When She Thought of Jessie
When she thought of Jessie, she thought of the smattering of freckles sprinkled across her nose. Of the brown-to-honey-gold curls that framed her face. The large, green eyes filled with light and mischief, and the smile that showed two big teeth that would require braces in her future.
She thought of Jessie’s sing-song voice, and the way that she would insist on holding the lead when they took the dog for a walk. The way she would still ask for piggy-backs even as she got older, but would then also insist on picking her up to show her how strong she was.
When she thought of Jessie, she thought of moments of ease and joy. She thought of exhaling after holding a breath. Of feeling the cool ocean on her skin on a hot day. She thought of love and happiness. A bright spot in a dark world.
What she didn’t think about when she thought of Jessie was darkness. Hidden razors and pocket knives. Blood dripping down Jessie’s arms. A supply of band-aids in her backpack. Long sleeves even on the hot days, in hopes of disguising the evidence of her pain.
She didn’t think about Jessie’s constant fear of the world crumbling around her. Of her family dying, and the pressure of doing everything in her power to stop it. Checking the windows. Looking under the bed. Saying goodnight in the “perfect” way.
What she didn’t think about when she thought of Jessie was the fear in her parents’ hearts, and the hopelessness in hers; nor the pills in Jessie’s hands, trailing down from her mouth and into her stomach. What she didn’t want to think about was how many times this had happened before.
The fear. The misery. The scars. The pills. The hospital.
What she didn’t want to think about when she thought of Jessie was the seemingly endless loop that Jessie’s life became. Not of the joy like she’d always hoped it would be, but of misery. A far worse misery than her own had been.
Then what she thought about when she thought of Jessie was that feeling, a lump in her throat that fell to her stomach. She thought of that day, maybe a few weeks before Jessie started high school, and the fear that Jessie would have it worse than her. That Jessie would be forced to grow up.
Now, when she thinks of Jessie, she thinks of a girl who became her little sister and best friend. Clumpy mascara and straightened hair. “Have a good day” and “I’m proud of you” texts. Of the fear and worry and love she has for her. How some days it’s all-consuming.
When she thinks of Jessie, she thinks of fun and joy and sadness. Of Jessie clutching her in bed as they watch a horror movie, the thrill of the moment being all that matters, and then of Jessie clutching her in bed as she cries.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Life.” Jessie replies.
But one day she hopes when she thinks of Jessie, she’ll think of the woman she’s become; off the past she’s survived. She knows she’ll be proud of her. She’s proud of her every day.
Cover Photo by Antony Bou. Edited by Caitlin Andrews.