Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles. I know, I'm just as shocked as you
are.
A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much for all the kind reviews! I really appreciate them! I realize I brought up a lot of questions in the first chapter, and I will do my best to answer them throughout the course of the story. I'm afraid the whole thing may get rather confusing, so if anyone is stuck in the dark later on, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it. The only thing I'll flat out tell you right now is that Clover is a girl. Haha, sorry, I didn't realize that name could go either way. Thanks again!
Clover:
The concept of memory interests me a great deal. I'm not sure [I]why[I/] it is, but I've always had a fascination about [i]what[i/] it is. What does one hope to accomplish from Memory when we can do nothing to change the past? How does it work? How are we able to pull up pictures and sounds and faces, replay a scene that already happened, or freeze a smile we were given once before? When I'm visiting Memory, what should I hope to learn? Should I take notes? Or should I just say to myself, gee that was stupid, better not do that again. Or maybe, hey, I looked really sexy that day. Wouldn't it be nice to wake up in dull morning and not have Memory? To not be me, but just someone. Anyone. No one. I've searched for cause and reason, but can't find one to explain why Memory has existence. If I could erase the last fifteen years of my life and start over again tomorrow, today, I would. If I could just forget. Just close my eyes, and drift off into a sleepy void, and bathe myself in the cool mists of darkness, and forget...
People come in every shape and size. They come in bitter solitude and cheerful smiles. They come with smiling eyes, sorrowful eyes, and sympathetic eyes. They come holding the deepest of grudges and bearing the most sincere compassion. There are more than I could count, for every time I mark off one, another eleven are there.And when she died, the people came. Hundreds of them. They gathered in herds and masses, dividing themselves into various groups. Never, in their little snow globe of a winter wonderland, had someone so well liked been uprooted from them. Them. The little porcelain people inside the snow globe. The fragile glass that had once surrounded Them was cracked with loss. And connection with reality had been established. What happened, they wanted to know. And it used to be a specific thing, what happened to her, so the answer was simple. Sky died. Her apartment building caught on fire. She never got out. They haven't found her body. She died. And for the longest time, I had thought death was a permanent thing. Once you die, you stay dead. The phrase "little did I know" sums it all up in a rather neat package. The situation had suddenly gotten much more complicated; therefore, the answer now comes from a much more complicated place. Dead girls don't typically come back from the dead. They might make weird phantom phone calls, or send freaky telepathic dream messages, but they don't just waltz back into life. Of course, up until now, I had a strong belief that humans were the only intelligent creatures on Earth. This has also been unceremoniously dispelled. So now [i]I'm[i/] wondering, except I have no one to ask. What happened?
After the pain, some say they sensed it. That the morning before, they'd had a knot so tied up in their stomachs the chances of it coming loose where as impossible as fairy dust. I had sensed nothing; felt nothing. No one in my family had. Although I use the term "my family" lightly henceforth, it really just now consists of my parents. And they aren't much family to speak of. Not people I like to brag about. Not anymore.
We had always lived on a hilltop. My father, who had once been strong and honest, had built our house there. He had been in love with the idea of living in a place he built with his own two hands, wife and daughters standing by his side. My mother, hopeful and magic in her own quiet way, had given birth to both my sister and I before the house was completed. So, even though the one horrible characteristic of my family, if you can even call it that, was reluctance to accept charity, we were left without a choice and lived with a neighbor. She was quiet; a small woman with all her children grown. Her residence was where my earliest years took place. She lived just on the other side of the hill, in the valley below, in a small wooden house. Everything she cooked tasted like strawberries--except for the strawberries themselves, which actually tasted like cinnamon. After my slightly premature birth, my father, stubborn as he was at times, called in all hands to help him finish our house. He'd be damned if we grew up remembering that he hadn't finished our house in time for us to have a childhood in it.
Just a few days after I'd turned one, we moved into that same house, where I could paint my walls any color I wanted, and where a railing and porch had been built all around the second story. The only two stair cases were outside, and at night, a family of raccoons slept on the bottom steps. We fed them dry cat food. They ate from my hand once, but never again after that.
The people we befriended over the years called us blessed. And for a time, maybe we were. My sister had been named for the sky, as wild as she was beautiful. She had my mother's delicate face and my father's white hair, making her a moonstone. I was the least among my family. I wasn't special or beautiful by any standards. I was dark and silent; not cruel or unfriendly, but unusual none the less. Especially in Snow Globe. I had been born at a difficult time. It had been raining for days, and the wood frame of what would be our house was rotting and moist. I was their good luck charm; named in a prayer like manner; their four leaf clover.
