P.S. I Miss You

by Jen Petro-Roy

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26TH

  Dear Evie,

  Don’t worry about me. Mom and Dad and I all agree that going away to school was the best decision. My baby is happy with another family and I don’t want to think about her anymore. I don’t want to write about her, either.

  I need some time alone, though. Can you stop writing these letters? Maybe forget about me for a while?

  Love,

  SATURDAY, MARCH 2ND

  Dear Cilla,

  No, I won’t forget about you for a while. You’re my sister. My big sister. You’re the one who taught me how to knit. (Not Mom, whose scarves always turn into some weird braid-pretzel-looking thing.)

  You’re the one who taught me how to put on lipstick. (Not that Dad will let me out of the house wearing anything more than ChapStick.)

  You’re the one who told me where Mom and Dad hide all our Christmas presents. (Even though the one year I got up the nerve to look, Mom almost caught me looking in her closet and I had to make up some excuse about bringing in her favorite sweater for some sort of ridiculous “Introduction to My Parents Show-and-Tell.” I don’t know if she believed me or not, but I never risked peeking again. No way was I risking sitting through Mom’s honesty lecture. It’s even longer than her “no swearing” lecture.)

  So no, I’m not going to forget you for a while. You might want to forget about what happened, but I don’t.

  I’m not ashamed of you. So I’m going to keep on writing like everything is normal. Like you’re on a vacation. Or studying abroad in Italy. Or France. I’ll pretend you’re busy eating croissants and wearing berets and hurting your neck looking up at the Eiffel Tower.

  You can stop writing, but I won’t. You’re still my sister. You may have typed this letter, but you still signed your name. There’s still a heart over the i. You still love me. I still love you.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you, too.

  TUESDAY, MARCH 5TH

  Dear Cilla,

  You might not want to talk to me, but it is your birthday. Which means I’m going to make you a card, like I do every year. It means I’m going to make you a present, too. I have enough money to buy something decent, but I decided to make you something instead.

  Because you’re not going to think about me when you see a boring old gift card on your desk. Or when you put on a shirt that a million other people bought, too.

  But this bracelet is one of a kind. No one else has ever strung this exact same combination of beads in the whole history of the universe. (I hope.) I made this bracelet just for you. It’s pink and purple, your favorite colors, and has a heart charm on it.

  Please think of me when you wear it.

  Then write back again. And say something sane this time.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. Even if you’re completely rude, I still miss you.

  P.P.S. Happy birthday!!!

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Today’s Ash Wednesday. Mom and Dad made me skip school this morning to go to Mass, even though it’s not even a Holy Day of Obligation. Which meant I had to wear that ugly black smear on my forehead the rest of the day. There are lots of other kids in my grade who go to our church, but no one else’s parents make them go to church on a school morning. Or wear dirty ashes on their face all day long.

  They wear real makeup instead.

  At least I missed our science test. I have to make it up tomorrow after school, but now I have more time to study. I’m writing this at lunch. June is absent today and Katie and Maggie are rehearsing their lines. I could help them, but they keep giggling and talking about funny stuff that happened during rehearsal. I have no idea what they’re talking about and I can only fake so many laughs before I go crazy.

  Mom told me last night that she’s glad I’m doing set crew. She said it’ll keep me out of trouble. When I asked her why I need to keep out of trouble if I’ve never been in trouble, she started talking about purity and how many middle school girls have lost touch with God. That they’ve “fallen victim to inappropriate feelings.” Then she waited for me to answer her.

  I had nothing to say, of course. She was really creeping me out.

  I think she’s afraid I’m going to turn into you.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you. One letter isn’t enough.

  THURSDAY, MARCH 7TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Katie has a boyfriend! Not just any boy, either. Ethan Gagnon! Remember him? He came to my eighth birthday party and spent the whole time picking his nose and eating it. You told me his older sister Melanie did the same thing.

  Ethan doesn’t pick his nose anymore. (In public, at least.) His brown hair isn’t in a buzz cut, either. It’s long and shaggy and reaches to his ears. He usually has one pimple (it rotates around his face, from his cheek to his nose to his forehead) and he was the first person in our class to get contacts instead of glasses.

  Katie says he’s cute. I don’t think so, but Maggie agrees. Ethan’s playing Gaston in the musical. Which makes sense, because Katie’s one of the three girls who swoon over him during the “Belle” song. Katie says it’s “life imitating art.”

  Even though Maggie is Belle, she doesn’t like John Lu, who plays the Beast. Maggie likes Dominic Brescia, who goes to a different school. He takes piano lessons at the same place she takes voice lessons and their moms know each other.

  Dominic goes to our church, too. Mom says he’s a “nice boy.”

  Did Mom call Alex a nice boy when you started dating or did she always hate him? She really hates him now. (This is probably another one of those things I shouldn’t tell you.) We saw him at church last weekend. He was with his parents and Mom totally ignored them. They were sitting in the pew behind us, too, and when the priest told us to do “Peace Be With You,” Mom shook the hands of EVERYONE else around us except for the Crawfords. She even did “Peace Be With You” with Natey Bigglesworth, who had cracker crumbs all over his hands. And you know how much Mom hates when parents let their kids eat during church.

