Life In Reverse(3)

“You haven’t even taken a shower yet!” Avery’s voice bursts through my thoughts. “I’m setting the timer! Hurry the hell up. I need you to drop me off at work.”

“I heard that,” my mother calls up the stairs. “Avery. Mouth.”

I smirk and she sticks her tongue out at me. Yup. That’s my twin sister, Avery. Twenty-two going on twelve. The only similarity is our green eyes. But that’s as far as it goes.

“Be careful, sis, or Mom’s going to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Better than winning the goody-goody award,” she counters, but her smile is warm. She loves me to pieces, even though she’s cornered the market in the obnoxious department. “I’ll save you a seat at the table.” She winks, then flicks her long blonde hair and saunters off.

I hop off the bed and cross the room to gather up a towel. My mind tries to erase any earlier thoughts and replace them with my upcoming presentation for sculpture class. Being a summer course, I’m not worried about the grade. It’s the standing up in front of the class that makes my hands clammy and my pulse race erratically. It’s just not my thing and never has been. I’d much rather sit in the back and quietly go unnoticed.

My feet drag as I head down the hall, simply wanting to make it to the bathroom. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask, but inside, it’s too much. I pause outside of Zack’s room and tell myself I’ll go in for a minute—just enough time for me to feel like I can breathe again. I need this today. I need to be close to him.

I suck in a lungful of air and twist the knob, stepping inside and quickly closing the door behind me. Once I know I’m alone, I let my head loll back against it and release the breath stuck in my chest.

When my nerves calm, I allow my head to drop and my gaze to move around the room. As strange as it sounds, I can still feel him here. I can still see him sitting in the middle of the bed with his eyes closed, earbuds in, listening to Kings of Leon. The way he would pat the spot next to him, then put one of the earbuds in my ears so we could listen together. My eyes land on the worn Portland Trail Blazers hat hanging off a silver hook above his bed. His hair always poked out from the side of that darn cap, and he was forever tugging at it.

Scrawled pencil marks etched into the wall from his growth chart sit untouched beside the closet. The amusement in his expression every time he reached a new height clear in my mind. His laugh settles around me and I close my eyes, wanting to remember all the tiny details. Like how we would hide from Mom in that closet when she was calling us to do chores. All we wanted was to steal a few more minutes. God, what I’d give to have those minutes back.

His room is still filled with life—a life way too short. His adventures line the walls and I shake my head. He may have been tall and skinny, but he was a force to be reckoned with. And he was crazy—in all the best ways. I miss that crazy.

I miss my brother.

Death confuses me. I don’t understand why it comes too soon sometimes—why some people live to be ninety while others don’t live past twenty. It doesn’t seem fair. A tear tumbles down my cheek, but I’m safe here to let it out where no one can know how much it still hurts. I wonder when that hurt will go away—if it will ever go away.

The last photograph ever taken of us still sits on Zack’s bedside table. I dragged him to one of those make your own pottery places. He told me he didn’t want to go in his dramatic fashion, but in the end, had a great time. I lift the picture, my finger tracing the freckles on his face, the smile curving his mouth. Mom’s voice calling me breaks into my memory and I set the photo down and hurry out of the room. I don’t want her to know I’m in here, to worry about me. Because I’m fine.

“I’ll be down in a sec,” I yell out, speeding to the bathroom in hopes of washing everything away. I need a do-over this morning.

Typically, I’d linger in the shower. In fact, Avery’s comment is not unwarranted. I’m known for spending an exorbitant amount of time in here. Today, though, I can’t afford it. I scrub myself clean as quickly as possible before tossing on a pair of jeans and one of my favorite Mickey Mouse t-shirts. I leave my hair down in loose waves.

I’m just about to head downstairs when I double back and grab the Mickey Mouse charm from my dresser. My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I stare at the inscription on the back—my little creator, and my chest fills with warmth. My fingers rub over the words before I place it in the zippered pocket of my purse.

“Emberrrrrrrrrr,” Avery screams, and I bolt down the stairs.

“I’m here, I’m here. Geez Louise.” I loop my purse over the back of the chair and sit down next to Avery. Fabric swatches cover the table and Mom collects them, dropping them in a nearby wicker basket. “Whoa, what is all this?”

She places two glasses of orange juice in front of us. “Those are the colors I’m deciding on for the Kensington remodel. She said she wanted Pottery Barn colors so I’m looking at greens, burgundies, and golds.”

“That’s so boring, Mom,” Avery scoffs, stuffing a piece of bagel into her mouth. “How about black on black?”

“That’s called goth, Ave.” I snort. “Highly doubt the Kensington’s are into that.”

She leans closer and cups a hand over my ear. “I’d like to find out what Scott Kensington is into. I can tell you that.”