Growing up, I had never tried to be like my sister. It wasn't that I didn't love her, or didn't think she anything less than perfect, because until recently, I had thought both. But, well, peas in a pod we were not. People were attracted to Sky. Not just some people, but all people. I had yet to meet someone who didn't like her. I was her opposite. And I didn't care. The few people who did wave to me I ignored, and the only strangers I bothered to size up were quickly replaced with my longing to be alone with my thoughts. I learned to ignore the fact that people preferred Sky over me; I didn't really prefer people over Sky. And it was like Sky never noticed I was so much less than her. And I loved her for that. I treasured her more than anything else.
When Sky is on the planet, it's like having a camera flash go off in your eyes. No one seemed to notice me when they were Sky-blind. But I noticed Them.
When I was thirteen, I read a book called The House on Mango Street, and was perfectly horrified to discover that a few sentences read, "You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad..."
There are times when I wonder how people like this know me...
She hadn't even written about *my* Sky...and still, there she was.
Hm...I've gotten off subject. Forgive me, I tend to do that at times.
Her death had been sudden. She'd only moved to New York the year before. She had graduated from our high school in the city last May, and the day after, she was gone. I had woken up blinking; staring across from me from where Sky's bed sat and Sky did not. In her place was a long letter on her trademark pale blue stationary. For being six pages long, it hadn't told us much. The gist of it all was that she had moved to New York. She wanted to become an actress. She promised to call and write, and she hoped we would understand why she couldn't give us her telephone number or address at that time. It then went on to say crap about needing to spread her wings, find her place in the world, et cetera et cetera. I don't remember much after paragraph one, in which the above was stated. I stopped paying attention because the entire thing was a lie. She hadn't suddenly become very stupid and naïve and decided she had to be an actress in New York. Sky hated actresses. When I had once expressed an urge to be one, she had lectured me in a very Sky-like way about sending out good messages and being a role model for children and being an individual. She had elaborated the entire thing. I hadn't listened to her then, either. Just nodded and decided if it made my dearly beloved big sister upset, I should never speak of it again! I was very young then.
My mother had cried endlessly, guarding vigil by the phone, only leaving the precious device's side to run out and meet the mailman. Months went by before we heard from her. My dad, normally controlled, had blamed my mom's clinginess to her. My mom, usually so quiet, had blamed my dad's unachievable standards. They both blamed me because I was everyone's favorite target. Mom, in turn, became clingier than ever. I could barely talk her into getting dressed at all, let alone by herself. Every once in a while I managed to talk her into grocery shopping. She had trouble sleeping. She didn't eat much and talked less. My father was worse. He was off in la-la land fifty percent of the time. And when he and reality touched base it was not a friendly meeting. He constantly ranted about unimportant and all-out strange things. It would've been funny had it been a different time and place. He spent days being angry at the Japanese. I had patted his back and told him it wasn't their fault. He grunted and waved his hands about and continued to talk to me about it long after I had left the room. I didn't take it too seriously, blaming it on grief and the like, until I found a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of hard liquor under the couch. I blamed all his incidents on alcohol from then on. Perhaps the most important thing of all is, during this time, I made an astonishing revelation. My sister, who I had called my best friend and life support, was gone. And I didn't miss her. Sometimes I'd wake up, forgetting I once had a sister I loved, and come downstairs for breakfast only to find my mother crying by the phone and my father passed out on the couch. What a pretty family.
Sky finally called around Mid-August. She had a long talk with my mother (who sobbed the entire time) and my father (who sobbed and yelled), and then asked to speak to me. I hesitantly reached for the phone; my conscience was feeling awfully guilty about not missing her.
"Hey Sky," I greeted blankly.
"Hey Chloe! How are you, kiddo?" She sniffled a little.
I shrugged. "Pretty good."
"Good."
There was a short pause as I racked my brain for a topic. It was gold once I had it.
"So, how's the world of acting?"
Another short pause.
"Oh! the acting is fine, finding a place to do it is the hard part." It had taken her a while to connect it. My parents had been much too busy just listening to her voice to actually ask her what was going on. I knew it had been a lie! I knew it! I felt evil for asking about it at all, but oh, it was a good evil.