  I tried to shake Alex’s hand but Mom pulled me back so hard my shoulder hurt for the rest of Mass. I bet she would have tried to move, but the church was packed and you know how they feel about standing in the back.

  Remember that time Dad caught us watching The Bachelor (during that hot tub scene with the girl in her gold bikini!)? He turned off the TV and gave us a huge lecture about how “media like that is a corrupting influence” and “indecent behavior” blah blah blah.

  (Like he hasn’t seen Princess Leia in that gold bikini five zillion times.)

  I think Mom and Dad think Alex is a corrupting influence. Except they can’t turn him off. He still lives in our town and he still comes to church. They can’t send him away.

  Did he corrupt you, though? That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Can you control who you like? And if you like someone a lot, is it really so evil to follow your heart?

  What did you like about Alex? Katie says she likes how good Ethan is at baseball. Maggie likes how Dominic plays the piano. I don’t like any boys, though. Maybe if you tell me what you liked about Alex, I could find a boy who makes me feel that way.

  Just not Joey Witter. Gross.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  P.P.S. Alex was in line behind me to get doughnuts and asked how you were doing. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe you could write to him, too? I think he misses you.

  P.P.P.S. Maybe you could write to me one more time, too? I need some big sister advice. About something huge.

  FRIDAY, MARCH 8TH

  Dear Cilla,

  What does it feel like to have a crush? I don’t know if I’ve ever had one.

  Okay, maybe when I was six I said I had a crush on Kermit the Frog. But I didn’t know what I was talking about. All I meant was that I liked that “Rainbow Connection” song and I lo
ved sleeping with my Kermie stuffed animal.

  I’ve never had a real crush before, not on a boy.

  Katie says she gets goose bumps on her arms when Ethan holds her hands.

  Maggie says her face turns red when Dominic talks to her.

  The articles I found online say that crushes make you feel nervous and happy. You get butterflies in your stomach and you can’t stop thinking about the other person. Not ever.

  That doesn’t happen to me around boys.

  That only happens to me around one person.

  Please, please write back.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss talking to you. I even miss you kicking me out of your room because you’re too busy to talk to me.

  SATURDAY, MARCH 9TH

  Dear Cilla,

  I’ve written a lot of letters to you. So many that I’ve stopped counting.

  You’ve only responded once.

  Maybe you’re too busy at your new school. Wearing your fancy Saint Augustine’s uniform and eating fancy brunch with your new fancy friends. Trying out for field hockey or crew or whatever boarding school kids do. Going to Mass every day and turning into the perfect Catholic daughter Mom and Dad have always wanted. The one who forgot she had a baby and forgot she has a family.

  I don’t want you to be that daughter, though. I want you to be Cilla. The girl who plays Hangman with me on the church missal until Mom glares at us and Dad grounds us for a week for not respecting church property. The sister who sneaks me M&M’s during Lent, when Mom makes me give up candy and you give up soda.

  The girl who didn’t judge me for being scared of the dark until I was in the third grade.

  The girl who (I hope) wouldn’t judge me for anything else.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you, even if you don’t miss me.

  SUNDAY, MARCH 10TH

  Dear Cilla,

  In church this morning, Mr. Jenkins asked Mom how you were doing at your new school. Mom blabbed on and on about how you joined the track team and had lots of new friends and went on a Habitat for Humanity trip last fall.

  I didn’t know if I believed her or not. If Mom had talked to you about your life there. Because you totally could be on the track team. You love to run. You used to run. Well, before you got pregnant and started to waddle.

  But I know you didn’t do Habitat for Humanity last fall. You had the baby in September. There’s no way you’d be banging a hammer and putting up drywall. Or whatever it’s called. So Mom was totally lying to Mr. Jenkins’s face.

  MOM LYING IN CHURCH. This must be one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

  Then they started talking about the “mission trip” you went on last summer. The one Mom and Dad said you went on when you were really at Aunt Maureen’s, growing your baby.

  They babbled on and on about Haiti and orphans and medical supplies. I got angrier with every word they said. It’s awful that Mom and Dad lied to the whole town about your pregnancy. It’s awful that they told Dad’s friend they don’t have another daughter.

  It’s not Jesus-like of them at all.

  I’m just as guilty, though. I didn’t tell Katie or Maggie about the baby.

  I’m not ashamed of you. I’m glad you’re my sister. That’s why I gave Mom a dirty look and told her she should be ashamed of herself. Then I walked away. I knew I was being rude in church, but I didn’t care. I don’t care what some guy in a suit thinks of me. I don’t care what God thinks of me.

  I wish our religion wasn’t so mean and judgy. I want to tell everyone the truth.

  I want to tell them about you.

  I want to tell them about me, too.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you, even if they don’t.

