Useless Dresses

It’s hard to start over when everyone around you is stuck in the past.

“They say I can join drill team, as long as I impress at my try-out. They said since I’m a fish I couldn’t make varsity, but when I told them I made it back in Baltimore they said they’d let me try.”

As Emily rambled and Denny tried his best to keep up with her, I poked around at my mac and cheese—Denny’s attempt at dinner. He’d chopped up hot dogs and mixed them in with the gelatin-like substance, giving the dish some semblance of a dinner. I’d wanted to order pizza.

My teachers had submerged me completely into school life, most of them thankfully not bringing up the grades transferred from Baltimore. I already knew the level of work I had to manage to pass for the year, and it honestly scared me. I felt like I’d been living in the ground for years, shielding myself from the world with rocks and dirt. After digging myself out, the sun blinded me. The overwhelming urge to slip away from the table and under my bed made me realize I needed to take my time getting used to my new lifestyle.

Luckily, the coming weekend gave me two free days to adjust. Tomorrow was Friday, and everyone in the family seemed to crave the short break.

Bobby wiggled restlessly on his chair, having given up on his mac and cheese several minutes ago and focused on the chopped up pieces of hot dog. When those ran out, he’d taken to smashing up the remaining noodles with his spoon in silence.

“Robbie, you ok?” Denny asked, stopping Emily midsentence. She opened her mouth again to complain about the interruption, but settled on pouting softly when I kicked her under the table. “You’re unusually silent.”

“My name is Bobby,” my little brother murmured automatically. He stared hard at his mac and cheese mush.

“Alright. Are you ok, Bobby?”

“That’s what Momma said.” Denny shifted uncomfortably. He lifted a tall glass of iced tea and gulped for a long while, setting it back down half empty as Bobby continued to stare and smash.

“What did Mom say?” Denny asked as nonchalantly as he was capable.

“That my name is Bobby,” the little boy answered.

“Ah,” Denny agreed. “She named you, after all.”

“Why didn’t she come here with us?” Bobby looked up to his father now and let his spoon drop down with a sharp clank, shocking the room into silence. Emily turned toward me with a helpless expression on her thin face, but I looked away. I couldn’t stand to see the expressions my family wore at moments like this—to know that I created that sorrow, that grief within them.

“We’ve talked about this, Son,” Denny placed a dark hand on the boy, his voice still fighting for nonchalance.

“Yea.” Bobby wiggled in his chair again, feeling the tension in the room. I didn’t think he understood why, though. “But Momma told me she’d come back. When she dropped me at school that day, she told me.”

“You mother’s not coming back, Robert,” Emily hissed through clenched teeth. She let her bangs cover most of her face. “She left.”

“Emily, don’t say that,” Denny said sharply, directing his pent up emotion on his youngest daughter. “Don’t you dare say that, do you hear me?”

“Why can’t I say it?” Emily questioned, looking just as fierce as Denny.

“I said ‘Did you hear me?’” Denny repeated.

“Why can’t I?” Emily also repeated. “Why can’t you just admit she left? It’s not like she went on another business trip. She left! She left for good, and she left because she wanted to leave!”

“Em,” I muttered as Denny seethed silently. He couldn’t say anything against her words—they screamed the truth. I heard a quiet cry from beside me, and turned to see Bobby’s lips quivering as my sister jetted up from her chair.

“She didn’t care about you, Robert. So stop asking about her,” she said, her voice calm and smooth now. Then she left the table quietly. The room fell silent again until we heard a door slam above us. Another, louder sob broke out beside me and Bobby blubbered some unintelligible words to his cold mac and cheese.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him, though neither Bobby nor Denny heard me over my brother’s cries. I guessed that was for the best—now wasn’t the time to make people hate me more. My family hadn’t yet realized that I drove Mom to suicide. Apologizing might make them reflect on our past. Then I’d be out of a mother, and out of a family.

That night, after I tossed and turned in the dark for several hours trying in vain to fall asleep, I slipped into my closet without turning its light on and fumbled around until I found a tattered cardboard box. I lay halfway across the package, trying to absorb some of the supposed happiness its contents used to represent—not my happiness particularly, but my mother’s.

My hands traveled around the rough surface of the old cardboard slowly until they hit the plush carpeted floor. I slipped one hand underneath the object—it wasn’t very heavy—and delicately slid my fingernail underneath one of the folds that made up the box. A piece of paper popped out, folded into a haphazard origami sailboat. I’d found this under my pillow several days after Mom’s death. When held up to the light, little swirly pen marks were visible on the inside of the paper, but I never conjured up enough courage to unfold it.

I held the little boat against my chest, using the dark as another excuse to keep it folded tightly.

“Kate?” a small whisper rounded the corner into my room. I shoved the origami back into its hiding place and jumped back into bed guiltily. “You awake?”

“Yea, I’m awake.” My door creaked open fully and bare feet dragged against the floor until Emily stood beside my bed. Even the darkness couldn’t prevent the visible anguish on her face.

“Oh, Em,” I said, bringing my baby sister into my arms.

“Wh-why did—” Emily sobbed into my pajamas. I patted her back lightly, though I felt slightly odd at her burst of emotion. “Why did she l-leave us?”

“Shhh, it’s ok. Everything will be ok.” I didn’t respond to my sister’s question, simply because I didn’t know how. I didn’t know why Mom left us without her, so purposefully and aware. That’s not the truth—I did know, at least I thought I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to make Emily hate me. I pulled her beside me and she leaned onto my pillow heavily. Her tears stopped after a while, but her dead eyes still stared into the darkness unblinkingly.

“Why don’t you ever cry?” Kate asked me after a while. The question wasn’t hostile—it held no infliction, no emotion. It was just a question. When I stayed silent, she added, “When Mom died, you never cried. You just sat in your room. Did you cry in there?”

“No,” I whispered, closing my eyes as my insides rocked.

“But why?”

“Mom killed herself.” Emily flinched at the statement. “She wanted me to cry for her. Expected me to. I can’t bring myself to fulfill that expectation.” I didn’t realize the truth in my words until after I spoke them, and my insides continued to shiver. Emily didn’t say anything for a long time after that.

“Do you think we’ll ever find out?”

“Find out what?”

“Why Mom left?” I contemplated the question, at first planning to lie to her. She was already too broken. I thought about the letter, knowing she would demand to read it immediately. I must have hesitated too long, because I felt Emily’s muscles relax into sleep.

“Yes,” I whispered to my sister before drifting off beside her.