Nanowrimo Day 11
I've got my cousin and his SO staying with me until they can get their situation back in order. They are both sick so I expect to catch it too. So much happening and so little time to process.
Catelyn Marcus had been six years old when she died. She was nine now. She had been revived after falling through the ice and had spent most of the next year in a coma, paid for by a lawsuit against the owner of the pond, never mind that Catelyn and her sister had been trespassing when it happened. Helena had been eight at the time, and was now about to turn twelve. She was supposed to have been watching.
She did her best to make up for it by watching Catelyn constantly now. She had sat by her in the hospital as long as she was allowed. She missed a lot of school, but no one was surprised about that. She had been there when her sister’s body stirred and the eyes opened. It had been too early to celebrate. Her parents had anyway, they had whooped and cheered and cried and stroked stringy hair back from Catelyn’s face and called it a miracle. Helena kept on watching.
It was more long months of treatment and therapy and all the things a little girl who might be brain-damaged needed. Catelyn didn’t talk anymore and had trouble moving smoothly. She held her body and her head at strange angles and stared holes through things. Mostly she stared at Helena.
Helena knew as soon as the eyes opened that it wasn’t Catelyn behind them. She had known it the moment her sister had died. She had felt it, somewhere in the back of her throat, and the back of her heart. She had been there for that, when the man from the ambulance had gone tight around the mouth and said “Nothing.” to the other man and they had both paused a second before scrambling to try something else. They had tried all the way to the hospital and once there, they had hooked her to a machine that had finally gotten her heart beating again.
That feeling in Helena’s core never stopped. She had sat there the whole time waiting for the realize their mistake and say that Catelyn was dead after all. It was just the machine beeping, not her heart. Catelyn was dead, no matter what they said. She knew it. She could feel it.
The adults around her talked about oxygen deprivation to the brain and hypothermic responses and none of it mattered. Catelyn wasn’t awake. It wasn’t her. The trauma counselor they made her talk to told her it was normal to feel like that when someone you were close to was changed by an accident or a disease or something. They said that it might very be that the Catelyn she knew really was gone forever, but it didn’t mean that the new Catelyn was any less her sister.
It’ll be hard, they said. She won’t be able to do the things she used to do. She might not even remember it. There are things she would have to learn again. She was going to need her big sister more than ever.
“I was supposed to be watching her,” Helena said. “I stopped to look at the rabbit tracks.” It wasn’t the first time she had admitted it. She had wept it to her parents over and over. They had shushed her. The counselor knew the whole story too.
“This isn’t your fault,” they said. “It was a snow day and you were out having fun. It’s not your fault you saw rabbit tracks and stopped to look. It’s not your fault she hopped like a bunny to get your attention and the ice broke. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just something that happened.”
“It feels wrong,” Helena said.
“It will for awhile,” the counselor said. “But then, it’ll change again. And again. And so will you. It might not be ok the way you want it, but it will be a version of ok.”
“Ok,” Helena said, and they smiled at her and gave her a note to give her parents and sent her back out to the waiting room. Her parents read the note and said it was encouraging. They took her out for a sandwich and a milkshake at the 50s themed diner they swore their first date was at, even though they both remembered it differently. They told her that Catelyn had taken a few steps today and squeezed a ball and she would look at you when you talked to her now.
“Can I go see her?” Helena asked, even though she knew it was late.
“After school tomorrow,” her dad said. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go straight there.”
It hadn’t been until after Catelyn’s ninth birthday that she had been released to go home. They had spoon fed her strawberry ice cream, her old favorite, but she had been more interested in the cake frosting on her cupcake. She had lapped that up like a hummingbird. Whoever new Catelyn was, she liked cheap sugar. They gave it to her to inspire her to eat by herself and use her hands more.
Catelyn’s old room was still the same. They hoped she would remember it. Helena was certain that it would mean nothing to new Catelyn. New Catelyn didn’t care about the bright green walls or the shelves full of big-eyed toys. She would sit on the bed or sit on the floor and stare through it all. Helena refused to leave her unsupervised, and she was pliant enough when dressed or being led to the table.
Their parents gushed at what a good little caretaker Helena was. They didn’t say that if she had been so attentive in the first place none of this would’ve happened. Helena had been on the lookout for any indication that they had even thought it, and hadn’t picked up any traces. It was like their minds had been wiped too. Were they just so glad to have any daughter back that they didn’t care it was the wrong one? Could they really just not tell the difference?
Whatever was in there was getting stronger, paying more attention, and Helena could tell that it had noticed her back. She would’ve told the counselor she was terrified of it if she had been still been getting appointments. She could’ve told them about the nightmares of waking up to find the thing that wasn’t Catelyn standing by her bed, looking at her. Once it was on the ceiling staring down at her. Once it was holding a dead rabbit by the neck.
After they had been discharged from the hospital, it was like everything was supposed to go back to normal. Helena felt like the only one who could tell that it wasn’t. She watched a nature show with Catelyn’s body one day that talked about cuckoos, who laid their eggs in other birds nests. When the cuckoo hatched it shoved the other babies out to their deaths and took all the parent’s attention for itself.
“That won’t work for you,” she told the body. “I’m the one taking care of you, so you’ll have to throw them out.”