"Yeah, I bet."
The pauses were becoming uncomfortable.
"I'm, uh, sorry I left like that, Chloe...you know, right before your birthday and all."
How nice of her to remember. "That's okay."
That stumped her for a minute. She had undoubtedly expected not only joy, but at least a pinch of anger from me. I couldn't dwell on that, though. I was confused as it was by my own feelings towards her, or lack thereof.
"Oh. Well...I'm glad you understand."
"I don't really."
"Don't what?"
"Understand. I mean, I guess I get why you left like you did. Mom and dad being so paranoid and all. I just never knew you had such a desire to be an actress."
For someone who rarely spoke, I felt like I was doing a lot of talking. I clamped my mouth shut. I had always tried not to speak as much as others. People who continuously rambled on annoyed me, and gave off a very fake and self-conscious demeanor. I felt a bit embarrassed with myself and shut-up.
"Well, truthfully, I didn't know either. I guess I just wanted to try it. It looked fun, and it pays well if you're good. Besides," she dropped her voice to a whisper, as if someone might hear her, "I needed a little space from mom and dad. Can you understand that?"
I nodded reflexively. "I understand."
"Good."
Now, this was the sister I had loved, the one I had shared secrets with and followed around and loved and loved and loved. A few months ago, had you asked me, I would've told you how wonderful and beautiful and simply amazing she was. Now, despite talking to her and recognizing her familiar personality, I still didn't miss her all that much.
I heard distinctly loud laughter and joking in the background followed by a catch in Sky's breath. I felt my eyebrows shoot up.
"Do you have company?" I asked softly, not wanting to sound accusatory.
"Company?" She said a little loudly. Everyone in the background was immediately silent.
I waited for her to continue. It took a moment. "Look, Chloe, I don't have my phone hooked up yet. I'm gonna give you my friend's number if you need to reach me. Ask for Donnie."
Odd...Donnie sounded like a guy's name.
I pulled a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the kitchen.
"Chloe, listen to me carefully. You can *not* call this number if you feel like chatting or have a bad day with mom. This is only for emergencies, and make me your last resort. Do you understand?"
I nodded, even though I was perplexed. "Mm-hm."
She gave me a number and an area code. She ended it with "Don't give this number to mom or dad."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so, that's why."
She was getting upset. That was unusual.
"So, you're just going to assume I'm the only one who will have an emergency? That sounds risky."
"No! I mean...I just don't want them calling every ten minutes to see how I'm doing, ya know?"
"Alrighty."
Short pause. "What are you thinking?" She asks.
"I'm thinking you shouldn't make a career out of acting."
And, thoroughly annoyed with being lied to, I hung up. And so went our last words.
I had stumbled home from my sister's burnt down apartment building a few months later, still numb and uncaring. I had managed to cry, though, and that made me feel a little better. I collapsed into a kitchen chair and buried my now dry eyes into my arms. How could I not care? Was I that horrible a person? They had managed to clear most of the rubble out already, and told us all the missing were presumed dead. They had cleaned up enough that any survivors would've been spotted.
The phone rang. I looked over at it. We didn't have an answering machine, and after six rings I reluctantly stood to answer it. It felt heavy when I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, um...is Sky there?"
It was like someone had hit me over the head with a wood plank. Whoever he was, he sounded incredibly nervous, and the sentence itself had sounded like a plea. Someone was trying to find out if she was alive. He knew her apartment was destroyed, and he couldn't find her either. He was obviously at his last resort if he was calling us.
"Who is this?"
"It's uh...it's Donnie."
The name brought back a rush of questions. He was the mysterious phone number, of course. Who was he to my sister? My immediate response was to say "No, I'm sorry. This is Clover, Sky's sister. Sky is dead." But he sounded like he was on his last nerve and that by telling him that I'd make his life hell. Besides, she'd obviously given him our number, and I wanted to know why. A bit selfish, perhaps, but I was curious none the less. I thought over the response again in my head. 'Hi, this is Clover...' I was reluctant to even say that much. Clover. What a stupid name.
I remembered there was someone on the phone and used the pause to my advantage. I yelled out Sky's name, and made some noise with the phone. My parent's wouldn't question the yelling, they'd done the same thing a thousand times. I put an airy tone on my words before I spoke.
"Donnie?"
"Yeah?" He asked quietly.
I laughed softly. More of a giggle, actually.
