip of paper blankly for a while after Sam leaves. Brian still hasn't left, so I know that Miranda won't want to talk about it. A light drizzle dances on the concrete outside, dripping down the window. When we were little, Sam and I used to sit in the rain and try to catch raindrops in our mouths, claiming they always had different flavors. "I got a cherry one!" Sam would yell, and I would try to compete with her and lie about catching a banana split flavored one, then the game would progressively get more and more elaborate as we tried to get the coolest flavor. The whole time I would play along, knowing that there really was no taste to the cool, heavy water that fell from the sky, but I wondered intensely whether or not Sam could taste what I couldn't. It's funny what little kids will say just to impress other people.

I stare out the window and the late November rain pours down harder. The rain drops are racing, skydiving, plunging as fast as they can to be the first one to the ground, the first one to freedom. I wish they actually tasted like cherries and ice cream and mashed potatoes like we used to pretend. I wish I knew what--

The door bursts open and I don't even realize that it's six 'o clock. Mom's home, shaking her hair and setting her purse on the telephone table.

I'm about to ask what's for dinner, suddenly starving after thinking about flavored rain, but Mom looks up at me and says, "Ready to go? I've got the car running still, I've just got to go grab an umbrella..."

"Ready to..."I mumble then gasp, causing Mom to jump. "Right! Dad's!"

I forgot that it's Friday, and my Dad's weekend for me to stay over. Shit, that puts everything on hold...

I run to my room and stow the slip of paper in my sock drawer. "Lotty?" I whisper after much contemplation, standing in front of my mirror. No reply. That's just as I expected, though. "Don't do anything spectacular while I'm gone, okay?" Still nothing.

I feel like an idiot.
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“Hey, sweetie.” My dad smells like the Home Depot and cologne, just like he always does. I pull out of the hug and head to the kitchen table for dinner.

He used to be the one who did all the cooking, all the home improvement. Mom was obsessed with fixing up the house. She had him build shelves, paint the walls, remodel the kitchen, stuff like that. She still rearranges furniture all the time, but sometimes it seems like her heart isn’t in it. I can barely remember why they even split up.

I don’t care.

They argued a lot. Mom is extremely moody, Dad likes to get his way. They were mature about the divorce, you could say. When I was twelve, they sat Miranda and I down one day and explained that they wouldn’t be married anymore. I didn’t really understand; it’s always different on TV, you see a drastic change and the protagonist feels all sorts of twisted emotions over the change in lifestyle. But I felt no drastic emotion, it was just that one day Dad lived with us, the next he didn’t. It was quieter, you could say, after the divorce. Less fighting.

Right around that time, Miranda started dating Brian, I think. It’s funny how time has passed, in a month and a half, I’ll be an aunt. I’ll be an aunt.

“So you’re gonna be an aunt pretty soon, Lyd,” Dad says, spooning some ravioli onto his plate.

“And you’ll be a grandpa, old man,” I take a bite of bread and laugh. If this were my mom, she’d frown. She gets upset easily, she’d probably pout that she’s old now, but dad just smiles and passes the ravioli.
“It feels like just last week Miranda called with the news,” Dad muses.

That’s the thing about Miranda. She doesn’t visit Dad or anything, I think she’s mad at him for the divorce, whosever fault it was. She’s always kissed Mom’s ass, ever since we were little. She probably took sides with her.

“It’ll be nice having another little girl running around, it’s been so long since you were in diapers.” I groan. I hate talking about my “diaper days”. I was single-handedly the most boring baby ever.

“Okay, okay!” I laughs. “So how’s school?”

“It’s fine, I mean it’s school. It’s never really going to range far from ‘it sucks’ and ‘it’s fine’. How was work?”

“Never really ranges far from ‘fine’ and ‘sucked’,” he smiles. “Do you have a lot of homework?”

“Always do,” I retort. Because it’s true. “But that’s a problem for future Lydia to handle on Sunday Night.”

I finish up my pasta and clear the table, then Dad gets started on the dishes. I head to my room, securing my ear buds in my ears and pressing play on my ipod.

