Out of Sight, Out of Mind

January 07, 2000 

            The Christmas rush is over, and I can finally get some sleep.  As I walk through the dark, musty parking garage, I wonder for the umpteenth time since Black Friday why I chose to work in retail.  Granted, this is supposed to be a part-time gig until I can pay for college, but it feels like I’ll be here for the long haul after so many long days stocking shelves and bagging clothes.

            I’ve spent the last month standing on my feet from nine to five, wishing obnoxious shoppers a Merry Christmas, all the while having Angela, the manager, remind me to be more politically correct.  “Happy holidays,” I would correct myself, although I saw nothing merry or happy in the forecast for my own holidays.

            Ever since Josh and I broke up, I’ve felt the need to get away from everything for a while—from my job, from night school.  I especially want out of my small apartment.  Every room reminds me of him, and I feel cramped enough living in the five room loft, without having to bump into his ghost whenever I turn a corner.   

            I spot my blue Altima, unlock the driver’s side door, and settle in.  The ride home goes by in a blur, as I formulate a plan of escape.  Finals end next week and, if I take a few days off of work, maybe I can get away for a little while.

            Unfortunately, my bank account can’t handle an impromptu vacation after the holidays.  Well, it never can but I’m especially low on cash lately.  As I pull into a parking spot, the ringing of my cell phone stops me before I get out of the car. 

            “Hello?” I answer, flipping my phone open as I unbuckle my seatbelt.  “Hi, Mags.  It’s Isabel,” my sister greets cheerfully.  It’s been far too long since we’ve talked on the phone, let alone spoken face-to-face.  I ask her if I can come up for the weekend, knowing a getaway from the big city to our hometown would do me as much good as having a long overdue reunion with my big sister.

            “No!  Um, how about I go to your place instead?” she responds, to my surprise.

            I don’t want my eight-month pregnant sister to travel the two-hour drive to Vegas and stay in the cramped quarters of my apartment, but she is persistent.  Unhappy about not being able to get away and unnerved by her off behavior, I’m still excited to see her.

            I’d made my way to my front door but had remained leaning on it until the end of our conversation—a pose which must have looked strange had any of my neighbors been looking.  I snap out of my daze, push on the heavy teal door while jiggling the handle—a special trick I learned after months of foot pain from kicking the door—and enter my apartment.  Taking in the disarray of clothes, empty Chinese food cartons, and a beer bottle, I set about the tedious process of making the sty I lived in look presentable.

            One week later, the floors can be seen again, and the dishes have found new homes in my cabinets instead of haphazardly strewn across my living room table.  I greet my sister at the door, and try to hide my shock at her appearance.  I always heard that pregnant women seem radiant, healthy.  The woman in front of me appears far too thin to be in her third trimester, and the dark circles under her eyes attest to a lack of sleep.  I push aside my worries, rationalizing that her condition probably doesn’t make falling asleep easy, and she has always been thin.  She places a protective hand over her stomach, and I know she isn’t upset about the baby.  She looks happy.  I think to myself.  Of course she’s happy about the baby—she’ll make a wonderful mother.  But I can’t shake the feeling that the look of happiness in her eyes as she talks about her plans for the baby is overshadowed by a haunted expression.  The more she talks—telling me about her husband, the fact she quit her job—the more my distress increases.

January 10, 2001

            I put my concerns out of my mind for the remainder of her stay, and I’ll always blame myself for that.  She went back home three days later, and I received the call from my parents a week after that.  I last saw my sister one year ago today.