Can you see her? Gesturing to me and wringing her hands desperately trying to make me understand something. “Well spit it out Bernice,” we always use to tell her and she’d laugh, shrug, and with a giggly sunshiney but quiet voice explain a funny story.
Bernice and I always use to go to the gazebo in our favorite park and talk the situation out when she or I had a problem. The last time she spoke to me she was concerned about my new husband Davey. ” Jackie” she sighed, ” he’s just not right for you. There’s something about him I can’t put my finger on . . . and he hates me, seems threatened by me as your sister.” I shrugged off Bernice’s accusations, although, she had been right that Davey wasn’t for me.
Bernice doesn’t talk to me anymore or meet me anywhere but at the gazebo. She gestures and flails her hands and I beg her to talk. My sister is a pale ethereal figure who tries to make me understand something. What? I don’t know. Plus, there’s this funny dark bruising around her neck. She won’t explain. It’s as if she’s a ghost. . .
Word Count: 193