My Little Dove

“You came down here to tell us something, did you?” Mum asks, everyone sitting around the table; Mum, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Jean, Uncle Daniel, and a few others. I feel seen for once—as I sit at the head of the table—but it doesn’t feel good. 

“Well, yes,” I clear my throat, my lungs heaving with all the grief I have shoved down for all these years. It’s time to tell them the secret I have been keeping for four years. 

“Spit it out then,” Grandma hurries, her voice scratchy and breathless from the countless cigarettes she has probably smoked since she was seven years old.  

“Fiona, don’t hurry her. She’ll close up like a clam like she always does,” Dad scolds her.

I feel my face grow hot and clear my throat. I know if I leave this any longer, I won’t be able to tell them at all. I have to do it now. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but can I please talk?” I speak, my voice loud over the distinct chattering of the family. 

“See? I told you. If she doesn’t do it now, she’ll clam up,” Dad repeats his previous statement, giving Grandma a pointed look. 

“Yeah yeah,” Grandma rolls her eyes at Dad, then turns to me. “Go ahead, dear, we’re all listening.”

I don’t know how to force the words out of my mouth, so I lift the sleeves of my jacket, my eyes filling with tears as everyone stares at me. I hear a very small collective gasp from every single family member and stare at the floor in shame. My eyes lift slightly, drifting across my arms as I stare at the countless scars that litter them, each and every one of them holding memories of nights staying up late, crying myself to sleep, over the death of the girl I had spent my entire life with. 

“Gracie…” I hear Mum whisper and slowly look up, meeting her eyes. They are filled with tears, just like my own and it makes my heart break. 

“Mum, I’m okay… I haven’t-” I stop, choking back a sob before continuing. “I haven’t done it for a while. I’m three months clean.”

I suddenly feel arms wrap around the back of me, around my shoulders, and a hand pat me on the head, making me jump, my tranced state interrupted by the familiar scent of musky cigarettes filling my nose. I turn slightly to find Grandma smiling sadly at me, the arms around me her own. Dad stands next to her, a look of what looks like sad pride in his eyes. 

I hear a sudden small noise from the kitchen and turn my head, seeing my little cousin Ellie’s head poking out from the open doorway. 

Uncle Daniel quickly stands up, chair scraping across the floor. He walks briskly up to Ellie, kneels in front of her, and grabs her hands, bringing them slowly to his chest. 

“Hey, hey, how did you get down here?” He asks, worry very clear in his tone. Ellie nods her head towards the stairs, unfazed. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, words rushing out. Ellie communicates by grunting, her eyes fixed on me. 

“Oh, don’t worry El, Gracie was just… um…” he clears his throat, turning around quickly to me and the rest of the family. 

“It’s okay Little Dove, I’m okay,” I sniffle, but she is determined. Despite her young age and inability to talk, she understands me more than anyone else. She is the one person who has gotten me through Darla’s death, and I know she’ll be the one to get me through my recovery. 

Ellie gently takes her hands out of Uncle Daniel’s grip and makes her way towards me, limping and wobbling still, after four years. 

Why did she have to be involved? A soft voice whispers in my head. 

Once she reaches me, she stares me right in the eyes, her mouth forming into a small ‘o’. 

“Darla… Darla wanted you to… to know that she loved… that she loved you,” she speaks in a way as if she is feeling every syllable of every word in her mouth. As if she has been rehearsing this for days. 

The tears that were brimming all this time overflow, and I pick Ellie up, holding her tightly in my arms. 

“I may have lost my best friend, but I gained a little sister,” I whisper into her hair, my sobs muffled against its white wispiness. The room is stilled, the world stopping for my Little Dove’s first words since the accident. 

It was four years ago now since Darla, Ellie and I had stepped into that car, coming back from picking El up from daycare. One moment we were there, Darla in the front seat, El and I in the back, when everything went black. I remember waking up, feeling something wet and warm pooling around my lap, and having turned my head despite the urge to close my eyes and curl around myself, I found El, her head slumped over her legs, body limp and unresponsive. I had tried moving, but it was as if I was paralysed, so I sat there helpless, my head craned, looking at the girl who I considered my sister. 

After what seemed like only seconds had passed, I forced my eyes open to find that I was in the hospital, my two girls nowhere to be found. I panicked at that moment, unable to remember the events that had just happened. 

To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even know how I had gotten there. 

Pressing the green button to call the nurse, one came running and I asked her what was going on, why I was here in this room with all these painfully white walls. She had told me that I had gotten into an accident and that El was in the ER with a brain injury, unsure if she was going to make it. I remember croaking Darla’s name, remembered the pained look on the nurse's face as she shook her head, her next words echoing in my ears for the rest of my days without Dee by my side; “I’m sorry hun, but she didn’t make it.” I had screamed her name until I really couldn’t talk for at least the next few days following the news. 

From that day, I had promised to protect El and be as much of a sister as I could to her, and as I now hold her in my arms, I repeat that promise repeatedly in my head.