Cranes and Secrets

45 : Remembering Margo

Warning: There are mentions of suicide in this story that can be a trigger for some.

it was her birthday today.
a cake baked to perfection,
frosted with a smooth buttercream.
a photo book flip through,
every photo we have of her.

starting in the hospital.
five year old me,
still a little chubby from the baby days
with my little sister laying in my arms.
she was screaming,
i looked horrified.
i remember crying when Mother told me it was a girl.

every baby photo we flipped through,
i began to see the Margo i would recognize now.
dark, dark hair,
bright green eyes,
pale skin,
skinnier than me.

the next photo i recognized,
a violin resting under her chin.
she played strings,
but the violin was her favorite.

you played the strings to.

in this photo,
Margo looked different.
her hair was cut shorter,
to her shoulders.
she was dangling from the monkey bars,
arms hanging below.
it was her favorite place to go,
nobody else went because a few years ago a little girl disappeared there.
she liked how quiet it was,
she liked being alone.

i think the two of you would have gotten along.

the next one was after she skipped a grade for the second time.
she bragged about it at the time,
she was going to be only sixteen in college.
i was going to be eighteen.
i was proud of her though.

the next set of pictures brought tears to my eyes.
it was the year she died.

twelve years old,
she had bleached your hair out on her birthday.
it was a golden color,
i thought it looked odd.
then she dyed it dark purple.
she said it made her calm,
said it made her think straight.
i don't know how that works,
but she was calmer.
she was less jumpy,
didn't get mad as fast.
she was different.

i guess that's when i knew something was wrong.

it was the last hurrah of the summer,
the only day that year i can fully recall.
it was the day before her last hurrah ever.

in the picture we were on the edge of a public pool we had come across,
our toes dipped in the water,
sipping lemonade together.

i remember that moment like it was yesterday.

she had bought us the juice from down the street,
a little boy about eight was selling some at a stand.
it was sour,
not enough sugar.
we drank it anyway.

she had her hot pink sunglasses on,
carrying a towel and calling me out on forgetting mine.
she splashed me with water,
i took the ice out from my lemonade,
i pushed it into her swimsuit.

i fell in the water,
pulling her down with me.
it was the perfect relationship.
seventeen and twelve.
i remember what you said.
i had replayed it in my head at least a thousand times.

would your life be better without me?

i smiled and splashed her.

of course not.

i don't know why i didn't care that she said that at the time.
i guess i hadn't noticed.
if i had noticed,
i would have sat her down,
told her she was special.
i would have said something meaningful.
but i brushed it off.

she told me she felt alone,
i thought she liked it,
but i guess it was different than going to an abandoned playground.
it was a different kind of alone.

the next day she was gone.
i could have helped.
i could have saved her,
if i had just done one thing different.

i wish i had waken,
when she was crying,
when she was cutting,
when she was dying.
but,
i didn't.

she was gone,
and there was nothing left to do but run.

now all i can do,
is remember Margo.