That Night

• Kayley Sowter, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2010

It was raining that night wasn't it? That night when we had that last argument. That night when you had that last sip of the damn drink. That night when you didn't see that car, and the driver didn't see you. You died instantly. No last words, not a whisper, nothing.
You left quite a mess here. I find all our old photographs as I clean out your room. Those happier times when we hadn't the clue what drugs and alcohol even were. Those times when we used to laugh over the simplest things. Those times when we used to sneak into the kitchen and gobble up the fresh batch of biscuits mum had made us. But that was when we were kids. When we were old enough to attend high school, I was terrified. But you used to tell me 'Don't worry, I'm here. Just be with me and everything will be just fine'. I wish I could do the same now. But you aren't here to tell me that and I know everything won't be alright. Nothing will have changed, you will still be gone and I will still be here, remembering you, thinking that I could have saved you. I could have stopped you from walking away and into that bar, from taking that last sip of that damn drink.
I push all those thoughts away and go back to cleaning your room out. The phone rings but I don't want to answer it. The message machine beeps, and our voices come on. Tears build up in my eyes as I hear your voice. It's Claire, she wants to know if your doing anything this weekend. She doesn't know that your gone, no one has told her. I don't want to be the one that tells her. I don't want to believe it. You can't be gone! You're my twin sister! You're the only family I have left...had left. I'm all alone in this world now. I sit here and get back to cleaning out your room. In your closet all sorts of garments hang from the rack. From blacks to pinks to reds to oranges. From dresses to shirts to jeans to skirts. They all have your scent on them. I put your favorite cardigan around my arms, inhaling the smell. It smells of cigarette smoke and alcohol, but I don't mind. I get back to looking at the final photo. It's a picture of us when we were eight. We were out on the streets one night, playing tag. We were both so happy. But in the corner I see that bar. That bar when you had that last sip of that damn drink. I rip off the corner of the photograph and look at it again. That's better. I go out to the kitchen and replace the photo of you when you were 17 that I put on your memorial, with that photograph. And for the first time since you had gone, I smiled.