The Last Night (Did I tell her?) ~ Bridgette

I'm one of those people who likes to read blog entries every day. So, when I started my blog, I wanted to be one of those bloggers who posted every day. So, here's some more of 'that' story. This is Bridgette, again.

Bridgette
I spent all of the next day in bed. People from the church came over, bringing with them dishes of food and cards and flowers. My father handled all of the door answering, and received most of the hugs and well wishes. Around lunch, Dad had called Aunt Beatrice to come pick up Mom and take her back to her place, because with every new round of well wishers, there were more tears. Everyone felt bad, of course, and apologized, which only made Mom sob harder. I didn’t feel like being around anyone today. Brooklyn and I usually handled all the family gatherings and potlucks together. We would sit in the corner and snicker about who brought what and who was with whom and who had a baby since we last saw them. The answer to the last question was usually second cousin Jane. She had 7 kids now, and last we knew she was expecting an 8th in the fall. Now, Brooklyn was gone and I was forced to face the wave of guests on my own. Everything around me reminded me of the sister I had lost. Her bed was still set up on the right side of our room, her clothes still lying in a heap from when she was trying to decide what to wear yesterday morning. Her hairbrush and makeup was still scattered all over her dresser top. Her things still littered the floor on her side of the room, but I couldn’t make myself pick them up. Brooke hated when I touched her things. When she came home, she would be so mad that I cleaned up. That was the thing with us, whenever we fought; we always made it up by bedtime. It was a rule of ours. I would never have to go to bed wondering if I would hear “I love you, Bee,” From the other side of the room. But Brooke wasn’t coming home. I would never hear her soft voice telling me that she loved me, telling me goodnight. I drew in a shaky breath. Closing my eyes, I replayed the last time I saw my twin sister alive. She was getting ready to go out, to some cheerleading thing I think. She was standing in front of the mirror, a different shoe on each foot, a different earring dangling from each ear. I was lying on the bed, reading a magazine. “You look fine, Brooke,” I had mumbled. Brooke took forever to get ready. “I want to look better then fine, Bee. I want to be stunning.” Brooke laughed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “You always look stunning, Brookie.” I joined her over by the mirror, holding up a necklace for her to try on. Brooke smiled and took the necklace. “Too plain?” She asked, admiring herself. “Too perfect.” I giggled. “Here, wear these earrings with it, and those bracelets, and, there.” I stood back and admired my sister. “You look beautiful,” I whispered. “Awe, thanks Bridgie Bee, now which shoes?” Brooke stuck out one leg, then the other, letting me admire each shoe. “Stick with the one’s on the left. “ Brooke nodded and changed out the other shoe. “Hey Brookie?” “Hmmm?” “Have fun tonight, ok?” Brooke was re-applying some mascara, pausing mid stroke. “I will.” I flopped back down on the bed, smiling and watching Brooke finish getting ready. “Don’t wait up for me,” Brooke said, as she grabbed her bag and strode towards the door. “I won’t.” “Good. Love you Bee.” That’s where the memory stopped. Had I said it? Had I told Brooke I loved her too? Or had I done what I usually did? Had I just laughed, saying yep and telling her to have a good time? I couldn’t remember. I hoped it was the first one. I hoped that I had told Brooke I loved her. But she knew didn’t she? I lay there, my heart aching, more sobs with no tears threatening to spill over and burst my chest. “I miss you, Brooke,” I whispered to the empty room where her things lay. There was no reply. I cried harder

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