The White Cross

The White Cross
The house looks terribly dark since my parents left twenty years ago. Nobody else’s moved in, so I’m sure the walls of the bedroom I shared with her are still a bright pink, her favorite color. There are probably still graphite ticks on the wall next to the staircase, showing how she was always a quarter inch taller than me. I walk up the wooden steps; they creak with a haunted sound as I walk up them until I’m standing in front of the door.

I know it’s not locked, my parents never locked anything. Now that the yellow caution tape is gone, it almost looks like home again. I peer through the window that leads into the living room, and I see the glass coffee table that I broke my arm on when I was thirteen while I was wrestling with her, and I see the big screen TV my had had wanted so badly for Christmas one year.

Cautiously I turn the door knob, and it swings open effortlessly. A few candles litter the floor, the scents long gone. I walk into the kitchen, purposely ignoring the window that leads to the back yard, and beyond that, the train tracks. I lift my body onto the granite countertops like I have so many times before, dangling my feet so my shoes hit the cabinets beneath me. I hop down, slowly walking back into the living room where family photos line the walls in wooden frames. There’s ma, in her orange church dress, and dad in a black suit and orange tie. In front of him is a young girl with curly and bouncy brown hair, tear streaks recently dried from beneath her sullen blue eyes. She is wearing and orange dress that she hates but her mother loves. Next to her is another girl who looks exactly like her, except her smile is genuine as always and her dress is bright pink.

“But mommy!” she’d whined, stomping her feet and tearing up. “I hate orange. I want to wear pink!” and so it was.

I scoff at the family in the picture, especially the girl in the pink. I start walking up the curvy stairs, and when I reach the top I pause, debating which room to go in. There is a bright pink room with bunk beds, one bed on the bottom with green sheets, and a bed on the top with pink. Another room farther down the hall is crème with a beige bedspread and cherry oak furniture. There is a dresser, and on it are six pictures. One is of the couple who used to live here, one of their parents on their wedding day, three of the girl in the pink, and one of her twin. That’s always who she was: her twin. I pick up the last photo I looked at and throw it at the ground, glass shatters across the wooden floor.

I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, but I know who it is. There are only two people that came here anymore.

“Sophie, why are you up here? I know how upset it makes you.” My husband, Noah, says.

“Why are you up here?” I counter.

“I saw your car parked in the driveway on my way to drop Jason off at soccer practice. You know, now that he’s in middle school, practices are mandatory.”

“I know, I know.” I sigh, brushing my hand against Noah’s arm.

“Let’s get out of here, alright?” Noah suggests. He runs his fingers against my clenched fist until I loosen my grip and interlock my fingers with his.

“Can we grab a bite to eat?” I ask.

Noah laughs, leading me down the stairs. He opens the door for me and we walk across the street to the park next to the soccer field. Noah runs over to his Chevy and returns with a picnic basket and a blanket.

“I thought this might cheer you up, with all the thinking you’ve been doing about Marney lately.”

“Don’t say her name!” I snap.

“Okay, okay.” Noah coos, crying to soothe me. He runs his hand along my back in tiny circles. This always used to soothe her.

We sit in silence, not really making eye contact. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, I think to myself. I’m supposed to be the perfect one now.

“Let’s go for a walk, okay?” Noah asks, motioning towards the other side of the street.

“Alright,” I agree.

We walk slowly, hand in hand, until I realize where he’s leading me.

“I won’t go there,” I say quietly. I break the bond our hands were in and put my arms stuffly by my side.

“I really think it would be good for you, Soph.” Noah persists.

“That wouldn’t be good for me. Nothing’s been good for me since the accident.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sophie. You have to remember that. Accidents happen. “

“They sure do,” I mutter to myself.

“It’s okay, hun. There are barely ever trains on this track anymore. You can’t get hurt.”

I start trembling. First my fingers, then my entire hand. My arms begin to shake, and I fall onto my back.

“Sophie!” Noah yells, falling to his knees and taking my head in his hands. I snap out of it quickly, trying to stand up.

“What just happened?” Noah asked, confused.

“Anxiety attack. I haven’t had one in years.” I say, still a little dazed.

“I can’t remember you ever having those, Soph.”

“Ummm, right. I think my sister had them more often.” I break into a cold sweat.

“Let’s keep walking,” I say quickly, standing back up and beginning to walk towards the train tracks.

“You don’t have to go there. It’s okay.” Noah says nervously, trying to persuade me.

“No, let’s go. I think it’s a good idea for both of us.”

Noah follows behind me a few paces back. I can tell he’s nervous, but I keep my speed. I start running toward the railroad tracks. I see the little white cross under the pine tree, and I kneel beside it. The flowers are dried up pink roses, their leaves crunchy and brown.

“You were supposed to be the perfect one, Soph. You were always the favorite, the golden child. Why can’t I be like you?” I start sobbing, crumpling to the ground. Quickly, I take the black pen out of my purse and cross out the name Marney Oliver. Underneath it, I write something else. Noah walks up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“It was supposed to be me,” I cry, laying my pounding head in his lap. “I was done with this place; it would have been so easy to just end it. But then, I saw the train coming. It came so close before I jumped off the tracks. But she just wasn’t fast enough. She tripped and fell, and the train couldn’t stop. I just ran home. But when I got there and tried to tell my parents, they just hugged me and said,

“It’s okay, Soph. We’re so glad you’re okay.”