The SIB Victim

                       

By, Tori 

                        11:29 p.m. March 7^th; 2010   

            They found her on the bathroom floor bleeding. She was out of it, unconscious, while her own river of blood trickled into a thick red pool of blood on the floor. In her clenched hand was a bloody knife.

            Her brother was devastated when he saw his sister’s pale body being pulled away into the ambulance. Should he react for once, or bottle his emotions up like when he discovered the loss of his father just a few days ago. Sam followed the sound of sirens to the hospital and watched his own sister be pricked and jabbed with needles and tubes, but it was useless, in an hour she was dead.

            They were close, him and Jaimie, but Sam couldn’t recall her favorite food or color, so were they really that close? He remembered how they fought over the TV remote and how she always fought with their mom. What secrets did his little sister have? Was she as put together as she appeared to Sam? That was a stupid question; no one can ever be put together, always happy, always acting like there’s no worry in the world. Jaimie tried. Jaimie failed.

            A tear slipped out of Sam’s eye. In a week he had lost his dad, and now his sister. He tried hiding his feelings but it was like putting a band-aid because your finger hurts or putting make up on to hide a bruise for school pictures; it was useless and didn’t help the pain. Sam felt like a balloon; just one comment will make him burst. He was oblivious to the fact his sister had felt the same way.

                        Two days earlier; 6:20 a.m.

            It was early in the morning when I received the news that my dad was dead. Being the only one up my mother and brother didn’t know-I wish I didn’t either. As if someone had just said ‘poof’ he was gone and couldn’t survive; it was a small Saturn versus a mammoth sized R.V.

            Why? Why did this happen to me? Why’d it happen to him? Of all the billions of people in this world why did it happen to us; to Sam and mom, grandma and grandpa, and all my father’s close friends?

            Questions like this flowed through my mind in a river of thoughts as I sat down in my uncomfortable wooden chair in the dining room eating my bland oatmeal. I was lost. I was confused. I needed to be found. I was angry, but at whom: I don’t know. But why: I was pretty sure.

            I took a big spoonful of oatmeal and while its mushy contents warmed most of my body it didn’t warm my heart. I needed to learn to keep this feeling away and make sure it doesn’t come back.

            The faint footfalls proclaimed my mother’s presence. “Good morning,” she said giddily, why was she in such a good mood?

            I bit my lip, should I tell her, or will she be more mad and yell like we did in our fight last week. “Mom there’s something I need to tell you,” I said steadily on the words so I wouldn’t choke on them.

            Mom smiled, “Me too, I got a raise so your father won’t have to work night shift at the hospital anymore-“

            “MOM!” I shouted a little too loud. “Dad is dead, he died on his way home when an RV flipped, knocking and killing all the people in seven cars.”

            Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes; I shouldn’t have told her that, she’ll blame it all on me now.

                The rest of the morning went like this; mom yelling, crying and locking herself in her room. When my brother, Sam, found out he didn’t react at all, his features appeared to be made out of stone; set in an enduring grimace.

                I walked up to the school doors, the cold brisk wind playing with my brown average length hair and my blue unzipped jacket.

                There were a few other kids my age talking in cliques that I obviously didn’t fit into. A few people looked at me, rolled their eyes and went back to their hushed discussion. I got the message; they didn’t like me, I was a goody-goody, a person that was too nice to do anything “fun,” as they call it. I sighed and walked passed to my friends that were closest to the school doors.     

“Hey Jaimie,” my closest friend Maria said with a smile that revealed her braces.

“Hi,” I said dully, forgetting to hide my emotions.

Wyatt, the one who everyone thinks can read minds asked, “What’s wrong, is it about your dad again?” his dark blue eyes looked at me questionly

I nodded, me and my dad never really got along and now I regret that making tears well up into my eyes.

“What happened this time?” Maria asked making her eyes the size of baseballs.

This was what I was trying to avoid, the reason why I even came to school- to get away. Why did I have to have this? I didn’t want the tight knot in my stomach, the large lump in my throat, the feeling that I might break out into tears when ever I speak.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I clipped.

  They all nodded. I smiled a little, glad that they are all so understanding.

“Did anyone do the algebra homework?” I asked trying to switch the topic.

Maria nodded pulling out her tattered notebook that was filled with confusing variables and equations.

I took the notebook with a forced smile of thanks.

 “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Wyatt said with a worried look on his face.

I shook my head. “Yeah, something is, I woke up this morning and found out my dad is dead.”

Maria looked instantly distressed and hugged me tightly. “I’m SO sorry Jaimie, it’s gonna be okay, I know how you feel!”

I felt awkward under her hug, why was she saying that? Did she really know how I felt, or was it just what people say to ones who lost a loved one, something about her seemed fake… artificial.

Pulling away from the hug I looked at Wyatt. He looked at his feet and didn’t look up. His dark hair covered his eyes. Last summer his little brother had drowned in pool, ever since Wyatt has been touchy on the subject of death.

By the end of school Maria told everyone what happened to my dad. People were babying me and even the teachers were treating me different giving me a longer time to finish assignments like I was stupid or something. I didn’t like it, I mean; people die all the time, don’t they? What makes my dad so different?

I walked home and went to my empty room. I was sad, but why did other people treat me like I was different, should I act sad?

Images of my dad flowed through my mind like a slideshow; him and mom together smiling, him making pizzas in the kitchen, and the call I received announcing his death. Should I do something? Should I shut myself from the rest of the world like my brother, Sam?

Something snapped in my mind and I knew what I was supposed to do. Walking to the kitchen I grabbed a knife, sharp enough to hurt but not big enough to cut to the bone. Quietly I padded into the bathroom.

Cutting into my wrist I had cut a big artery and was bleeding to death, I felt light headed and eventually passed out. I knew this was the end, the end of my life.

                       

March 8^th 2010: 1:24 p.m.

                                   

Wyatt was trudging around his house, why didn’t Jaimie call him yet, today was when I hen they were going to the park; they always went there on Saturday. Suddenly the doorbell rang and Wyatt went to it quickly, but it wasn’t whom he thought would be there. Instead of Jaimie, Maria stood in her place, her eyes were red from tears and her face was blotchy from crying.

 “It’s Jaimie!” she sobbed. “She’s dead.”

Instantly Wyatt felt his heart get ripped out. First his little brother Trenton and now Jaimie, why was everyone he loved dying?

“Dead?” he asked to make sure he heard her right.

She nodded, “She was found dead yesterday, but there were so many calls to make, you know; since her dad died and now-now her.”

He felt like he wanted to break something, go away, be absent from the world and evade everything and everyone so he wouldn’t lose another thing he was close to.

“How did she die?” Wyatt asked slowly.

 Maria shrugged, “From what I heard from her brother was that she killed herself because of her dad dying.”

Wyatt nodded slowly; she killed herself because of depression. He would stay strong, for her, for one of his best friends. He will not regret that he knew the one and only Jaimie Hartlieb.