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The sun pouring in from the white-framed bay windows had heated the blue-and-white tiles on the kitchen floor. A small girl balanced precariously on warmed toes as she struggled to reach the bagels left on the countertop before her parents woke up.
“Lauren!” called a weary voice. The girl swung off her toes and cast her head down in an attempt to look innocent.
Fifteen-year-old Cassie Tomas stumbled into the sunny yellow California room as her little sister breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh. It’s just you”.
The older girl blinked sleepily.
“Lauren, what are you doing?”
Lauren grinned. “I was tryin’ to make you guys breakfast.”
“I can see that.” The bathrobe-clad Cassie giggled. “But I don’t think you want those. Mom left them on the counter for a reason. They’re all moldy.”
“They aren’t that moldy!” Lauren pouted.
“Oh, yes they are!” Cassie smiled a slow sleepy smile and picked up the seven-year-old-chef. “Tell you what, we’ll make French toast instead, okay?”
“Okay Cassie.” I nodded my head. “But only if there’s extra sugar!”
Times like that were a dime a dozen in those days, back when Cassie was still alive. Mom still cooked dinner every night, and sometimes we went to the movies on Saturday. Dad and I would play catch, waving as she pulled her car out of the long driveway to go grocery shopping. Cassie would stay inside, painting her nails or gabbing with one of her friends. Sometimes, on a good day, she’d camp out on the hammock while we played, commenting play-by-play until we all ended up on the grass, laughing like maniacs, but glad to be there anyway. Cassie had leukemia, ever since she was twelve. I don’t remember what she was like before she got sick, and that’s the only way I can see her now. But even with her hair gone, she was the most glamorous person I ever knew. Her ball cap didn’t make her any different from the rest of us. She didn’t sulk or shy away or ask why, and she never felt sorry for herself. She was the star of the soccer team, and she kept playing until the chemo made her too weak to run. After that, she still went to every game she could. She’d show up in her bright blue team jersey and sit on the sidelines. She never let herself fall behind in school, either. Every day she had to stay home someone would show up at our door that afternoon, carrying a pile of books, and sometimes a tacky card with “Get well soon” written on the front on cheery letters. I still have those cards, every single one. And the pictures. My favorite is of her standing by her board. The waves are blue in the background, and the palm trees were so tall that they almost hid the shore. Cassie is in the center, her blue eyes beaming as she winked at her friends. She was soaked. You can almost see the droplets hanging from her earlobes and sliding down her scalp as she waited for Dad to take the picture.
That was a year ago. She died in June.
It didn’t take long for our family to fall apart after that. Mom and Dad’s relationship couldn’t take the strain of Cassie’s death, and Dad moved to Texas that August. I haven’t seen him much since. Neither has Cassie, but I still go to see her every day. Sometimes I bring food. The cemetery’s not exactly the best place for a picnic, but towards the end of her life, the thing Cassie liked best was for me to come up to her room in the oncology ward and smuggle in some Reese’s Puffs. We’d sit there for hours, chowing down and talking about “the good old days” like they were already over. Sometimes she didn’t have the energy to talk. The chemo put as much strain on her already weakened body as the cancer itself. So I’d go, and entertain her with stories about the crazy kids in my seventh-grade class, and she’d smile and close her eyes, probably dreaming about her own friends. There were so many things she had wanted to do, like seeing famous places. We made a list as soon as I was old enough to read. First on the list was Disneyland. We lived in California, but with all the ups and downs that came with the leukemia, we could never be sure she could make it through a week at the park. She went into remission at sixteen. It was kind of touch and go after that, a slow two years while we waited to see what would happen. It was a relief when we didn’t have to make trips to the hospital anymore. We thought she finally had it beat when she turned eighteen. We had planned a trip to the park and everything. It was her senior year in high school, and she was so happy to be able to graduate. But the week before we were scheduled to leave, the school gave us a call. Cassie had fainted in the middle of fourth period, and they called an ambulance. We met her at the hospital, in the familiar pea-green examining room. The two friends that had ridden in the ambulance with her looked scared, like they were afraid they could catch her sickness just by being there. The doctor didn’t have good news.
He told us that the cancer was back.
Cassie never left the hospital again.
When Mom and Dad split up, we had to give up the house. Now Mom and I are in an apartment complex four blocks down. After Dad left, it us took a few months and about three apartments before we finally settled on a place, not too close to Cassie’s grave, but not too far away either. I guess Mom wants to be where her daughter could find us. But Mom never really got over Cassie’s death; that’s why I stayed. Every day she comes home from work and finds me, or calls me if I’m out. The second she hears my voice, it’s like some sort of tension goes out of her. “Lauren,” she tells me, “I am so glad you’re okay.”
Ever since my sister’s death, Mom’s pushed me to be more and more like her. I’ve joined the soccer team, and sometimes I hang out with her old friends on the weekends. It’s like everyone expects me to take her place, but it feels so wrong. I want my sister to be proud of me. I want to do the things she never got a chance to.
Maybe if I do, it won’t feel like she’s gone.
But in reality, we couldn’t be more different. Cassie was always short and slender. I’m taller, but heavier. We had the same bleached hair and blue eyes, but hers were large and focused. Mine are rounded at the corners, and almost cloudy. People tell me it always looks like I’m dreaming. I’m not an athlete. I paint. I love girly foods like avocados and green teas. She was a junk food girl. She was my idol, the best big sister a girl could wish for. I know she would have done anything for me, and I’d do anything to have her back. But sometimes, I think to myself, “Do I really have to stop being Lauren to make Cassie happy?”
That’s why I quit the soccer team last week. I didn’t tell Mom until today, and when I did, she didn’t cry and scream and kick like I expected—no, wanted—her to. She just stood there looking at me for a full five minutes, breathing quietly through her mouth like she wanted to cry.
Her disappointment was more than I could bear. Suddenly, I wasn’t the poor little girl who had lost her big sister anymore; I was the poor little girl who had lost herself. I was so caught up in trying to keep Cassie alive that I had let the girl I was die. “I’m not Cassie, Mom!” I shouted. “I’m not like her, and I never will be! Cassie’s dead and she’s never coming back!” She started sobbing quietly. I ran to my room and slammed the door.
I’m sorry for letting you down, Cassie.
I just want to be myself again.
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