“Maybe,” said the body, the first word it said in three years. It made Helena’s whole body prickle with fear, but it didn’t say anything else and didn’t look away from the tv screen.
Catelyn Marcus had been six years old when she died. She was nine now. She had been revived after falling through the ice and had spent most of the next year in a coma, paid for by a lawsuit against the owner of the pond, never mind that Catelyn and her sister had been trespassing when it happened. Helena had been eight at the time, and was now about to turn twelve. She was supposed to have been watching.
She did her best to make up for it by watching Catelyn constantly now. She had sat by her in the hospital as long as she was allowed. She missed a lot of school, but no one was surprised about that. She had been there when her sister’s body stirred and the eyes opened. It had been too early to celebrate. Her parents had anyway, they had whooped and cheered and cried and stroked stringy hair back from Catelyn’s face and called it a miracle. Helena kept on watching.
It was more long months of treatment and therapy and all the things a little girl who might be brain-damaged needed. Catelyn didn’t talk anymore and had trouble moving smoothly. She held her body and her head at strange angles and stared holes through things. Mostly she stared at Helena.
Helena knew as soon as the eyes opened that it wasn’t Catelyn behind them. She had known it the moment her sister had died. She had felt it, somewhere in the back of her throat, and the back of her heart. She had been there for that, when the man from the ambulance had gone tight around the mouth and said “Nothing.” to the other man and they had both paused a second before scrambling to try something else. They had tried all the way to the hospital and once there, they had hooked her to a machine that had finally gotten her heart beating again.
That feeling in Helena’s core never stopped. She had sat there the whole time waiting for the realize their mistake and say that Catelyn was dead after all. It was just the machine beeping, not her heart. Catelyn was dead, no matter what they said. She knew it. She could feel it.
The adults around her talked about oxygen deprivation to the brain and hypothermic responses and none of it mattered. Catelyn wasn’t awake. It wasn’t her. The trauma counselor they made her talk to told her it was normal to feel like that when someone you were close to was changed by an accident or a disease or something. They said that it might very be that the Catelyn she knew really was gone forever, but it didn’t mean that the new Catelyn was any less her sister.
It’ll be hard, they said. She won’t be able to do the things she used to do. She might not even remember it. There are things she would have to learn again. She was going to need her big sister more than ever.
“I was supposed to be watching her,” Helena said. “I stopped to look at the rabbit tracks.” It wasn’t the first time she had admitted it. She had wept it to her parents over and over. They had shushed her. The counselor knew the whole story too.
“This isn’t your fault,” they said. “It was a snow day and you were out having fun. It’s not your fault you saw rabbit tracks and stopped to look. It’s not your fault she hopped like a bunny to get your attention and the ice broke. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just something that happened.”
“It feels wrong,” Helena said.
“It will for awhile,” the counselor said. “But then, it’ll change again. And again. And so will you. It might not be ok the way you want it, but it will be a version of ok.”
“Ok,” Helena said, and they smiled at her and gave her a note to give her parents and sent her back out to the waiting room. Her parents read the note and said it was encouraging. They took her out for a sandwich and a milkshake at the 50s themed diner they swore their first date was at, even though they both remembered it differently. They told her that Catelyn had taken a few steps today and squeezed a ball and she would look at you when you talked to her now.
“Can I go see her?” Helena asked, even though she knew it was late.
“After school tomorrow,” her dad said. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go straight there.”
It hadn’t been until after Catelyn’s ninth birthday that she had been released to go home. They had spoon fed her strawberry ice cream, her old favorite, but she had been more interested in the cake frosting on her cupcake. She had lapped that up like a hummingbird. Whoever new Catelyn was, she liked cheap sugar. They gave it to her to inspire her to eat by herself and use her hands more.
Catelyn’s old room was still the same. They hoped she would remember it. Helena was certain that it would mean nothing to new Catelyn. New Catelyn didn’t care about the bright green walls or the shelves full of big-eyed toys. She would sit on the bed or sit on the floor and stare through it all. Helena refused to leave her unsupervised, and she was pliant enough when dressed or being led to the table.
Their parents gushed at what a good little caretaker Helena was. They didn’t say that if she had been so attentive in the first place none of this would’ve happened. Helena had been on the lookout for any indication that they had even thought it, and hadn’t picked up any traces. It was like their minds had been wiped too. Were they just so glad to have any daughter back that they didn’t care it was the wrong one? Could they really just not tell the difference?
Whatever was in there was getting stronger, paying more attention, and Helena could tell that it had noticed her back. She would’ve told the counselor she was terrified of it if she had been still been getting appointments. She could’ve told them about the nightmares of waking up to find the thing that wasn’t Catelyn standing by her bed, looking at her. Once it was on the ceiling staring down at her. Once it was holding a dead rabbit by the neck.
After they had been discharged from the hospital, it was like everything was supposed to go back to normal. Helena felt like the only one who could tell that it wasn’t. She watched a nature show with Catelyn’s body one day that talked about cuckoos, who laid their eggs in other birds nests. When the cuckoo hatched it shoved the other babies out to their deaths and took all the parent’s attention for itself.
“That won’t work for you,” she told the body. “I’m the one taking care of you, so you’ll have to throw them out.”
“Maybe,” said the body, the first word it said in three years. It made Helena’s whole body prickle with fear, but it didn’t say anything else and didn’t look away from the tv screen.