Stay

by Ann Douglas

We knew better, but we did it anyway. We stood on the armchair, leaned on the window-ledge and scanned the street below. We admired the row of trees and thought they were very clever to grow in such a straight line. They stayed in one place, but were always busy. In fall they dropped their brown leaves and let light in as they stood bare and proud. In summer they wore lush, green leaves that shaded us from the hot sun and sheltered the busy squirrels. There was a park at the end of our block and we would crane our necks to catch a glimpse of it. Our noses left tell-tale smudges on the little glass panes in the big front window. The cars parked along one side of our street. Papa had a regular spot and we loved to see his car neatly tucked in.  

My sister, Chloe, was born nine minutes before me. She took the lead in everything. I tried my hardest to keep up, but was content in her shadow. She shone bright enough for both of us. She was quick and smart and she loved and protected me. We were a team and were never lonely or bored. With just a look, we sent and received secret messages. We were two halves of a whole. People said we were, “joined-at-the-hip,” or used words like “inseparable.” As long as we were together, we were happy.

We liked to race around the apartment and could reach all four corners in just a few breaths. We loved it there. It was home and it was perfect. Pipes groaned and windows rattled and sometimes the walls would talk. After dark the building creaked and sighed as it settled in for the night. The wooden floors were worn and uneven. Toys rolled away on their own as they travelled on invisible paths to a somewhere else. 

Our furniture had lived in other places before coming to stay with us. Each piece arrived filled with stories about their journey. The books were in charge. They took up the most space and were smarter than everything else in the apartment. They lived on shelves that grew all the way to the ceiling. Books of different sizes and many colours stood upright and close together, or lay stacked on top of each other. They waited patiently to let their words out; to be chosen and have their turn, cradled in someone’s hands. 

Chloe and I liked to wedge ourselves between Mama and Papa on the long couch. We snuggled together on our favourite blanket. It was soft from years of love and laundering. I remember when Mama brought it home. She found it at the second-hand store and said that the minute she saw it, she knew it was perfect for us. She held it up and showed us the shy bunnies who peeped at us from behind bright clumps of flowers. Sometimes Papa would read aloud from his book. Mama would stop what she was doing to listen. She would frown, or giggle, or shake her head; I didn’t always understand what he was reading but I loved the sound of his voice as the words washed over me.

The tiny kitchen was just big enough for Mama and Papa to stand side-by-side. They would tie their aprons and talk about what they wanted to make. They became a two-headed creature with four arms that whisked and stirred, clanging pots and pans as it writhed. We would munch on carrots while we watched the show. We loved the sound of the big knife as it sliced with a swish and a thud. It chopped to a steady beat, crunching through piles of vegetables on the thick wooden board. Papa said no restaurant could match the “Galley.” That’s what he called the kitchen. He described the fragrant dishes and set them down with a flourish. Glorious food covered the chipped veneer table-top and the steam would warm the whole apartment.

We lived on the second floor of an old building. It was draughty and something was always broken, but it was home to our favourite people. The Colonel and Charlie lived next door. Charlie was a ginger tom-cat. He was big and fierce with a jagged scar that cut across his face. He wanted nothing to do with us, even though we tried our best to make friends with him. He would hiss and scowl and eventually stalk off in a huff. The Colonel smelled of pipe tobacco and wintergreen mint. He had a pink, shiny head. All his hair had moved down to his face, where it grew bushy and white. His blue eyes twinkled when he saw us. He usually greeted us with a throaty chuckle and a friendly smile. He used a stick to help him get around. We tracked his movements by the sound of it hitting the old floorboards. He never went out much, but when he did, we heard him grumbling and puffing as he clomped on the stairs. He took his time, careful on the uneven steps. The treads were worn down and dipped in the middle. 

Miss Watson lived across the hall. Mama said she was a spinster. We didn’t know what that meant, but we assumed it was a good thing because she liked to fuss over us and she baked a lot. Delicious smells crept out from under her door. They joined the other smells in the building, creating a one-of-a-kind scent. The kind of smell that hit you when you walked in the front door and meant you were home. A smell that you would not get anywhere else. Miss Watson liked to give us cookies. She reached out with bent fingers that twisted in different directions. Her knuckles seemed to keep growing even though the rest of her had stopped. Her smile plumped up her cheeks and smoothed the wrinkles that usually rested around her mouth. She cupped our faces in her kind hands and we stood perfectly still, calmed by her touch. She gazed at us from warm, brown eyes and spoke in a deep and gentle voice. 

Spring came and we ached to go outside and play. We loved weekends because we could spend extra time with Mama and Papa. We had been on outings all over the city before, but we loved our street and the park at the end of the block. As long as we were together, we didn’t really care where we went. One Saturday, Papa was in his chair by the window, reading the newspaper, when Mama announced that she was taking us to the park. We exploded with excitement and waited impatiently as she filled a basket and got us ready to go out. We grabbed our ball and frisbee and flew down the stairs. Chloe took the lead, as usual.  

As the front door opened, puffs of spring air caressed our faces. The new leaves fluttered on the trees and tulips poked through the dirt in the brick planters on either side of the entrance. We started down the stone steps leading to the sidewalk. When we reached the bottom step, Chloe dropped the ball. It bounced once and then skittered between two parked cars. In a flash, Chloe went after it. Mama told her to stay, but it was too late.  

Tires screeched and a horn blared. We heard a sickening thud. Mama screamed. I stood, frozen to the sidewalk, staring at Chloe as she lay very still on the road. A delivery van loomed over her; the driver’s door flung wide. The man bent down and said something. She twitched and, miraculously, she got up and teetered on unsteady legs, before collapsing into Mama’s arms.  

I heard Papa shouting from the window above. When I looked up, he was gone. Seconds later he burst from the front doors, carrying his car keys and our blanket. Mama took the blanket and wrapped it around Chloe, clutching her tightly to her chest. People gathered on the sidewalk, murmuring and clucking. Miss Watson took me inside and Papa drove away with Mama and Chloe. 

When they came back, Chloe was not with them. They said she had to stay in the hospital. Papa looked shaken and Mama was pale. They sat close together and talked quietly. I was lost without her. A darkness crept over me and tried to swallow me. My chest hurt and I felt hollow inside. I wanted to sleep, to drift to a place where I did not have to miss Chloe. I found our blanket crumpled on the floor behind the door. It had a new stain that spread over one of the bunnies, covering its head and ears like a shadow.

The next morning, the phone rang and Mama rushed to pick it up. She listened for a while and talked quietly into it. When she put the phone down, big tears spilled over her cheeks and dropped to the floor. Papa took her in his arms and held her tight. I stood very still and watched them sway back and forth as they clung to each other. They knelt down and pulled me into their embrace.

I didn’t understand why Chloe wasn’t home yet, so I forced my eyes closed and went back to sleep, hoping she would be there when I woke. I dreamed that Chloe and I ran to the window and stood on the chair to look at the world below; I felt her warm body pressed against mine. When I opened my eyes, all I saw was the empty space where Chloe should have been. It was as if the air was slowly leaving the room, as if it was being sucked out through the window gaps and door spaces. It was hard to breathe. 

Mama came to me. She wore a sad smile and she tried to soothe me with her gentle touch, but I  felt numb. She spoke in a low voice and said she needed to wash the blanket. She reached for it and tried to move me aside. I bared my teeth and snarled. Mama drew back sharply, her eyes wide with shock. I had never done that before, but I had never lost my sister before. I gathered the blanket under me and curled up into a tight ball. I tucked my tail and buried my nose into the crook of my paws. My ears flopped over my eyes. I inhaled Chloe’s scent and dreamed that she was beside me on our blanket.