Moon Pies

"I'm sorry." I said as I held her hand. I held her palm with both of mine, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumbs.

She didn't look at me. Her stare was blank and expressionless, I couldn't tell if she were mad or upset. I knew I had hurt her though.

"Please, look at me. Please say something." I said.

The television played in the background; no sound came from it. I wished I could've turned the volume all the way up so I wouldn't need to worry about anyone listening in on our conversation. Except, I didn't want to reach over her to grab the remote.

Her strawberry blonde hair was in her face, I used my index finger to move it from her eyes. She didn't stop me.

"I don't know how many times I need to apologize Margeret, but I'll keep going until you forgive me. Please, just say something."

So, this is what they mean by a silence is deafening. It was so loud that my ears pierced, my heartbeat pounded behind my eyes.

Tears started to swell on the rims of my eyelids, I used my fingers to pinch between my eyes. Pushing the tears back to where they came.

I thought back to when we were kids, how she would punch me in the arm when she was mad. How I would yell for our mom, and that I would pinch the fat of her bicep to make her cry in return.

Or when we were a small bit older and would sneak out from our rooms in the middle of the night. If our Pops would've caught us, he would've unleashed the belt on us for waking him up. Like he had done so, often times in the past. His thick leather smacking on the bare cushion of my bum. Margarete sitting in the corner, eyes closed, and hands cupped over her ears. Her visible flinch as she heard the smack of the leather.

So, we had the masterful plan of wearing a giant blanket over our heads, walking one in front of the other like a hooded caterpillar. If the door opened, we would drop to the ground and let the blanket cover us-hiding us in its darkness.

She would reach up (since she was taller at the time) and grab mooncakes for us from the top cabinet. Stuffing a few in her pockets and we'd rush out.

We would use the window from the attic to climb out onto the roof. Lay the blanket flat on the shingles and then lie on our backs, looking up at the twinkling stars and the lightning bugs dancing around them. Gobbling up moon pies as we watched in silence.

I wish it were like that again. I wish she would punch me in the arm or in the chest, anywhere really. A punch would definitely make me feel better.

"Would you just look at me?" But she wouldn't even do that, she would just stare at the television. As if I wasn't even here. Like I meant nothing, the last twenty years of our lives fell to nothing.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" I cried out. I sat on the chair in the corner, my hand grabbed the hair in the back of my head as I shook my head back and forth.

"If I could take it all back I would, you know that yeah?" The room was hollow. Only the soft sound of a beep rang in my ears. It shouldn't have been so piercing, but it was, it was violent even. Felt like the beeping was a line that came to a stiff point and jutted itself into my eardrums.

People spoke, out in the hall. A quiet murmur, but nothing much. No loud neighbors thankfully, at least not as long as I had been here.

I was the loud neighbor to whoever was next to us or below us, but oh well. No broomsticks tapped on the floor yet.

Tapping. My foot tapped, slowly sometimes and other times fast. Sometimes it was the heel of my foot, it could also be the toes of my shoe.

Still no response.

"Moms on the way, you know. Maybe you'll say something to her when she gets here?" I said like a question, but I already knew the answer.

My hand went to my forehead and went down to my mouth, rubbing my face along the way. It rested at my chin, waiting.

My other hand used a fork as an extension of my body. Scooting around frozen peas and microwaveable chicken on a paper plate. I mean that's all this is right, glorified frozen food out of a microwave?

Knocks softly tapped at the door.

"What happened?" A womans voice said softly, hoarsely.

"Mom." The tears came back. "I'm so sorry." They streamed down my warm cheeks as soft sobs came from my mouth muffled into my mom's shoulder.

"What. Happened?" She asked again very direct.

"I picked her up from the store like she asked. W-w-when I, when I," I sucked in my bottom lip over and over again with sharp inhales.

"Spit it out, Aston!"

"W-w-we were arguing about-it doesn't matter." My hands cupped my face, my cheeks warm against my fingers. Water from the canales of my tears curving around the grooves of each fingerprint. "I got mad, I started g-g-going fast. Really fast. Some car cut us off and I p-p-panicked and hit the brakes."

"Okay, and then what!" Her hands were on my shoulders now, nails digging into my skin.

"The car flipped!" The roof of the car scraping against the cement, Margeret's screams, red and blue lights all came back to me in a flurry of memories.

The sobbing kept going, I felt like I couldn't breathe. The dam broke and there was no backup plan to stop the water all released at once.

My mouth shaped an "O" as my throat would constrict and release, gagging started when my stomach would push up and down until I coughed a sob out again.

"Excuse me, Misses Willow, I presume?" A voice called from beyond the door.

"Yes." My mom replied. Her voice was wavering.

They started to talk as the high pitch ringing came back, I looked down at my sister in the hospital bed.

The small girl who punched my shoulder staring back at me.

"Do you believe further interventions are-" I heard the doctor asking my mom. I looked back as she cupped her mouth, her knees starting to shake. I stood there against the bed.

"I'm sorry." I said as I held her hand in both of mine.