Anywhere But Here (39 page)

I lifted my agonized eyes to my parents, looking for the anger and accusations.  “She got mad and said she’d just walk home and maybe if I was lucky she’d get struck by lightning…” I choked on a sob.  “And then I’d never have to be embarrassed by her again.”

The silence that filled the air was stifling.  I held my breath as I waited for Mom to order me out of the house again and Dad to back her up this time.  I waited for Jared to tell me that
I
was the embarrassing sister and that it should have been me, not Camille.

Mom shoved the photo album aside before she got up to crouch before me.  Her tender hands rubbed my arms as she kissed my tear stained cheek.  “Honey, it wasn’t your fault, not at all.” 

I shook my head fervently, trying to shake away her forgiveness.  “No!”

“Listen to me, Rena,” Mom said.  “The police told us that man had staked her out – had watched her for days.  He was determined to take her…”

“And I made it easier for him, didn’t I?” I said.

“No, Rena,” she said with a sigh.  “He was very bold to snatch her like that.  She wasn’t walking along a country road or a dark alley.  She was walking down a sidewalk in a residential area in the late afternoon.  If anyone is to blame why not blame the neighbors who didn’t look out their windows.  Or Paige’s family for not making her stay there until the rain stopped.  Or Camille herself for not calling me or Dad or Jared?”

“That’s just ridiculous,” I said, wiping my face.

“And it’s ridiculous for you to continue to blame yourself for something you couldn’t prevent – for something you couldn’t predict.”  She wrapp
ed her arms around me, hugging me tightly, pressing kisses in my hair.  “I love you, Rena.  Don’t blame yourself – don’t let it tear you up or else we’ll lose you, too.  Maybe not the same way as Camille but we’ll still lose you.”

All the guilt and anguish gushed out of me as I sobbed in my mother’s arms, arms that I had longed
to be in for months and months and months.  My father and brother joined us and we sat on the floor in the living room, the four remaining members of the Hamilton clan, sobbing together.  The tears were therapeutic – and I knew Camille was there, somehow, helping us to heal.  And hopefully, she’d forgive me and know that I’d never meant the hateful words I’d spewed.

***

I convinced my parents to let Aunt Franki take me back to Dunewood.  I wanted to finish school there and perhaps think about college.  I knew it was a bit late but perhaps a Community College wouldn’t mind having me.  It was a start.

I returned to school exactly a week after Camille’s body had been discovered.  Fin gallantly picked me up, promising to escort me to every class.  I let him, even though it wasn’t necessary, figuring it was his way of doing something to help.

School wasn’t as unbearable as I’d thought it would be.  Plenty of people still whispered and stared but it didn’t bother me much.  My teachers were sympathetic, keeping me after class to go over assignments I’d missed and offering to help if I needed it.  Of course, they always made me late to my next class which meant even more eyes on me as I walked into each classroom, but I kept my head up high.

Lunch period was a reprieve.  I was able to relax among my friends and not talk or think about Camille.  The love and affection that I’d developed for the small group of people that surrounded me did wonders for that hole Camille’s death had ripped into my heart.  Although I loved my parents and my brother, I knew I couldn’t leave Dunewood.  I wanted to attend the small, nearby Community College and stick around.  Fin was still waiting to hear about a hockey scholarship that would take him to a university thirty minutes north of Dunewood and not too far out of reach.

Isaiah had decided that he was going to remain at the Community College, also, as he was doing well in the accounting program.  It was a relief to know that one of my friends would be there.

Grant had applied to the University of Michigan, his father’s alma mater, and was waiting just as diligently as Fin for news.

Damon, Shane
, and Reg each had another whole year of high school and often paled when they listened to us discuss the anxiety of college and acceptance letters and dorm rooms.

When lunch period ended, I held Fin’s hand as we entered our Creative Writing class.  Mr. Ellis shocked me when he asked to see me in the hall at the beginning of class.  I shrugged at Fin and followed the teacher out the door.

“I’m very sorry about your sister, Rena,” he began as he shut the door behind him.  “And I sort of understand now your reluctance to do the family essay.”

“Oh, yeah,” I mumbled, wishing he’d get the talk over with so I could rejoin Fin and not think about Camille anymore.

He handed a sheet of paper to me with a grim smile.  “Here are the assignments you missed –nothing major.  I’d like you to try and finish it within a week, please.”  I nodded.  The rest of my teachers had given me about a week also.  I was going to be extremely busy this weekend.

“Also, in lieu of the family essay, how about if you pick a subject that you’d like to write about?  I don’t care what you choose – anything you
’d like.”

“Sure, thanks,” I muttered.

“And Rena, I know you’re probably tired of hearing this, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

His earnest face was so genuine that I knew immediately he
'd meant it.  I liked him – he was one of my favorite teachers – but my approval rating for him soared.

“Thank you,” I said with a feeble smile. 

We returned to the classroom amidst curious stares and I transferred my smile to Fin as I took my seat.  After class, as Fin walked me to my Study Period, I explained to him about my conference with Mr. Ellis.  Fin offered to help me with the mounds of homework I’d accumulated and I eagerly accepted.  He promised to come over after hockey practice seeing as I’d taken a leave from my job.

We stopped near the classroom door and Fin, after taking a quick, furtive glance around, kissed me before winking and strolling to his own class.  I smiled as I walked through the room
to settle behind my usual desk.  I dug out a book and prepared to conquer at least part of my homework pile before dismissal.  Maybe then my entire weekend wouldn’t consist of conjugating verbs and solving equations.

A sha
dow fell over my notebook. I groaned as I looked up into the eyes of Gina.  I should have known she’d approach me during Study Period since she’d pretty much avoided me all day but I’d sort of floated on the hope that she’d gotten over her need to make my life hell.

