Calypso

A reflection of the young me apparently. All smiles and curls, the ways girls are.
I didn’t ask for her, she was a gift, a memory for me to hang on to. But was it for the right reasons? It’s a constant reminder of what I’ve lost, but also the reminder of what I had. Her scent still clings to it; just enough to remind me that she was real. It used to be too much, it used to fill me with the same breathless pain I felt when I heard the news.
A crying woman on the end of the phone asked for mum, she didn’t give a name. Mum tutted, hung up and turned to me. Four words changed me and my life. My red netball kit suddenly seemed too tight and alien. My limbs forgot their function. My hands were the barrier of speechlessness. I could feel something wet dripping but couldn’t work out from where. I was warming and something was putting pressure on my hair. Stillness. Awkwardness. Numb. I stood up, took a cigarette from my sister’s bag and the lighter from kitchen counter and stood outside with my hands shaking and my lungs despising the foreign clouds.
I knew that Mum would be standing there unsure of what to do and that my sister would be sitting there annoyed that I’d stolen a fag.
It wasn’t until was in my room that night that my lungs found a release. My eyes shut and I cried. I could hear Mum hovering outside unsure whether to knock or not. She’s always unsure when it comes to me.
I stayed in bed for a week. I even forgot to post her birthday card. It’s an irrational thought looking back but I felt like a failed friend.
After a week of not eating and no social contact, Mum announced that I was going back to school. She wrote a note and dressed me, packed my bag and led me to the car.
It was silent the whole way. And the looks I received from the teachers were ones of pity. Only one teacher explained what had happened.
That night, her mum arrived on the doorstep with a bag. She came in and sat down while Mum played hostess. Ruth put her hand in the bag and pulled out Calypso.