I'm not going to post any more than this until the whole story is written, and I'm about halfway through. You will need to have the Bradley Hand ITC font installed for it to display correctly. One thing to note, although it will be clear very early in the story, is that the story is originally from 12-year-old Jake's perspective, and is being read to an audience by 16-year-old Jake.

  Dramatis Personae
  Jake – The protagonist.
  Cathy – Jake’s sister.
  Mom – Mom.
  Grandma – Mom’s Mom.
  Grandpa – Do I really need to say it?
  Pumpkin Face – The hamster.

  As I sat in the church pew with the preacher rambling on and on, all I could think about was just how much I would miss my sister. Cathy was my big sister, my best friend, my protector and my confidant. I’m only in sixth grade,¹ and short for my age to boot. ‘Why do we add ‘to boot’ when we say things like that? Weird,’ I thought. Middle school was proving to be a bit much for me. I felt like any moment I would start bawling like a baby, but when I looked at our Mom, I felt I had to be a big boy, as now it was just the two of us. She was sitting there, looking small and withdrawn, in spite of the fact she was much taller than I was, she had been a college basketball star. Mom says I will start growing soon, but even so, it isn’t any fun being the shortest one in the entire school. One of the few things that she had told me about my Dad was that he had been short until he was in high school.

  I moved closer to Mom and, as I laid my head on her shoulder, she wrapped an arm around my shoulders to comfort me, saying, “It will be OK, Jake.” It amazed me she could think of me at that moment, and the simple act brought me to tears. My tears seemed to break my Mom, and she just started sobbing, uncontrollably. That was more than I could take and, as the two of us sat there sobbing our eyes out, the damn preacher just kept rattling on about God’s grace. ‘Where had God’s grace been when He took Cathy?’ I realized at that moment that I couldn't rely on anyone else, and that I would have to do something special to help her. Cathy and my Mom had always been as close as a mother and daughter could be; losing her only daughter, I knew, would be something that would be hard for her to overcome.

  After the funeral, we had a whole bunch of people come over to the house, many of them bringing food. I stood around with Mom as people tried to say nice things, things that they thought would bring us comfort. Me, I just wanted them all to go home. After a little while, Mom told me it would be OK for me to go upstairs to lie down for a bit, and that she would come get me after everyone had left.

  I sat on my bed and wondered how I could survive junior high without her. I wondered how I would get through the coming days. Hell, I wondered how I would get through the next five minutes. There was a huge empty hole inside me. I felt like an empty eggshell. But I also knew that I had to help my Mom, and I felt helpless to do so. ‘What are we going to do without my sister? No one could replace her, no one could ever fill that empty hole.’ I went into her room, hoping I could feel a little bit of her presence.

  Cathy had a very girly room, which was spotless, as usual, with a four-poster canopied bed taking up the middle of the room. She had posters of a couple of bands (with boys, of course) and pictures of flowers on the walls. There was a strange kind of desk with drawers and a mirror that was filled with all kinds of girl's stuff, most of which I had no idea of what they were. Stuffed animals were on the bed, along with her fancy pillows, and against the wall was a shelf with her doll collection. In one corner, she had a computer of her own, while I had to make do with the family computer. I picked up one of her stuffies, and I could smell her shampoo or lotion, or something, so I lay down, crying into the silly little thing.

  The next thing I knew, I woke up very disoriented. As I realized where I was, I looked around for my sister, ready to apologize for being in her room, when I remembered the past couple of months. She had been feeling sick for a while, and the doctors hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong. Finally one of them did some kind of test, and we found out she had cancer. The idiots had thought she was just a silly girl, and hadn’t bothered to run a test for childhood cancers until Mom insisted. If they had only caught it earlier, she could have had treatment, and at least a chance to live. As it was, it was a Stage 4 cancer somewhere in her girl parts, and it had already moved into other parts of her body. They said it was meta-sized,² so I guess that means it just got too big to cure? Less than two months between the diagnosis and the funeral.