“Rena, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry,” she began.  My heart faltered as I blinked at her, my mind unable to process those words coming from her mouth.

“Um, you are?” I said in disbelief.

“I’m sorry that your sister died,” she said, nodding.  Her lips formed a straight, tight line as she stared at me for a moment longer before joining her friends.  They huddled together, their heads close, and whispered, no doubt about me. 

Ignoring them, I tried to concentrate on my homework.  I didn’t want to think about Camille.  I wanted to concentrate on catching up on my schoolwork and hopefully managing to eek out some decent grades.

I kept my head bent over my desk for the rest of the period until it was time to pack up and head for home.

***

That night after Fin left and I retired to my bedroom, I held the little ballerina figurine in my hands, my eyes drinking in the intricate detail from the glow in her eyes to the lines in her point shoes.  I recalled Camille’s last dance recital and the confidence that had radiated from her.  She’d improved drastically from her first recital when she was five to the one she’d performed in last spring.

And I recalled before that spring recital, as we were busying ourselves in an effort to get out the door in time, the argument that had developed between me and Camille.  She’d screamed at me, accused me of hiding her ballet shoes, insisting I dig through my closet and under my bed until they were located.  She’d hurled ugly insults at me and I’d thrown them right back until Mom had appeared with Camille’s shoes in hand, and we sulked in the back of Mom’s van all the way to the studio.  Later that night, Camille had hugged me and apologized; explaining that she’d just been nervous because she’d had such a big part and didn’t want to mess up.  I’d hugged her right back and apologized, assuring her that I understood.  And I’d told her that I was proud of her and that she’d performed beautifully and things were fine again.

The tears rolled
down my cheeks as the hole opened again in my heart.  If only I could apologize.  If only I could tell her I was sorry.  I’d never get that chance.  I’d never get the chance to tell her that I was so sorry and that I was proud that she was my sister and that I loved her so much.

I placed the ballerina on my desk, wiping my eyes, and stared at the mountain of books next to the laptop.  Fin had helped me plow through quite a bit but I still had a ways to go.

I glanced at the ballerina again, remembering Camille in the sparkling white tutu, leaping gracefully across the stage, her pretty face bright with a smile and my heart lurched.  I remembered holding my breath as I'd watched her perform. Then, I remembered her sitting on the cold bleachers at football games smiling and waving as I jumped up and down with my friends, cheering for our team.

Lifting
my pillow, I snatched the BoyzTown CD off the mattress, popped it open, and stuck it in the CD player.  I turned on the computer, my fingers hovering over the keys as words and phrases jumped through my mind.

Maybe I couldn’t tell Camille I was sorry but I could tell the world how wonderful she was.  Maybe that would make up for what I
’d said.

And I’d start with my Creative Writing teacher.

Family

By Rena Hamilton

A friend once told me that she was jealous of my family – that she hated being an only child to a couple of workaholics.  She said I had cool parents who took time out of their busy schedules to do things with their kids. She said that I had an awesome older brother who wasn’t embarrassed to be seen in public with me and a sweet little sister who idolized me.  She said I was so lucky and she’d do anything to trade places with me.

At that time, I’d totally agreed with her.

Maybe, under different circumstances, I still would. Maybe if my cool parents weren’t wallowing in guilt and misery, almost afraid to leave the house.  Maybe if my awesome big brother came around like he used to instead of hiding at college. And maybe if my adorable baby sister, who at one time had adored me, hadn’t gone missing, well then yeah, my life would be cake
.

Sometimes,
even perfect families break and fall into little pieces on the floor.  Sometimes it’s hard to pick up the pieces and glue them back together again. And sometimes, you feel like you just don’t want to – you just don’t have the strength.

But sometimes, a horror like the one my family went through pulls things back together again
.  Maybe they’re not perfect like they used to be – maybe they’re stronger.  And maybe you realize that sometimes bad, horrible things happen for a reason and no matter how much you blame yourself, you have no control over such things.

I don’t know why such a horrendous thing happened to my family.  I don’t know why it had to happen to Camille who was a sweet, beautiful girl – innocent and naïve.  She’d only wanted to dance on stage and enter high school so she could imitate me and get involv
ed with all that high school has to offer.  She’d had dreams and hopes and wishes.  And she had tons of love to give.

Although I know I may never forgive myself, a part of me knows that Camille has already forgiven me.  She loved me, after all, and even though we’ve fought in the past, hurled ugly word
s at each other, that love will never, ever die.  I know, deep in my heart, that my baby sister loved me so very much until that moment when her life was snatched from her – just as I will love her until I take my last breath.

Maybe this essay doesn’t make much sense to anyone, but
it makes perfect sense to me.  This essay is a small token of my love for the little girl that used to tagalong behind me, hanging on my every word.  This essay is to honor the girl who might have grown up to be a famous ballerina, married to a Jonas brother.  But mostly, this essay is a tribute to a special person who will always hold a place in my heart.

So, Camille, this essay is my promise to you that I will do everything in my power to help our family heal and to come to terms with your death.  This is my vow that I will allow myself to heal and to live a life – my life, not yours, because that’s how you’d want it. 

In conclusion, I guess what I’m trying to say here is that family is more than just parents and children, aunts and uncles, cousins and nephews and nieces.  Families struggle, fall apart, come together.  Some families are different than others. Some families are large while others are small.  No family is perfect but when there’s love, the family is strong.  And they can make it through anything.

Smiling, I marched through the crowd of students hurrying toward the exits until I reached Mr. Ellis’s classroom.  He stood at his desk, packing books and folders into his briefcase but paused to smile at me.