Blinking away unwanted cobwebs from my mind I find myself in a park. The park is small, set on the top of a hill overlooking the city of my birth. In the center of this park a small, cement gazebo has been constructed for picnickers to sit on wooden benches and enjoy the beautiful scenery. I am sitting on one of these two benches feeling a bit apprehensive, but otherwise fine in the nippy autumn afternoon.
Why am I here? How did I get here? These questions run through my head when I notice someone walking across the grass towards me. As the figure comes closer I can see that it’s a woman, maybe 5’ 2” tall, average build, dark hair and eyes, around 40 years old, give-or-take. There’s something immediately familiar about her, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. Well, that all might become clear since she’s heading directly towards me.
“Hello,” I say without feeling even a little stupid.
“Hey there, Kiddo, how ya doin’?” Damn her voice sounds so familiar.
“Okay, I just have to ask; do I know you?”
“Yes and no.” Her light, yet hardy laugh threw me off guard.
“Eh?” No snappy comebacks here.
“Okay, I’ll be kind. After all, you’re just a guy.” There’s that laugh again with a disarming smile to go with it. She’s got me intrigued.
“I know you. I know you very well – been watching you all of your life. As for me, you know of me, but you don’t know me at all, which is not your fault.”
She must have seen the “deer-in-the-headlights” panic in my eyes because she laughed once more and raised up both hands in a stopping motion.
“Calm down! Don’t worry, I’m not God or Christ or Buddha or even Elvis come to talk to you. Ya see, Kiddo, I’m your sister, Jacqueline, but you can just call me Jacquie or sis, if you like.”
“Jacquie?!” Okay, I just said that out loud, didn’t I? Well, what would you expect? The only Jacquie that could be called my sister died when she was just two days old – two years before I was born!
“What the hell are you talking about? That’s more than impossible! And don’t tell me you’re a ghost!”
“I know.” The smile on her face softened as she looked at me with less humor and more compassion. “I know this seems incomprehensible, but I am your sister, Jacqueline Louise, born and died two years before you came into this world.
“No, I’m not a ghost. I guess you might call me an angel. Yep, that fits best.
“Who you see standing in front of you is the woman I would’ve looked like today, if I had lived. Yes, you’re asleep. This is the only way that you could see me and not totally freak out. Well, not any more than you are now, that is.
“You’ve been thinking a lot about me lately, haven’t you?”
“Y-yes I have,” I stuttered, not completely convinced of anything. “I’m not sure why, but I started wondering what it would have been like growing up with a sister closer to my age. Norma and Grace are more than 12 years older than I am, and Johnny and Charles are 11 and 4 ½ years older, so since I was about 6 or 7 I’ve had no sisters at home, and was almost like an only child when I was14.
“I started asking Mom some questions about you; when you were born, how long you lived, why you died. I don’t know why I didn’t do this before, or why I did it now. She told me that your lungs weren’t fully developed when you were born – you didn’t have a chance back then. Today? Who knows? It just seemed such a crime to me.
“I went to your grave today -”
“I know, I was there.”
“Then you know that you have no headstone, just a cement block marking the spot where – where you’re – you’re buried.” My throat’s not helping me speak clearly.
“Yes, I saw you there.” The kindness in her eyes is almost too much for me. “That’s why I’m here now. I want a favor from you.”
“What could you possibly want from me?” Is this just a dream?
“Look, Kiddo,” she uses that name like she’s always called me that, “I know you’re a writer. I know you’re just beginning to work hard at it and you’ve got a long way to go.”
“No shit.”
“Hey, watch the language, I’m an angel, remember?” Nice smirk.
“Okay, sorry Sis, go on.” Can’t even catch a break in my own dreams.
“As I was saying, you’re a writer and I want a favor. I want you to write about me – something – anything – I don’t care. I just want to be remembered a little more. I’d like to have ‘a life,’ if you know what I mean.
“Do you think you can do that for me?”
I can’t do anything but look at her. My throat has betrayed me completely. Help her live? Was that what she was asking me?
“Hey,” she snaps her fingers and my throat releases me, “how ‘bout it?”
“Sure. I mean, yes, I can do that. Anything? Just give you ‘life,’ right?
“That’s it, Sammy, that’s all I ask. Answer some questions: did I marry; did I have kids; what type of work did I do? What ever you come up with I know I’ll like.”
“O-okay, but can you answer some questions for me before this dream ends?” I just have to ask.
“Tsk-tsk. Bro, you’ve seen enough movies to know how this ends. Sorry, no-can-do. Just know that I love you. You and all my brothers and sisters. Mom and Dad, too.
“Time to go. You sleep well, and remember – I’ll be watching! Bye-bye, Baby Bro.”
“Goodbye, Sis. See ya later.” Now my throat clenches tight as tears chase each other down my cheeks. She fades. I sleep.
I wake, blinking. My face and pillow are damp.
I remember.
*Dedicated to Jacqueline Louise Wright, Born into this world March 25th, 1962, and passed from it to the next 36 hours later, March 27th.
5 comments:
I lost my baby sister when she was 7 months old. I understand.
Some of my hopes for what she might have been are tied up here.
I'd be honored.
Thank you, Tricia, very much :-)
Oh gosh Sam. (is it sam or will?)
I have a huge lump in my throat. This is enchanting.
I hope all our little stories
about our Jacquies help you get to know your Jacquie.
Loved reading this
Thank you, Anna. (It's Sam - the ohters are middle names)
THat's what I'm hoping, too :-)
Hi Sam. I don't know if this is being checked but I was moved by it. I had a sister 12 years older. I never knew her. Our family was estranged and no one talks about her. The sister I did have was 8 years older. She died of cancer. She was my friend.
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