“His universe begins and ends with me.”

ONE

My alarm goes off with a startling beep, and I roll over and smack the off button so the annoying noise will stop. I roll onto my back, eyes closed. I don’t want to get out of my warm, cozy bed. The down quilts keep me very warm and nearly put me back to sleep. But to the dismay of my tired body, I swing my feet out from under the covers, sliding into my slippers and standing to greet the day. It’s only nine o’clock in the morning, but already I know it is going to be a very bad day.

I grab a towel and my flip-flops and head for the shower. I spend only five minutes actually in the shower; just long enough to cleanse away the sweat from the night before. I dry off, climb into my bathrobe and stagger back to my room, my contacts not yet in my eyes. I dress quietly, so I don’t wake my roommate. First I put on my black dress pants, then I worry about the shirt. Selecting one today will be doubly hard, but eventually I manage to choose one. It is a black silk long-sleeved collar shirt, several sizes too big. Under that, I decide to wear a black long-sleeved shirt. Then I put on a pair of black socks, sliding my feet back into their black fuzzy slippers. I am not usually one of those people that dresses in all black, but today is a special occasion. I turn and look in the mirror. I groan softly. “As usual, this is as good as it’s gonna get.”

I can see the snow falling softly outside my window, collecting on the ledge. I’m just glad I don’t have to shovel it; we’re in for a foot or more of the stuff. My roommate is still fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of things I cannot. There is nothing in the world that can give me happy dreams. I almost envy her, but then I remember her words from the night before, and I just sit there for a moment, silently hating her. After a moment, I turn my gaze back to the window she so cruelly left open all night.

I hate snow. I have lived in New England all of my life, but I could never stand snow. For some people, snow brings fond memories; childhood snowball fights, several hundred melted snowmen…but for me, the snow brings only sad memories. Things I wish I could forget, but on a snowy day come back with such force that I can’t help but cry.

I put on my black dress coat and black boots and brave the snow to pick up some food. The cuisine at Abergavenny University isn’t necessarily the best, but it’s still better than nothing. I desperately long for something cooked by my aunt as I bite into my now-frozen egg-and-cheese sandwich. I slurp my Coke, watching the snow fall. My roommate stirs, turns over in her bed and looks at me. “Heya, Abby. Good morning.” I nod, and she sits up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I can’t tell her; I don’t even want to admit it to myself. Today is my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday, and I still haven’t found a suitable present for him. But, as always, when I think about this, the fact comes crashing back to me. I never have to get him a present again.

My brother’s been dead for nearly a year.

Painfully enough, each death in my family seems to be easily blamable on me. My father died the September before I was born, prompting talk of the family curse; every male in my family dies before the birth of their female child. It seemed to be my fault even before I knew I existed. My mother died when I was seven, and my family pinned the blame not on the drunk driver who had hit her car, but on me. As for my brother…I’ll let you be the judge.

I check my e-mail and our school website, and realize that all classes have been cancelled due to snow. I’m glad, knowing that I will not be able to concentrate on psychology when an ache a year in the making burns inside my heart. Jimmy is dead, and I even still blame myself for his death. He was only twenty-four years old, about to be married, when in an instant his plans were changed.

I look at my assignment book, grumbling at all the work I have left to do. Term papers, projects, a speech – everything that should be so easy for me, but on the twenty-seventh of February, it all just seems so useless. Instead of beginning on my schoolwork, I open a blank document and just start to type. I have to get my feelings out before they kill me. As I type, all types of memories – good, bad, indifferent – come rushing back, and no matter how I try, I can’t stem the flow.

And on this snowy day, when my mind should be concentrating on my schoolwork, it instead wanders to a snow-covered grave an hour south of here, in Abergavenny, Massachusetts…