  I realized I couldn’t hear the people anymore, so I went downstairs to find mom just sitting on the couch, looking at a photo album, sort of. It seemed more like she was just staring into space, even though her eyes were fixed on the album.

  “Mom…,” I started.

  “Cathy?” Mom practically screeched, then jumped off of the couch and crashed over the coffee table, shattering it into pieces. “Oh, son, I’m sorry, you sounded like her for a moment,” she said after a moment. “I was looking over these pictures, and for a little while, I just got lost in memories.”

  “It’s OK, Mom,” I replied. “Can I look through them with you?”

  We spent the next few hours looking through photo albums, some of them the ones she would put together of just me or my sister, and others of the whole family. We even looked at the old ones, the ones with Dad in there, as he had left us when I was just an infant. Oddly, there weren’t very many of me when I was little. ‘Maybe Mom didn’t feel like taking pictures after he left?' Mom never would tell me what happened, and I knew better than to push. Cathy had sometimes thought she could remember him, but I think she just remembered what Mom told her about him.

  “It’s about bedtime for you, unless you are hungry. Were you able to eat very much of what people brought over?”

  Just about then, my tummy gave off a rumble that just about rivaled the sound of thunder. “Does that answer your question?” I said, as she smiled at me. I think, under normal circumstances, she would have giggled about that, but neither one of us was in any mood to laugh or giggle.

  Mom fixed up some food for us from what they brought over – there was still so much food that, even though she had stuffed the refrigerator and the freezer with casseroles, salads, breads, cakes, along with about any other food you can think of, there was still a whole table full of stuff. Cathy had been very popular in school, and was one of the highest-ranking girl scouts in the state. She had even been one of the most vocal supporters of the movement to have girls allowed in the Boy Scouts. But, by the time it happened in February, she was too sick to participate. Even so, there were many of the Boy Scout members who came by to ‘pay their respects.’ ‘How do you ‘pay respects?’ Is there a special kind of money you pay them with? If so, I don’t think we collected any.’ Sorry about that; my mind takes these odd journeys sometimes. Let me get back to the story. Jake. Between her friends, Mom’s friends from when she used to work, the church – and people who just felt like they needed to be there – I think half the town had stopped by or been at the funeral. We both started yawning halfway through, and we both went to bed without a word.

  Since I had had a good long nap, I woke up well before the sun came up and lay there for a while. It just didn’t seem fair. ‘Why is it that some people die so young, who are such good people and who could have done so much, when others that are vile and do nothing but hurt others live long lives? There are days when I don’t like God very much, and there are days when I wonder if he really is real. I’ve never ‘felt the holy spirit’ or anything, but it sure seems like other people do. I wonder if they are just trying to convince themselves he is real, because they need that comfort?’ With those kinds of thoughts running through my mind, I decided to get up, in spite of it being dark outside, and try to find something to do to get my mind off such somber thoughts.

  My room was a typical boy’s room, I suppose. I didn’t have a spotless room, but I didn’t have a total mess, either. I had my own posters up on the walls, with my favorite being the one of Millie Bobbie Brown in Enola Holmes. Mom was a big Sherlock Holmes fan, and had read me many of his stories over the years. She always told me that if you think hard enough, and logically enough, that you can find the solution to any problem. Her favorite quote was, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ I had a collection of baseball cards, bobbleheads and a few souvenirs from games I had gone to on a shelf, along with my video games. Since I didn’t have a computer in my room, Mom had let me keep the game system I had won, along with a TV in my room. I tried to busy myself with ‘Marvel’s Spider Man’ but my mind kept wandering, even though I was playing my favorite game. I thought briefly about trying to play a multiplayer game, but the few friends I had that were playing my favorite multiplayer game, ‘Among Us’ would all be asleep. Besides, if I can’t pay attention to ‘Spider man,’ I knew I couldn’t pay attention to a silly game like ‘Among Us.’ What? I liked it! I hate interruptions, but go ahead, ask if you must. Sigh. Yes, I know it wasn’t popular in 2019, but don’t you people remember how popular it became during Covid? Now, let me get back to reading my 12-year-old self’s story. Jake. Yes, I know you know who I am, but this is also being transcribed for people to read.

