Autumn

I left that night full of rage; usually she was the one leaving, taking control.  Usually it was her rage taking us, but not this time. I remember watching her sitting at my desk by the window, staring out at me in disbelief.  Of course this wasn’t the first time one of us had retreated into the black Toyota and driven away after an argument, but this time was different. A story never starts out saying that what you are about to read always happens and will be nothing new or interesting for you to read, a story starts out different. It begins different, and it ends different.
         The day it all started, light was streaming in through our curtains and birds were singing lightly just outside the window when she woke up. I had been awake for hours previous, but then I didn’t have a hangover either. She let out a loud grunt that sounded vaguely like “shrugging blooms,” but was really saying, “stupid birds.” The sound came from beneath her pillow, and after a few more melodious notes, She threw herself out of bed and onto the window seat. Autumn slammed her fist against the glass twice and the birds flew off to the neighbor’s tree as they did every Saturday afternoon.
         I should have known that there was something bothering Autumn, because usually she gave up on sleep just like she had given up on everything else that was important to us. But this time she seemed content to try once more to get a few more hours in before getting up. I tried to encourage her to get up and do something with her lazy self, but she ignored me.
         She’s been ignoring me since the first day of her freshman year. It’s like I died that day to her, but I didn’t. I’m still here. On some days she listens to me, but not for long; the phone will ring, a friend will throw a pebble at the window, and she will snap back to her destructive ways.  Once again it will be like I don’t even exist. I know she thinks about me sometimes when she’s drinking her first couple glasses of beer or when she is sneaking out and pushing her car down the street, but she never thinks for long.  I know she still needs me.  I know she still wishes things were the way they were back when we worked together, but they aren’t.  She’s changed it all.
         After about an extra hour of sleep, Autumn got up and decided to do something with herself. I think my nagging finally got to her even though she pretended she couldn’t hear me. She showered and brushed her teeth and hair; finally the stench of alcohol was gone from her. Our mom and dad had given up trying to wake her on Saturdays and Sundays, but they always left the morning’s breakfast on the table, wrapped nicely in plastic wrap just in case she decided to get up before dinner.
         Normally our parents were out running errands or visiting relatives when Autumn came into the kitchen, but today they were sitting with folded arms and lost faces at the table, waiting. I knew instantly it was bad as we both stepped into the kitchen. Autumn took one look and knew to; she tried to leave, mumbling some excuse that wasn’t audible even to me, but our dad was too quick.
         He jumped from his chair, blockading the only exit. She gave in - she always does - and sat down in a hard, oak chair across from my mom, her face already showing she didn’t care. Our mom moved aside the saran wrapped breakfast revealing a small plastic bag of weed. No matter how hard she tried, Autumn couldn’t prevent her terror from painting itself all over her face. She stared dumbly at the bag and its pale green contents, all kinds of thoughts racing through her head.
         She sat there, mulling over what had led to their discovery of her carefully concealed stash.  How had they had found it? She thought she had been careful about it, tucking it as usual between the mattresses. She blamed it on me as usual; she’s never willing to take responsibility for her own stupidity. For years now I’d been willing to help her cover, but this time I gave no help.  She was on her own.  The afternoon sun faded slowly to dusk and then to pure night, waiting for the eminent grounding. Our dad stood up and handed a list of her restrictions. There was nothing we could do, we had no freedom. It wasn’t the usual punishment either.  This one was strict, carefully planned out, and I was suddenly aware that I no longer had any say or influence over the part of me that had taken over.
         I got in our car and drove. I couldn’t stay there anymore. The Autumn I had once been was now replaced by this strange and terrible one. I tried for so long to explain to her what would happen when she drank, when she smoked, but she stopped listening that first day of freshman year. As I drove away, I saw Autumn’s crying face in the window. I saw her plead for me to return to her, she was promising me she would listen. But I couldn’t listen any longer, I couldn’t trust her. So I left; I drove away and she will have to deal with life without the one part of her that still cared.