"Hey you! It's Sky!"
A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much for all the kind reviews! I really appreciate them! I realize I brought up a lot of questions in the first chapter, and I will do my best to answer them throughout the course of the story. I'm afraid the whole thing may get rather confusing, so if anyone is stuck in the dark later on, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it. The only thing I'll flat out tell you right now is that Clover is a girl. Haha, sorry, I didn't realize that name could go either way. Thanks again!
Clover:
The concept of memory interests me a great deal. I'm not sure [I]why[I/] it is, but I've always had a fascination about [i]what[i/] it is. What does one hope to accomplish from Memory when we can do nothing to change the past? How does it work? How are we able to pull up pictures and sounds and faces, replay a scene that already happened, or freeze a smile we were given once before? When I'm visiting Memory, what should I hope to learn? Should I take notes? Or should I just say to myself, gee that was stupid, better not do that again. Or maybe, hey, I looked really sexy that day. Wouldn't it be nice to wake up in dull morning and not have Memory? To not be me, but just someone. Anyone. No one. I've searched for cause and reason, but can't find one to explain why Memory has existence. If I could erase the last fifteen years of my life and start over again tomorrow, today, I would. If I could just forget. Just close my eyes, and drift off into a sleepy void, and bathe myself in the cool mists of darkness, and forget...
People come in every shape and size. They come in bitter solitude and cheerful smiles. They come with smiling eyes, sorrowful eyes, and sympathetic eyes. They come holding the deepest of grudges and bearing the most sincere compassion. There are more than I could count, for every time I mark off one, another eleven are there.And when she died, the people came. Hundreds of them. They gathered in herds and masses, dividing themselves into various groups. Never, in their little snow globe of a winter wonderland, had someone so well liked been uprooted from them. Them. The little porcelain people inside the snow globe. The fragile glass that had once surrounded Them was cracked with loss. And connection with reality had been established. What happened, they wanted to know. And it used to be a specific thing, what happened to her, so the answer was simple. Sky died. Her apartment building caught on fire. She never got out. They haven't found her body. She died. And for the longest time, I had thought death was a permanent thing. Once you die, you stay dead. The phrase "little did I know" sums it all up in a rather neat package. The situation had suddenly gotten much more complicated; therefore, the answer now comes from a much more complicated place. Dead girls don't typically come back from the dead. They might make weird phantom phone calls, or send freaky telepathic dream messages, but they don't just waltz back into life. Of course, up until now, I had a strong belief that humans were the only intelligent creatures on Earth. This has also been unceremoniously dispelled. So now [i]I'm[i/] wondering, except I have no one to ask. What happened?
After the pain, some say they sensed it. That the morning before, they'd had a knot so tied up in their stomachs the chances of it coming loose where as impossible as fairy dust. I had sensed nothing; felt nothing. No one in my family had. Although I use the term "my family" lightly henceforth, it really just now consists of my parents. And they aren't much family to speak of. Not people I like to brag about. Not anymore.
We had always lived on a hilltop. My father, who had once been strong and honest, had built our house there. He had been in love with the idea of living in a place he built with his own two hands, wife and daughters standing by his side. My mother, hopeful and magic in her own quiet way, had given birth to both my sister and I before the house was completed. So, even though the one horrible characteristic of my family, if you can even call it that, was reluctance to accept charity, we were left without a choice and lived with a neighbor. She was quiet; a small woman with all her children grown. Her residence was where my earliest years took place. She lived just on the other side of the hill, in the valley below, in a small wooden house. Everything she cooked tasted like strawberries--except for the strawberries themselves, which actually tasted like cinnamon. After my slightly premature birth, my father, stubborn as he was at times, called in all hands to help him finish our house. He'd be damned if we grew up remembering that he hadn't finished our house in time for us to have a childhood in it.
Just a few days after I'd turned one, we moved into that same house, where I could paint my walls any color I wanted, and where a railing and porch had been built all around the second story. The only two stair cases were outside, and at night, a family of raccoons slept on the bottom steps. We fed them dry cat food. They ate from my hand once, but never again after that.
The people we befriended over the years called us blessed. And for a time, maybe we were. My sister had been named for the sky, as wild as she was beautiful. She had my mother's delicate face and my father's white hair, making her a moonstone. I was the least among my family. I wasn't special or beautiful by any standards. I was dark and silent; not cruel or unfriendly, but unusual none the less. Especially in Snow Globe. I had been born at a difficult time. It had been raining for days, and the wood frame of what would be our house was rotting and moist. I was their good luck charm; named in a prayer like manner; their four leaf clover.
