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Sister Sacrifice

by Sara Harricharan  
1/28/2008 / Short Stories

Oh Jenna! I miss you so much.

Snow is melting on the windshield, streaming downwards in angry, hot streams.

Staring in the frigid silence, I watch the wiper-blades do their duty.

I am doing my duty. I wouldn't wish it otherwise. I do wish that it were Jenna sitting here, driving to the church for her wedding, not mine.

I had liked Ethan. She had loved him.

Now he was left to raise their son, Dylan, alone.

It wasn't fair to any of us. Not to Ethan, to lose his true love. Not to Dylan, to lose his precious mother. Not to me, to lose my dearest friend, my twin sister.

Weeks before, I wondered what had possessed her to venture out in the darkened night. It was winter, of course, the roads were lined with slick, muddy slush.

It was too cold, too dark, but she told Ethan she'd be right back.

Minutes turned to hours that led to frantic phones and more ventures onto the icy roads. The end result was flashing ambulance lights and news no one wanted to hear.

The words were patchy, the meaning unclear, but the bundle the police officer holds somehow resembles baby Dylan.

" ran off the road..."

"...there was nothing we could do..."

"...I'm so sorry for your loss..."

The infant wails of an unharmed son, mingle with the sobs of a broken father.

I am standing in the hallway when I hear. The shock numbs me slowly when the news begins to make sense.

I was on my way to the art gallery, but hadn't left as yet, my lucky pastels were missing and I didn't want to leave without them.

My presence was not missed that night, as I did not go to the gallery after all.

The evening was spent cocooned inside my sister's afghan, crying over the birthday tea cup she'd gifted me.

The loss is mine more than anyone else's. Jenna was more than a sister. She was my dearest friend, the one who would share her last chocolate coin, who covered for my off-key voice and lent me her best sweaters.

Friday night was beauty night for us sisters. She taught me to use an eyelash curler and how to walk in heels. I did her nails and hair.

I guess it's only fitting that I continue her dream.

A few months afterwards, while we were all recovering the package arrived. Smudged, mysterious and wrapped in brown.

A handwritten note apologized for an error unknown. I opened the package to find a worn set of pastels with my address label on front.

My lucky set.

Someone had forgotten to put it in the box with the remains of the car's contents.

My mind returnd to the morning of her 'fateful' day. I had begged to draw her portrait, she willingly complied.

I must have left my pastels when Mummy phoned over. Daddy just had a heart attack, would I hurry and go?

Jenna couldn't leave Dylan, so I went instead. I've never finished her portrait, it hangs right over my bed.

In trying to help me live my dream, you lost yours instead.

I kept tabs on Ethan and watched Dylan too. Jenna, your knight in shining armor, became a silent prince.

I know I'll never replace you, Jen, I would never try. I miss you like the mountain lights crave the morning sigh. Our families met sometime last week to seal my fate with yours.

They didn't question, nor try to discourage and for some reason, this feels right.

Jenna, dear, I miss you so, on my wedding day! I promise to look after Ethan and care for Dylan too. I know they were your angels, I shall try to make them mine as well. I'll try to smile and remember you, as I say "I do."

Your wedding ring, I cannot wear, but I'll keep it on a chain, close to my heart. The ceremony won't be fancy, just something simple and quiet.

The car is stopping.

We've reached the wedding chapel.

Goodbye, Jenna.

Sara Harricharan is a young Christian woman with a passion for writing for the Lord through faith-filled Science Fiction/Fantasy stories and pure words.

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