  TUESDAY, MARCH 12TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Today’s the anniversary of the day June’s dad died. She still came to school, though. If it were me, I’d be home crying all day long. But June said she needs the distraction of school. That learning about the Pythagorean theorem and arpeggios and dissecting worms is the only thing that could keep her mind off it. She said her mom was at home, too, and she didn’t want to listen to her crying all day long.

  I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never had anyone close to me die. Nana did, but that was when I was five. We only saw her at Christmas, too, so I wasn’t that sad. Dad was. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen him cry. Well, besides right after they sent you away. And that time I saw him looking into your room on Christmas Day.

  June didn’t seem to want me to say anything, though. She didn’t act like Maggie does when she’s “soooooooo upset” about something and acts all sobby and dramatic until I ask her what’s wrong. She just told me about her dad and then picked up the scalpel and cut our worm open.

  I don’t understand how anyone can be so casual about death. Death is scary and sad. It’s even sad when it’s a slimy gray worm that gave its life for science. (That’s why I made June do all the cutting.)

  But maybe it’s different when you don’t remember the person, even if it is your father.

  I still made sure June knew I was there to talk, though. I shared half my brownie with her at lunch and told her a really cheesy joke to make her smile.

  What did the hat say to the hat rack?

  You stay here. I’ll go on ahead!

  Yeah, I know. It’s awful. But it was so awful that it made June giggle. And that was the whole point.

  I gave her a hug after class (after washing my hands, of course. Worm guts = ew!). Because friends give hugs. We decided that last month.

  June held on for an extra-long time, though. She squeezed me really tightly, too. It was probably because she was upset. She’d probably hug anyone like that.

  Right?

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I still miss you.

  P.P.S. June smelled like vanilla and coconuts today. My favorite scent used to be your gardenia perfume, but now I think I’ve changed my mind. June said she bought her lotion at the mall, so we’re going to go there together this weekend.

  THURSDAY, MARCH 14TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Last night I watched the Celtics game with Dad on TV. It was a super-close game, and they won with two seconds left with a three-point shot.

  Remember that time Dad’s friend gave him tickets to a game and he brought us into Boston with him? We rode the T in and he let us buy pizza and nachos and those big soft pretzels you love so much. We sat in the tip-top seats, so the players looked more like action figures Ben plays with, but we could still see what was going on.

  Even though I thought it was boring (I still think it’s boring), you looked so happy. So did Dad. You guys kept comparing statistics and talking about the playoffs. You high-fived each other every time the Celtics scored. Dad was so happy he didn’t even notice that the old guys behind us were swearing.

  Maybe that’s what Heaven’s like. Doing the things and watching the things that you love all the time. Being with the people you love, too. Even if I get confused about God sometimes, Heaven is a pretty cool idea. In Heaven, I’d have an unlimited supply of books. There’d be a huge kitchen so I could bake whenever I wanted and you and June would be there right beside me.

  Last night was different. Dad kept biting his lip. He didn’t even seem happy when the Celtics were leading by twenty points at halftime. When your favorite player got a slam dunk, he looked like he was going to cry, even when I tried to give him a high five.

  Last night wasn’t heavenly at all.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you. I think we all do.

  SATURDAY, MARCH 16TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Even if you’re not answering these letters, it’s still nice to write to you. It’s nice to write your name. It’s proof that you exist, even if every trace of you is gone from the house. These letters are the last thread connecting me to you, as strong and invisible
as the thread on a spiderweb. (See my simile there? We’re talking about topic sentences in language arts this month, but I like figurative speech way better.)

  Topic sentences are the sentences at the beginning of each paragraph that say what you’re going to write about. Mr. Barrett says they’re important, but I don’t think I agree. Why do I have to tell someone what I’m going to tell them? That seems silly. Why don’t I just … tell them?

  Maybe not, though. Sometimes people aren’t ready to tell people things. Sometimes they like to keep it to themselves until the last possible moment, when it’s bouncing around inside of them like a Super Ball and finally finds the right angle to pop out.

  Maybe those people don’t want to use topic sentences. Maybe they don’t want to emphasize what they’re going to talk about. Maybe they want to sneak it in there at the end, quiet and subtle, so people won’t think it’s a big deal. Like how maybe I like someone who I’m not supposed to like and I feel like a complete freak because of it.

  And how maybe that person likes me, too. But maybe not. And maybe I have no idea how to find out.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  SATURDAY, MARCH 23RD

  Dear Cilla,

  Katie and Maggie hate me. Okay, maybe they don’t hate me, but I’m definitely not as cool as their new theater friends. Their theater friends can sing and dance and all have boyfriends. Their theater friends push me to the end of the lunch table and ignore me when I say anything. So even if they don’t hate me, I hate them.

  At least I have you. And June.

  But I can’t talk to June about what’s going on.

  Beauty and the Beast is in two weeks, so everyone is super busy. We have tons of last-minute stuff to do for set crew. We even did stuff today, on a Saturday! We finished painting the backdrops. (June and I worked on the one of the ballroom and the one with the forest. For the castle, we used a blue-and-yellow color scheme with gold around the edges. It looks awesome with Katie’s costume. For the forest, June painted a ton of super-creepy trees and I painted about five million rocks.)