Growing up, I had never tried to be like my sister. It wasn't that I didn't love her, or didn't think she anything less than perfect, because until recently, I had thought both. But, well, peas in a pod we were not. People were attracted to Sky. Not just some people, but all people. I had yet to meet someone who didn't like her. I was her opposite. And I didn't care. The few people who did wave to me I ignored, and the only strangers I bothered to size up were quickly replaced with my longing to be alone with my thoughts. I learned to ignore the fact that people preferred Sky over me; I didn't really prefer people over Sky. And it was like Sky never noticed I was so much less than her. And I loved her for that. I treasured her more than anything else.
When Sky is on the planet, it's like having a camera flash go off in your eyes. No one seemed to notice me when they were Sky-blind. But I noticed Them.
When I was thirteen, I read a book called The House on Mango Street, and was perfectly horrified to discover that a few sentences read, "You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad..."
There are times when I wonder how people like this know me...
She hadn't even written about *my* Sky...and still, there she was.
Hm...I've gotten off subject. Forgive me, I tend to do that at times.
Her death had been sudden. She'd only moved to New York the year before. She had graduated from our high school in the city last May, and the day after, she was gone. I had woken up blinking; staring across from me from where Sky's bed sat and Sky did not. In her place was a long letter on her trademark pale blue stationary. For being six pages long, it hadn't told us much. The gist of it all was that she had moved to New York. She wanted to become an actress. She promised to call and write, and she hoped we would understand why she couldn't give us her telephone number or address at that time. It then went on to say crap about needing to spread her wings, find her place in the world, et cetera et cetera. I don't remember much after paragraph one, in which the above was stated. I stopped paying attention because the entire thing was a lie. She hadn't suddenly become very stupid and naïve and decided she had to be an actress in New York. Sky hated actresses. When I had once expressed an urge to be one, she had lectured me in a very Sky-like way about sending out good messages and being a role model for children and being an individual. She had elaborated the entire thing. I hadn't listened to her then, either. Just nodded and decided if it made my dearly beloved big sister upset, I should never speak of it again! I was very young then.
My mother had cried endlessly, guarding vigil by the phone, only leaving the precious device's side to run out and meet the mailman. Months went by before we heard from her. My dad, normally controlled, had blamed my mom's clinginess to her. My mom, usually so quiet, had blamed my dad's unachievable standards. They both blamed me because I was everyone's favorite target. Mom, in turn, became clingier than ever. I could barely talk her into getting dressed at all, let alone by herself. Every once in a while I managed to talk her into grocery shopping. She had trouble sleeping. She didn't eat much and talked less. My father was worse. He was off in la-la land fifty percent of the time. And when he and reality touched base it was not a friendly meeting. He constantly ranted about unimportant and all-out strange things. It would've been funny had it been a different time and place. He spent days being angry at the Japanese. I had patted his back and told him it wasn't their fault. He grunted and waved his hands about and continued to talk to me about it long after I had left the room. I didn't take it too seriously, blaming it on grief and the like, until I found a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of hard liquor under the couch. I blamed all his incidents on alcohol from then on. Perhaps the most important thing of all is, during this time, I made an astonishing revelation. My sister, who I had called my best friend and life support, was gone. And I didn't miss her. Sometimes I'd wake up, forgetting I once had a sister I loved, and come downstairs for breakfast only to find my mother crying by the phone and my father passed out on the couch. What a pretty family.
Sky finally called around Mid-August. She had a long talk with my mother (who sobbed the entire time) and my father (who sobbed and yelled), and then asked to speak to me. I hesitantly reached for the phone; my conscience was feeling awfully guilty about not missing her.
"Hey Sky," I greeted blankly.
"Hey Chloe! How are you, kiddo?" She sniffled a little.
I shrugged. "Pretty good."
"Good."
There was a short pause as I racked my brain for a topic. It was gold once I had it.
"So, how's the world of acting?"
Another short pause.
"Oh! the acting is fine, finding a place to do it is the hard part." It had taken her a while to connect it. My parents had been much too busy just listening to her voice to actually ask her what was going on. I knew it had been a lie! I knew it! I felt evil for asking about it at all, but oh, it was a good evil.
