She Wouldn't Be Gone, Cassidy Shay [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

As we drive into town, I look out the window, but I know that I won’t see that red roadside wild flower

s this time. We’re driving way too fast.

Amy fell again. She’s always falling. Only this time, it wasn’t just down the porch steps, like it usually is. No. This time, it was out of the truck bed. Going 45 miles an hour through the parking lot.

“If I’d only picked you

up on time, you’d have had time to get in the cab instead of the bed. I’m just so stupid!” I hear from my dad, talking to Amy. He beats the dashboard, cursing himself. Really, though, I’m the reason that we’re running late.

I look at the ball of fur in the front seat. “If I hadn’t took you home, set you on the counter,

we wouldn’t have been late.” We’d been heading to Grandma’s house for a surprise birthday party for my mom. The puppy, who I brought home two days ago, ran out the front door and we had to chase him down.

We finally caught him, and just hopped into the truck and headed to the school to pick Amy up. My dad stopped long enough for Amy to get in to bed. The old pick up managed to get to 45 just before we went over the speed bump. Amy had been sitting up on the side, and she’d fallen.

At least a time or two,

I’d watched her down our porch steps. That had been so much better to watch than watching her fall almost under the tires. When she fell down the steps, I’d think if maybe she’d have thought it through

, she wouldn’t wear those shoes.

At age thirteen, Amy always wanted to wear ridiculously high heels, which made her fall every time she walked down those steps.

So now, I’m in the back seat holding my dad’s t-shirt around my sister’s head, trying to stop the bleeding. There’s a yellow sunset slowly dipping down in the rearview

, and I try to keep my mind on that. But then I remember how she’d love to sit

on the porch. She'd just sit thereand watch you

read your book, or sew, or whatever it is that you were doing that night. I usually didn’t go out and sit with her. Now that I might lose her, I know that I could have done that a whole lot more.

I was always worried that someone would walk by, think that I’m lame for hanging out with my sister.

If I hadn’t been so stubborn, been so selfish

, I could have thought about her more, thought about me less

. I should have joked to make her laugh, held her when she cried. A little more that, maybe I wouldn’t be

feeling so much regret right now.

We’re driving like hell, flying like crazy down the highway,

on the way to the hospital. Amy’s grip on my hand grows steadily weaker. My dad pulls out his cell phone as I grip her hand tighter, compensating for her weak hold.

“Don’t be calling everyone we know,

” I say to him, but he ignores me. I find out that he’s on the phone with Grandma, and he rushes to tell her that we won’t be going to the party.

“She’s not there. Your mom didn’t show up, and she’s not answering her phone. Grandma’s got Jimmy out looking for her, stopping any place she might be, going any place she might go.

” My dad’s beating on the dash

again, screaming out

cuss words into the wind that rushes in through the open window.

Just like my mom. Of course she would do this.

My dad picks up an envelope with her name at

the top, and throws it out the window.

The sun coming through the windshield

highlights the tears soaking up my face

as my sister goes limp. Her eyes are closed, and I burry my face into her bloody hair.

If I had loved her this much all along,

maybe she wouldn’t have stayed after school to hang out with her deadbeat friends. Maybe, maybe

she would have stayed home and hung out with me, and this whole mess wouldn’t have happened. Maybe, she wouldn’t be gone

. “She wouldn’t be gone,

” I whisper.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s been a year since Amy died. I think about her every day, probably more than I ever did when she was alive. Every night, I sit on the porch to think about her as the sun goes down.

One day, about a year before the tragedy, I talked about the problems I’d been having with my boyfriend. Bluntly, she told me that it was my fault that we were having the problems. She warned me it was coming, said if I didn’t change, she

could guarantee that he was leaving,

but I didn’t listen to her. After all, she was only twelve. I just didn’t believe she would ever really

know what she was talking about, or that he would walk out. God, I believe her now.

It happened the day after Amy died. I tried to call my friend Morgan, but she didn’t answer. So I called her mamma,

talked to her about it. Then I thought about Amy’s friends. I cried like a baby to her best friend,

and she tried to comfort me. Then, I called Brandon. He told me that he didn’t have enough energy to deal with my problems, that he was done. Hearing that, I collapsed.

A honking horn brings me back to the present. I remember that I’m looking for my mom. She’s disappeared again. I called her friends, but if they’ve seen her, they ain’t sayin’. They ain’t sayin’

who she was with or where she was planning to go. Now, I’m cursing like a fool, praying

that she’s okay, that it ain’t too late.

I can’t let anything happen to her. I can’t deal with more loss.

After about a half an hour, though, I can’t go on. I make a left turn, park as close to my sister’s grave as I can. I sit and cry until my eyes burn and no tears are left.

I pull back out of the cemetery parking lot, thinking about everything that I wish had happened. All I wanna do is fix my mistakes. Find her, beg her for one more try.

But I know that that won’t happen until I pass through those pearly gates. Until then, damn it I’ll be driving like hell, flying like crazy down the highway, calling everyone we know

to make sure they haven’t forgotten about sister. I’m stopping any place she might be

if she were still here, going any place she might go.

I’m beating on the dash, screaming out her name at the windshield, tears soaking up my face.

Every time I think about her, I remember my thoughts as she died in my arms.

If I had loved her this much all along,

maybe she wouldn’t have stayed after school to hang out with her deadbeat friends. Maybe, maybe

she would have stayed home and hung out with me, and this whole mess wouldn’t have happened. Maybe, she wouldn’t be gone

. “She wouldn’t be gone,

” I yell.

I wouldn’t be beating on the dash, screaming out her name at the windshield, tears>

wouldn’t be soaking up my face.

“If I’d loved her this much,

cared this much, all along, maybe… maybe… maybe she wouldn’t be gone.”

I drive back home in the early morning, just as the sun comes up. I glance out the window and see the red roadside wildflower

s that Amy loved so much. Amy, if I’d only picked you

over the stupid opinions of my friends, if I’da took you home

from places when you needed me, when you were just a little kid, I could have set you on the counter at least a time or two

. If I showed interest in you when you weren’t doing something wrong, maybe you would have listened to me about the shoes.

“Amy, if your big sister knew that you wouldn’t be here forever, maybe she’d thought it through,”

I say, then pull over to the side of the road. I look through the flowers for a good five minutes, trying to find the perfect one for my sister.

Publication Date: 05-20-2012

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