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Annabelle
The whirring sound and strong scent of coffee beans being ground in the coffee maker I set last night wakes me up moments before the chime of my alarm clock does. It was a full moon last night. That always means a rough morning the next day in our house. One of the many things no one ever warned me about when I became my brother’s guardian was that the full moon can affect people’s sleep cycle, Tommy’s in particular. I thought maybe he’d outgrow it, but at ten years old, it doesn’t look like that’s happening any time soon. My little werewolf was up half the night last night, and while he never lacks energy, I’m going to be dragging ass today.
I stumble blindly into the bathroom and make the mistake of looking in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes should at least warn people to not mess with me. Reaching into the shower, I turn the water to scalding before stepping under the hot spray and hanging my head.
Lathering shampoo into my hair, my mind begins to drift.
Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like...
It’s been two years since I came home to Philadelphia.
Two years of being a sister and a mother to my little brother.
Two years of creating a new life for us.
Two years ago today...
Tommy doesn’t realize what today is. His concept of dates is questionable.
We do a lot of countdown calendars in our house.
Countdowns to Christmas or birthdays.
Weekly countdowns until special football games or fun outings and adventures we’re looking forward to.
He talks about our parents a lot less now than he did in those early days after the accident. Today, I’m a little jealous of his ability to not remember dates. My shoulders shake as I lose my battle with my emotions. My tears are washed away by the hot water beating down on my face. This is my safe space, the only place I ever let myself cry.
I would never want Tommy to see or hear my weakness.
He deserves so much more.
But damn, some days still suck.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve successfully compartmentalized. “Come on, munchkin. We’ve got to get moving or we’re going to be late for school.” I place his peanut butter toast on the counter, hoping we’ve got time for him to eat it in the kitchen and not the car.
The sound of heavy footsteps is slightly muffled by the thick carpeting my mother had installed down the center of the staircase. When my parents died, the mortgage on this house had been paid off. Living here gives me one bill I don’t have to worry about and keeps Tommy in a familiar place. “I’m coming, Belles. I had to get Rex.”
“Make sure you hold on to the banister!” I yell up to him. His body may be growing by the day, but his coordination is not.
His chubby face pops into the kitchen moments later. A Toy Story backpack embroidered with his name is on one shoulder and his stuffed dinosaur, Rex, is in his arms. Wavy brown hair sits in a mess on top of his head, and his deeply dimpled smile is contagious.
He plunks himself down at the kitchen table before happily announcing, “I’m hungry, Belles. Pancakes today?”
Lack of sleep doesn’t affect this kid the way it does me. I place the paper plate with two pieces of toast smothered in peanut butter and sliced banana onto the table next to a glass of milk. “Nope. No time for pancakes today. I promise we’ll have some this weekend.”
I ruffle his damp hair before checking my giant canvas tote bag to make sure I have everything I need for my day in there. I always carry a change of clothes for Tommy in a dinosaur bag that fits into the side pocket. I have a black waterproof bag inside my big bag with trail mix and goldfish crackers inside, along with two bottles of water and two juice boxes. My ballet essentials bags go inside my tote too, carrying things like extra toe pads, dividers, tape, water spray, a brush, barrettes, bobby pins, rubber bands, a sewing kit, and extra pink ribbons for pointe shoes. My spare chargers and cords slip into the other side pocket, and I’m ready to go. My friends call it my “Mary Poppins bag” because I basically carry my entire life around in this thing. They swear one day, penguins will pop out of it.
Marie Kondo’s got nothing on me.
I click the lid on my travel coffee mug into place and grab the keys to my car.
“Alright, you ready to rock and roll?” I ask my brother.
“Ready.” Tommy stands and reaches for his coat. He stops and smiles at me.
I kiss the top of his head. “Love you, munchkin.”
After I drop Tommy off at school, I head to Hart & Soul, the dance studio I opened when I moved home. My favorite acoustic Guns N’ Roses song is blasting through my speakers, and I’m trying to sing along in an attempt to not let myself sink into the cloud of self-pity that’s surrounding me today. I was at the top of my profession two years ago. Everything I had worked for had brought me to that moment. But instead of celebrating it, it’s ingrained in me as the worst moment of my life.