"Yeah, I bet."
The pauses were becoming uncomfortable.
"I'm, uh, sorry I left like that, Chloe...you know, right before your birthday and all."
How nice of her to remember. "That's okay."
That stumped her for a minute. She had undoubtedly expected not only joy, but at least a pinch of anger from me. I couldn't dwell on that, though. I was confused as it was by my own feelings towards her, or lack thereof.
"Oh. Well...I'm glad you understand."
"I don't really."
"Don't what?"
"Understand. I mean, I guess I get why you left like you did. Mom and dad being so paranoid and all. I just never knew you had such a desire to be an actress."
For someone who rarely spoke, I felt like I was doing a lot of talking. I clamped my mouth shut. I had always tried not to speak as much as others. People who continuously rambled on annoyed me, and gave off a very fake and self-conscious demeanor. I felt a bit embarrassed with myself and shut-up.
"Well, truthfully, I didn't know either. I guess I just wanted to try it. It looked fun, and it pays well if you're good. Besides," she dropped her voice to a whisper, as if someone might hear her, "I needed a little space from mom and dad. Can you understand that?"
I nodded reflexively. "I understand."
"Good."
Now, this was the sister I had loved, the one I had shared secrets with and followed around and loved and loved and loved. A few months ago, had you asked me, I would've told you how wonderful and beautiful and simply amazing she was. Now, despite talking to her and recognizing her familiar personality, I still didn't miss her all that much.
I heard distinctly loud laughter and joking in the background followed by a catch in Sky's breath. I felt my eyebrows shoot up.
"Do you have company?" I asked softly, not wanting to sound accusatory.
"Company?" She said a little loudly. Everyone in the background was immediately silent.
I waited for her to continue. It took a moment. "Look, Chloe, I don't have my phone hooked up yet. I'm gonna give you my friend's number if you need to reach me. Ask for Donnie."
Odd...Donnie sounded like a guy's name.
I pulled a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the kitchen.
"Chloe, listen to me carefully. You can *not* call this number if you feel like chatting or have a bad day with mom. This is only for emergencies, and make me your last resort. Do you understand?"
I nodded, even though I was perplexed. "Mm-hm."
She gave me a number and an area code. She ended it with "Don't give this number to mom or dad."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so, that's why."
She was getting upset. That was unusual.
"So, you're just going to assume I'm the only one who will have an emergency? That sounds risky."
"No! I mean...I just don't want them calling every ten minutes to see how I'm doing, ya know?"
"Alrighty."
Short pause. "What are you thinking?" She asks.
"I'm thinking you shouldn't make a career out of acting."
And, thoroughly annoyed with being lied to, I hung up. And so went our last words.
I had stumbled home from my sister's burnt down apartment building a few months later, still numb and uncaring. I had managed to cry, though, and that made me feel a little better. I collapsed into a kitchen chair and buried my now dry eyes into my arms. How could I not care? Was I that horrible a person? They had managed to clear most of the rubble out already, and told us all the missing were presumed dead. They had cleaned up enough that any survivors would've been spotted.
The phone rang. I looked over at it. We didn't have an answering machine, and after six rings I reluctantly stood to answer it. It felt heavy when I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, um...is Sky there?"
It was like someone had hit me over the head with a wood plank. Whoever he was, he sounded incredibly nervous, and the sentence itself had sounded like a plea. Someone was trying to find out if she was alive. He knew her apartment was destroyed, and he couldn't find her either. He was obviously at his last resort if he was calling us.
"Who is this?"
"It's uh...it's Donnie."
The name brought back a rush of questions. He was the mysterious phone number, of course. Who was he to my sister? My immediate response was to say "No, I'm sorry. This is Clover, Sky's sister. Sky is dead." But he sounded like he was on his last nerve and that by telling him that I'd make his life hell. Besides, she'd obviously given him our number, and I wanted to know why. A bit selfish, perhaps, but I was curious none the less. I thought over the response again in my head. 'Hi, this is Clover...' I was reluctant to even say that much. Clover. What a stupid name.
I remembered there was someone on the phone and used the pause to my advantage. I yelled out Sky's name, and made some noise with the phone. My parent's wouldn't question the yelling, they'd done the same thing a thousand times. I put an airy tone on my words before I spoke.
"Donnie?"
"Yeah?" He asked quietly.
I laughed softly. More of a giggle, actually.
"Hey you! It's Sky!"