How Long Does It Take To Heal?

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It’s 5Am on a Monday morning. You’re lying awake on your bed. For six months now, it’s been like that. You no longer need the alarm to wake you by 6:30. Your mind is enough. It is now your friend and your enemy. The first three months were the hardest. You would toss and turn till daybreak. Now, you just lie there like a log of wood, facing the window and watching the sun rise till it’s directly above the glass. You don’t think about it anymore too. It’s there but it also isn’t. It’s easier that way.

Downstairs, you can hear the noise coming from the kitchen. It’s your mother. You recognise her footsteps. They are light and measured, unlike your fathers halting ones. She stops by the sink before finally walking to the dinning. You know her rituals like your palm. You have watched her perform them countless times. She has stopped coming to your room. She used to every morning and before you go to bed. She would tuck you in and stroke your hair till you are asleep. Until that morning when you screamed at her. You said hurtful things you don’t remember anymore. You made her stop coming. You wish you can take that back, all of it. But you can’t. You don’t know how to. You miss her.

You father never mentioned the incident. Before that, nothing went by him. All he does now is watch you when he thinks you aren’t looking. He has tried to reach you, you know that. He’s still trying but you won’t let him. He got you a new car the other day, that one you always wanted. The kids in school are impressed but you aren’t. Nothing impresses you anymore. You didn’t even say a thank you. You just took the keys from the table where he left them when you wouldn’t come downstairs. He’s hurting too. His speech has become more strained and his footsteps more halting. You want to hug him and whisper nice words, you really do. But again, you don’t know how.

Sometimes you watch them, your mother and father. They have aged a lot since that day. They look so different now. They smile and nod more at each other instead of talking. They hold hands and put their heads together, in silent companionship. You wish you can join them. They tried to make you at first but you fought them so much that like you, they don’t know how to anymore. You wish you can change that. You wish to change a lot of things.

That day is still fresh on your mind. You were sixteen, both of you. You remember her laughter and the way her eyes had danced mischievously. It was only a game. One you had played many times before. All she had to do was go to your room, pick a new book from your school bag then come downstairs. The library never disappoint. You would then make her guess what the book is about after which the both of you would read and summarise. It’s wasn’t much of a game but you both loved it. But it didn’t go as planned. Your friend Matthew chose that day to try sneaking in through the window. The whistle had alerted her and you as well. While she was at the window, laughing and telling him to climb the ladder, you were at the door telling her to be careful. No, you weren’t telling, you were yelling. She had never been able to climb even as a kid. But it was too late. Everything happened so fast. You were grabbing her wrists and failing and Matthew was running forward, trying to catch her. You remember the way her body had lain there, in an unnatural way till the cops came. You knew she was gone before the ambulance got to the house. You haven’t talked to Mathew nor have you replied his texts.

The shrill sound of the alarm brings you back to reality. You stand on wobbly legs, fighting to not sink back into the bed. Today feels different and you have a lot to do, starting with Mathew. You shower and dress. Ignoring the car, you mount you bike and ride down to his house. He has a big smile on his face. Well, that’s Mathew. Never one to sulk or hold a grudge. You hug him and hang. Words aren’t needed. He understands perfectly. School is easier. For once, you don’t feel like the whole world is watching you. There’s this ease in your stomach that’s not there before, and you like that very much. You have one more thing to do.

When you get home, they’re where you know you will be – your parents. As always, they’re holding hands, your mother’s head on your father’s shoulder, their eyes closed. You stand for a moment and wonder how hard it is on parents after the death of a child. But there’s one thing you’re sure of. A part of you is gone and you know it will never come back. Maybe because she was your twin. Shaking your head, you open the door, walk up to them and offer your hands.

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I figured I could do something new. This is the first time I've tried writing from the second person point of view. I used the image as a prompt. Not bad, huh?

Tell me your thoughts.

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