My second bedroom is much different, and much nicer, than my bedroom at home. For one, it’s way cleaner, as I’m only here every other weekend and don’t have to deal with cleaning it. My room at home is small with gross, stained carpet and green walls. This one is on the second floor and has way more space, with dark wooden floorboards and deep blue walls with pretty white trim all around. There’s a big window that looks out on the woodsy back yard and an easel in the corner. I got it for Christmas last year, and I still wish I could take it home. But it sits here, collecting dust until I get to visit.

I open the window and the chill of November tiptoes in, along with some stray raindrops diving through the screen. I take a seat under the window and the smell of rain dances around my head. I turn down my music to barely a whisper so I can hear the sound of rain against the leaves in the back.

I pull out the folded up drawing of Lotty from my pocket, its creases are loose and it’s easy to tell how many times I’ve opened it up. The more I look at it, the harder it is to remember that I even drew it. I sigh in frustration. I love my dad, I love visiting him. But I hate just sitting here instead of figuring out what the hell is in my house… If there even is anything there. Every time I think about it, that little voice in my head that’s buried behind all my memories and thoughts—my logic, my conscience—is screaming at me, calling me an idiot and trying to prove me wrong. It’s a little offensive.

But what if…

What if this is like one of those horror movies where the main character is insane? And you spend the whole movie thinking you’re on their side until the very end, where you realize that they’re insane and everything that happened on really happened in their mind. What if that’s me?

No. You can tell when you’re insane. I can’t just think all this stuff up.

The people in the movies can never tell they’re insane.

Damned voice of logic.

I just have to think about what has happened so far, and how that affects me. And how I can get some information.

Well first was the car accident. Well, the little girl getting hit on my street. And then… nothing. I can’t remember anything after that. She said something, didn’t she? I want to remember. I need to remember what she said. I quickly access the Notes app on my ipod and type “Car accident” so I remember to show Sam. Next…actually, before that. On the day where my note was stolen, I saw a little girl, right before the note went missing. This I remember crystal clear; the look she gave me—I’m sure it was directed at me—was unforgettable. She was walking with someone, an older woman. I thought she was a teacher, but they looked to be together. If that girl with Lotty, there’s got to be some connection with her and the teacher. I add that to the list. I wrack my brain for something else, mentally retracing my steps through my memory. The note… if that girl was Lotty, is it possible that she took the note?

Do you hear yourself?

I try to block out the negative thoughts, Logic is getting in the way of my investigation.

Investigation? What are you investigating anyway? Even if ghosts were real, and there was one around, why do you need to “investigate” it?

I quickly jot down “dreams” on my list. Ever since the note, I’ve been getting weird dreams. Like the one on Halloween. I instinctively think of Romeo and Juliet, how Romeo’s friends try to get him to go to the Capulets’ dinner party, and he feels weird about it because of a dream he had. He goes anyway because he knows that something big will happen, and he doesn’t want to mess with fate, no matter what the consequences would be afterwords. Ironically, that’s what I feel. Ha! I tell my Logic. That’s why I’m investigating. So get off my ass!

You know, having an argument with your conscience isn’t really helping with the whole “insanity thing.

I ignore that last bit, but it still taunts me. I am having an argument with my own self. That’s a step away from talking to yourself.

Anyway, the Ouija board note goes on my list for sure, and so does the drawing. Other than that, I can’t really think of anything else to put on the list. I wish I had my note to Sam with me. I want to get another look at it. There were words on it that were still legible amongst the rest of the water damage. I want to know what those are. Until then, I close out the list app and get up, pulling the window shut feeling a little less on edge about not having answers. There’s so much going through my mind all the time, it’s always good to have a list sorting a chunk of it out.

I feel a little at ease about my Logic voice, too. My dream theory about fate and all that wasn’t bullshit either. I just know.

You know, Lyd, Romeo dies in the end. How's that for fate?
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Comments would be my best nightmare :) I'll try to get another up really soon. I'm taking my Temps test Thursday...wish me luck!!

Peace, love, anti-apartheid awareness...
Emily ;)