I stood there, bewildered at my brother's reaction to my statement. He told me I was lying. I never lied to the boy in my life. He also used my full name. That was something else he never did. No one calls me Joanna Alexis Mason and gets away with it. No one.
I sighed, and retreated to my room, and looked at the younger girl who was a spitting image of me. Her eyes matched mine exactly. She was pretty, and petite, with an olive skin tone. The only difference was my hair was jet black, and hers was mouse brown. She stood at least a foot shorter than I did and she looked about as surprised as I felt.
“Is he always like that?” she asked, looking at me uncomfortably. She was pretty, but I couldn't consider myself pretty.
Her eyes gazed up at me. She had to be at least seven. She seemed too collected, for the moment, and it wasn't impossible to think she had a boyfriend, since everyone of every age had one but me.
“No, he's not always like that. That's out of character for him.” I said, looking down, wondering about my own brother.
“So, why are you here? Are you here just for a day, or a week?” She asked, cautiously sitting on my bed, staring up at me with mirrored eyes.
I looked back at her. “I'm here until I graduate.” I said, slowly unpacking my tub.
I pulled out my clothes, a simply dress, a few t-shirts, some under garments and four pairs of shoes. She silently watched me, grasping the idea that I could be here for a while.
I silently put my few clothes up where they belonged and pulled out my paper back novels and dictionaries and the few trophies I had. I then proceeded to pull out my memory board, and found a place to hang it. Next to my bed. I then placed my photos of Wesley, my friends, and I on there along with other memoirs, such as ticket stubs to the production of West Side Story and from the Braves game I went to when I turn sixteen. All my ribbons also went on the memory board, and I smiled slightly before looking back at the bed.
She had been watching me, and looked awed at the memory board. The wheels in her head were spinning, and I idly placed my books on the small shelf I already had in the room from previous living arrangements.
I finally sat next to her, looking at her curiously. “So, how old are you?” I asked, smiling down at her.
Her eye brows knitted as she looked at me as if I was dumb.
“I'm seven.” she said, holding up her fingers. “I'm in second grade.” she added, nodding triumphantly.
I laughed and ruffled her hair, and she started giggling, and looked up at me with awe and admiration. “Where have you been?” she asked me, blushing at her “stupidity”.
At that moment, I felt all happiness drain from my face, and I looked down. “Wesley and I had to leave for a few years.” I said, looking off into space.
The innocence of this child, could it be real? Had they changed after we were taken away and she was born? Had life been renewed with that one act, and everything turned around abruptly?
All I knew was that as I looked into the face of that small child, I felt my heart reach out to her as it had to Wesley when I first laid my eyes on him when Incubator brought him home from the hospital when I was two and a half years old. The brown eyes he had stared at me with were reflected back at me in that moment with my younger sister's own green eyes that matched mine. I knew in that instant that God had a reason to bring me back here.
And that reason was the little girl sitting next to me on the bed. With her own pair of glasses on her face, like Wesley had, and I was supposed to wear, but of course I was defiant and rarely wore. She was the perfect fit in the family.
I finally got out of my state of admiration for the child, and realized I didn't know her name. I blushed in embarrassment and looked at her again. “What's your name again?” I asked quietly, avoiding her stare of frustration.
“Kristen.” She informed me, letting her gaze shift to Wesley who was standing in the doorway of the room.
“You, you weren't lying.” he said, standing there with a look of pure shock on his face.
