sisters

“And that’s the thing,” Elsa said. “You make it all sound so sanitized. You lessen the gravity, the severity of the situation.”

Her sister’s mouth worked, delivered the tired refrain. “That’s the only way to get at it--” she said. “--in pieces. Its too big to deal with all together, all at once. Our parents can’t just ‘fix it’, they--”

“Please.” Elsa said. “Please don’t.” She got up, gripping the bed’s metal bars as if for support. “Look,” she said, turning, “this cannot go on. And we’re lucky enough to have this chance.” More angrily, she continued, “Can’t you just try? Can’t you think about anyone besides yourself? Mom and Dad, together again, and trying to make this work--”

“It won’t.” Her sister would have none of it.

“But-- why do you always say that? I don’t--”

“Because unlike you, I don’t need it to work, I don’t want it to work-- I just want everyone to fucking leave it alone!”

“Don’t you say that,” came the tight whisper. “Don’t.”

Her sister wilted as quickly as she’d flared and, turning away, lay down as if to end the conversation.

Elsa resolutely turned away from the immoble line of her sister’s back. Spotting a fiberboard desk in the corner, she approached it, and soon realized that another card had come. She pressed her arms to her chest, holding herself together.

“So that’s it,” she said. “You’re dying, and that’s it then.”

The bedclothes rustled as the girl sat up and left the bed. She approached the stony back and hugged her sister tightly from behind. “No” she said. “I am getting better.”

Elsa shut her eyes.