My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece

I stared up at the sky and raised my middle finger, just in case God was watching. I don't like being spied on.

Sometimes when I wake up, I forget that she's gone and then I remember and my heart drops like it does when you miss a step or trip over a kerb.

If guilt was an animal then it would be an octopus. All slimy and wriggly with hundreds of arms that wrap around your insides and squeeze them tight.

In fact she was quite bad and according to Jas she was naughty at school, but no one seems to remember that now she is all dead and perfect.

If envy is red and doubt is black then happiness is brown. I looked from the little brown stone to the tiny brown freckle to her huge brown eyes.

My sister Rose lives on the mantelpiece. Well, some of her does. A collarbone, two ribs, a bit of skull, and a little toe.

We meet again, Spider-Man she said. And I replied How many people have you saved today, Girl M. She pretended to count on her fingers. Nine hundred and thirty-seven she shrugged. It's been a quiet day. We started to giggle. How about you, Spider-Man. I scratched my head. Eight hundred and thirteen I said. But I started late and finished early. We exploded into laughter. We do the same joke every single day and it never ever gets boring.

She said Halloween is a British tradition and it has nothing to do with being a Christian. I almost said Why do you celebrate it then 'cos I always forgot she was born in England.

I swallowed all the doubt and all the disappointment and all the anger and they were almost too big, like vitamin pills that are difficult to get down even with water.

I got you this. I held out the brown, fluffy bear. To replace Burt. I pulled his eyes off and everything.

Sometimes Mrs Farmer said it’s too cold for rain and that’s how Dad’s face looked. Too sad for tears.

Todas as vezes que olhei no lago, nunca vi qualquer outro bicho. O peixe é sozinho. Sei exatamente como ele se sente.

As estrelas brilham mais intensamente do que jamais brilharam antes e parecem centenas de velas num bolo de aniversário preto. Mesmo se eu pudesse soprá-las, não pediria mais nada. O dia de hoje foi perfeito.

Às vezes quando acordo esqueço que ela foi embora e aí lembro e meu coração desaba, tipo quando você erra um degrau ou tropeça no meio-fio.

But she just ate sweets and chatted away and I could hear the smile in her voice as if all her words had happy faces.

But just ’cos they’re grown-ups, doesn’t mean they’re always right.

Dad's not perfect. And neither am I. He's trying, and that means everything.

If guilt would be an animal then it would be an octopus. All slimy and wriggly with hundreds of arms that wrap around your insides and squeeze them tight.

then I smiled 'cos nothing bad had happened and the world hadn't fallen to bits

Naquela noite li tudo sobre o milagre que eu era, sentado no parapeito da janela com Roger enroscado a meus pés. O livro falava e falava sobre como eu era especial e único porque havia uma única chance em um milhão de trilhões de eu me tornar eu mesmo. Se aquele único espermatozóide do Papai não tivesse encontrado aquele único óvulo de Mamãe naquele exato momento, eu teria sido alguém diferente. Isso não parecia um milagre. Parecia mais um azar.

As folhas nas poças parecem peixes dourados mortos. E todo o verde virou marrom e roxo, como se as colinas estivessem com contusões. Gosto do mundo desse modo. O verão é um pouquinho luminoso demais para mim. Um pouquinho feliz demais. Flores dançam e pássaros cantam como se a natureza desse uma grande festa. O outono é melhor. Tudo é um pouquinho mais desanimado e você não se sente deixado de fora da diversão.

Abri a porta dos fundos e saí para o jardim. A grama parecia gelada debaixo dos meus dedos e o ar formigava minha pele. Milhões de estrelas cintilavam como as pedras do anel de casamento de Mamãe. Aposto como ela não o usa mais. Olhei para o céu e ergui o dedo médio, para o caso de Deus estar observando. Eu não gosto de ser espionado.

Deus nos observa o tempo todo, afirmou a sra. Farmer ao atravessarmos a biblioteca a caminho da sala do diretor. Mesmo quando pensamos que estamos sozinhos, Ele pode ver o que estamos fazendo. Fiquei pensando que estava no banheiro e torcendo para que aquilo não fosse verdade.

Excelente, disse a sra. Farmer. Vocês todos estão a um passo do céu. Daniel ficou radiante, mas achei isso uma estupidez. Nossos textos estavam mesmo legais, mas não creio que impressionariam Jesus.

That night, I read all about the miracle of me as I sat on the windowsill with Roger curled up by my feet. The book went on and on about how I was special and unique ’cos there was only a one in a million trillion chance that I’d turned out to be me. If that one sperm of Dad’s hadn’t met that one egg of Mum’s right at that one moment in time, then I would have been someone different. That didn’t sound like a miracle. That sounded like bad luck.

When we were leaving London, Dad spent about an hour trying to push his wardrobe through the bedroom door. He turned it on its side. He tried it upside down. He tilted it one way and then the other but it just would not fit. Words like "Mum" and "Affair" and "Dad" and "Drinking" were just like that wardrobe--too big to get out. No matter what I did, I couldn't fit them through the space between my teeth.