  It was still dark, so I went to see if Mom was awake and heard voices in her room. I opened the door a little and peeked in, but it was still dark and all I could make out was Mom, asleep in her bed. Just as I was about to close the door, I heard her mumble something. The only word I could make out was ‘Jackie.’ I crept into the room, until I could hear her more clearly. It seemed like she was talking in her sleep.

  “Oh, Tom. She’s gone now, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I miss her so very much, there was so much I was looking forward to doing with her. I’ll never get to see her go to a dance, have a boyfriend, graduate school, get married…. Hell, I’ll never get to do anything with her, ever again. I miss you, in spite of everything, although I’d never take you back. As much as I adore my little Jake, I can’t help but remember when they thought we would have another girl; at least I would have had Jackie still. I miss my Jackie.”

  I soon realized that Mom wasn’t talking in her sleep, but was just talking to Dad as if he was still here, sort of. There was a photo album I hadn’t ever seen on the bed, so I grabbed that, backed out of the room, and went back to my room to think. ‘They thought I was going to be a girl?’ As I sat on my bed, that idea just kept going round and round in my head, like a hamster in his wheel. With that image in my mind, I went and made sure Pumpkin Face had food and water, I hadn’t been paying him much attention since Cathy died, but I had always made sure he had food and water, checking it several times a day. I got him just before Halloween last year, which is why I gave him that goofy name. Between his color and his round face, it just seemed to fit. But it didn’t stop me from wondering what life would have been like if I had been born a girl. It certainly would have made it easier being short, as no one thinks twice about a short girl. Boys, on the other hand, well, let’s just say some of my classmates loved to stuff me in a locker, along with other less fun things. I never went into the school bathrooms alone unless I had no other choice.

  I must have sat there for quite some time, because I suddenly realized I could feel the sun on the back of my head. It had been as dark as night – that’s a laugh; isn’t night always dark? – when I had sat down. I didn’t really find it funny, though. As I sat there, I wondered if I would ever find anything funny again. Today was Saturday, but I had no desire to go watch TV as I didn’t think even Warner Brothers cartoons could make a difference. I took out Pumpkin Face and played with him for a little while, letting him run through my hands over and over. There was something kind of calming and soothing about having the little guy run across my hands as I switched them back and forth. Finally, I heard Mom’s door open, and I put my little buddy away, making sure to give him some treats when I did.

  When Mom came into the room, I could tell that she had not slept much last night, if any. She looked like the proverbial 10 miles of bad road, as Grandpa used to say. I got up and hugged her, saying, “How about I help you make breakfast today?”

  With a sad kind of a smile, she replied, “Sure, thank you, precious gir… sorry Jake, that is something Cathy would do.” We went downstairs where I did my best to help her, but I burned the toast and spilled the orange juice. I knew Cathy wouldn’t have made those mistakes and resolved to do better. Mom just quit asking me to do things, though, so I just sat watching her. When she got out the stuff to set the table, she grabbed Cathy’s favorite ‘Rocky and Bullwinkle’ glass, the one she inherited when my Aunt Stacy died. She sat down with it, and stared at it for a moment, saying, “Jake, it just isn’t the same. There is something special about doing things between a mother and a daughter, and I’ll just have to forget about ever doing that again.”

  After all the thinking I had been doing, and after listening to the things that Mom had been saying, something seemed to click. I knew what it was I would have to do. I’ve eliminated the impossible; I can’t bring back my sister. So, now I have to try the improbable.

1. Sixth Grade: For those on the Eastern Side of the pond, that is the equivalent of your Year 7.

2. Metastasized: Cancer that has spread to other parts of the body.

Yes, I had Mom help me with the footnotes when I was 12, as Roberto didn’t understand some of these. What do you mean, I forgot to say Jake? Don’t you think the readers could have figured it out by now? Oh, right, you don’t know my comments will be in italics then.