The Last Time I Saw You

It was

Christmas.

Three years

ago,

maybe more.

*

My siblings

and I

were in a room

separate

from everyone else.

It was in grandma’s

previous house

and

we just didn’t

want to be

around everyone.

*

Other than

Mom,

you checked on

us, too.

Talked to us

more than

we talked back.

Made us

laugh.

And you

taught us how

to play

checkers.

*

I’m sorry

to say

I don’t

remember

how to

play

anymore.

*

The last

thing

I saw you do

or say

was when my

sister approached you

and you were worried

something

was wrong when

all she wanted

was a hug.

*

It’s kind of

nice that

seeing you

smile, laugh,

and hug my

sister are my last

memory of you.

*

Our relatives

weren’t

exactly nice

when they’d talk

about you.

You were a

drug addict.

You were going

through things that

they judged you for.

Yes, you

did some messed

up things,

supposedly,

but you were

hurting

in plain sight.

*

I wish

they helped you

instead

of gossiping

about you.

I wish

I had the balls

to push away my anxiety

and talk to you,

too.

*

Now,

I can’t.

*

The day

you

died,

grandmother

was in hysterics.

My parents

left to be with

her and assist her.

And

when they came

back,

Mom was upset

and we were told

you weren’t here

anymore.

*

For a few days,

we thought

it was an

accidental

overdose.

But then,

a note was mentioned

by a relative,

located near

your body.

*

I guess our

parents

tried to spare us

the truth.

*

I cried in

front of grandma

and

I think it bothered

her that me and

so very few were

crying for you.

*

One relative said

he’d never cry for

you.

And then,

he did, when he

read what my sister

shared about our

last moments

with you.

*

Mom would take

your ashes

with her when

she’d bike,

because she never got

to do it when you were

alive.

I thought that was

really sweet.

*

No one else

really

talks about

you. Just me, my

siblings, Mom,

and grandmother.

That’s really

depressing,

huh?

*

Grandma blamed your

father for not

being around.

I’m blaming him

and your whore

of a mother.

She literally was

a fucked-up person

who now hides

from her past

behind her

new family,

far away.

Your parents

can go

fuck

themselves.

*

You

deserved

a better

family

than

this.

*

Sometimes,

I get confused

in my head

and

second guess

my memories

but honestly,

I think my

brain

just likes to

gaslight

me, make me

think

I’m remembering wrong.

Plus,

my family are

unreliable

narrators, who

keep switching up

their story, each time they

retell them; I assume

the more fucked up

it starts sounding,

the more truthful the

retelling is.

*

So, this is how I

remember it.

My sister,

too.

But everyone else?

I guess it

didn’t happen.