Blipped Bits

Afloat

The sky wept just as I had that morning. The grey clouds swept across the sky. Drops of fresh rain lingered on the windows, creating spotted shadows dancing on the soft lit walls. My sister laid there cold and still, slowly turning white. She passed away from heart failure at the age of eighty three. My sweet baby sister.
Some days when I watched her fingers jump aimlessly on the grand piano, filling the room with soft melodies, I would think to myself of the day those fingers wouldn't play. I couldn't imagine the inevitable day to ever arrive, but it haunts over me now.
She had a true talent for music. It followed her around through life. She first started playing the piano when she was only seven, soon during her teenage years, she played at the old cafe down on seventh street. She would always keep a hum trailing behind her, affecting those around.
I was always jealous of her. That she could affect those around her. That she could so easily turn someone's day around, filling it with endless bliss. Just from that tune that she held within herself. That beautiful, sweet, romantic tune.
I look her fingers now. Limp and hard. Those finger tips won't graze on a piano anymore. They will never feel the music climb in, taking all control.
I try to touch her. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to touch her. My heart is pouncing in my chest, jumping off my internal walls, screaming and crying for a chance to feel something. Anything. My fingers tremble. I try so hard to touch her, but I can't. I simply can't. And I don't understand why. The feel of her skin is foreign. To feel anyone's skin, to me, isn't real.
It's been eighty nine years since I've touched or been touched. Eighty nine years of solitude and loneliness.
She's the last person to die that I had ever touched. Last person to talk to me. Last person to listen to me. The last person to ever know me.

I remember that day. That agonizing day. It all started out simple. You know, one of those sweet summer days.
The sky was blue. One of those dark deep blues that go on forever past the horizon. Sun rays climbed through the spotted clouds covering us in warmth. My mom was wearing a light yellow dress with butterfly sleeves. Her floppy hat bounced as she laughed. I remember it all so well; the way my dad playfully teased my mom, the way my little sister ran into the freezing cold water, or the way she screamed for me to come into the shallow waves with her. The water stung my toes then my ankles then my knees. It was so cold. Kailyn laughed and laughed as we got deeper and deeper into the freezing abyss. Mom kept yelling at us to be careful. "The water is stronger than you two think." But it didn't feel strong. It felt cold. We were having so much fun. We were splashing and laughing. Everything was magical and wonderful and so good. Kailyn just pushed me too hard.
It wasn't her fault; she was just excited. The freezing temperature swept over me; claiming me for itself. Kailyn's laughs quickly turned into screams. She was screaming for me to get out of the water, but I couldn't. My arms flared out, grasping into the thin water. My eyes were forced shut. I could feel the cold water climb into my lungs, claiming all the space. I choked and cried for air. The icy waves pushed me around, pushed me away from my family.
High pitched sounds filled my ears just as fast as the waves did. Slowly, those blaring screams formed into my sister's beautiful piano's hums.
I stopped fighting.
I watched my body turn limp as I crawled out of the now still water. "Mommy I'm okay! Its okay! I'm okay Kai, I'm okay dad!" But they didn't hear me.
Mom studied the water that my father was now leaping into. Her voice carried silent prayers. Kailyn kept crying.
It was in the moment that I realized everything. I realized that I was gone, but somehow not. I watched my father's hands pull my quiet body out of the waves. My mom screamed my name. Her voice was frantic. "Amelia! Amelia! Oh Amelia!".
She'd keep crying out for me for weeks to come. From her sleep she'd wake up with cheeks stained with tears crying out for me. Four days after I was pronounced dead, I was buried. My body went into the soft earth. Kailyn was holding onto my mom's hand with one hand while her other hand constantly wiped away the nonstop tears. Mother wept quietly. I wanted more than anything to take her face in my hands and tell her it was all okay; that I was all okay. Father looked into the earth, watching the men shovel dirt onto my casket. He held his gaze. His brows were sharp over his eyes. I touched his hand with mine, knowing that he couldn't feel it or gain any comfort from it. Right there, I needed to not give comfort to my dad, but I needed him to give me comfort. "Its okay, daddy" I whispered, and for a moment I thought maybe he'd hear me. But his brows kept still over his locked eyes.
Kailyn was only eleven on the day I died. She would spend the next seventy-two living her life through music. Each and every day of those years, she inspired me to live. Some say it was tragic that I died so young. "Only seventeen. That poor girl didn't even have the chance to live," they'd start, "shame, really." But it wasn't a lost chance to live. I lived through my sister's music. I lived through every piano key she pressed. I lived every movement of her foot as she pressed the pedal.