Traces of Eve

Chapter 4

ALICE | Now

When you lose someone, there's a process you go through and it doesn't help that people keep staring at you.

They wait and anticipate your breakdown—the crashing of a chair against the wall, the loud declarations of denial, and the tears that'll glide effortlessly. The tears never come for me, not when we lost contact with mama and surprisingly not when I hear Eve's dead. Dead as a doornail. Gone like the wide.

As I walk in a daze, I take a stroll down memory lane and for some eerie reason, I can remember my childhood without the pain and the gory details.

Eve wrote poems and hanged them on her bedroom walls. They were everywhere; plastered firmly near the windows, by her bedside lamp and even on her wooden wardrobe. I loved scrutinizing them because it was one of those rare occasions; I got to see something pretty other than the blank walls with flaking white paint in my room. I think reading them was my escape, but Eve only erected them to enhance her lie, that everything was alright, that she wasn't bothered by what was going on at home. We've been through hell, but don't good girls like us deserve better than a cold grave?

Now my life has been boxed into categories with the labels Before Eve and After Eve that taunt me as I think about her. I can't imagine it. Her not being there when I yank my bedroom door open and hers is always directly opposite mine with a Keep Calm poster stuck to the front.

I reflect soberly on the principal's far-reaching counselling on being strong for one's family. I can't be when my only strength has always been Eve. My legs taking me up the flight of stairs to my classroom, my voice is soft and quiet as I tell Mrs Andersen of my ordeal even though I know she already knew when she called me out from my seat an hour ago.

She assures me everything will be okay and I nod my head. I don't even inquire about how far along she is not because I'm her favourite student or anything, actually, far from it, I just don't have the heart to say anything else.

The only thing I can think about now is that Eve is gone. She's never coming back. I'll never be able to have an argument with her over what N*****x series we should d******d for the week or her ceaseless complaint about me leaving my hair clogged in the drain. I'll never see Eve getting married. She used to narrate her wedding to Aunt Tala, and I said she'll wear only our aunt's dress designs. I reminisce over the memory of her explaining the style of the dress, strapless, she said, with lace at her boobs but silk material moving further down. She said she wanted the dress to sweep the floor while she walked. I imagined it then and I think about it now how she would have twirled in that her vibrant mood, smiling toothily at me, the sun kissing her dark skin and her eyes beaming at me in delight. I will never see that day, it's a sad revelation even though my cheeks are as dry as the weather and my eyes as clear as water.

Unfortunately, the biology test is the last one for the term so I can't skip it, but luckily, I can take it virtually. Mrs Andersen assures me she'll email the document to me tomorrow. I'm grateful because my Aunt is scheduled to arrive in an hour and the thought of completing my test almost paralyses me.

The dorms are empty when my housemistress, Mary, unlocks the burglar-proof gate for me. I hand her my permission slip and watch her expression shift from shock from seeing me at the gate during the first break to pity. I hate the look on her face and I realise I don't want it. I don't need it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, " she says, and I brace myself for the sting of unshed tears that should be whelling up in my eyes, but it doesn't come.

The words bring a bitter taste to my tongue, like swallowing a heap of dirt. She was my sister yet the tears don't come, but there's a sense of desolation that hollows my insides, denting it to the point of almost suffocating me.

I sigh. "Thank you."

"I'll go get your dorm key for you so you can pack. What's your dorm number?"

"Twelve."

I watch her large pudgy frame retreat to her apartment, which is on the ground floor. She's dressed in her usual dreadful clothes—a loose top with a dull colour, this time its grey and a tight black pencil skirt which does justice to her derriere. It's so loose that it shows the surface of her wrinkled silky breasts pumped up by her push-up bra, and when she returns with the key dangling from her index finger, I spot the ever-present mole at just below her collarbone.

"Here," She thrusts it into my waiting hand, "Don't forget to lock up, I don't want any of your mates sneaking in. ,"

I nod. I always wondered if some students usually snuck in to eat stuff out of their lockers, but hearing it from her lips makes it sound true.

I pack in the same clumsy manner I normally use when packing for vacation.

I throw clothes in my suitcase, not bothering to at least fold them and I throw rubbish I find in it away: a bar soap wrapper, the empty toothpaste box container I opened just last week and an empty Body shop container.

Eve always packs with meticulous precision. I remember watching her pack her suitcase when she was going away to boarding school. She ironed every single article of clothing before folding them even into her cardigans.

She and I are polar opposites. Where Eve removes her hair from the bathtub drain, I leave them. When Eve cleans her room every day of the week before going to the university, I cleaned mine only when she pesters me to.

I bounce on my dorm bed and hug my knees to my chest with my head resting against the red brick wall. My chest heaves with deep breaths and I suddenly want the quiet dorm room to be filled with uncontrolled sobs, phlegmy coughs from all the crying and incoherent words tumbling out of my mouth. I want this so badly I cringe my eyes forcefully willing the tears to come.

I'm so ashamed of myself for how I behaved on her birthday, If I hadn't lashed out the way I did, she would still be here. It's my fault she's dead because I wished for it. I yearned for it to happen in a moment of hot white fury. And now I don't even get a chance to say I'm sorry.