Dear AnyOneGirl…

Dear Lucy, When was the last time you were here? If you walk down the hall upstairs, there are torn pieces of refill paper sellotaped over the light switches – “DON’T TOUCH!” scrawled across each one in blue ballpoint. My 10-year-old sister is scared of the dark, and not much else. Her bedroom is at […]

Dear Lucy,

When was the last time you were here?

If you walk down the hall upstairs, there are torn pieces of refill paper sellotaped over
the light switches – “DON’T TOUCH!” scrawled across each one in blue ballpoint.

My 10-year-old sister is scared of the dark, and not much else.

Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. She sleeps with the door wide open, the hallway
light a hard yellow at the blackest hour, til morning creeps in and the light bulbs strain
to compete with the sun.

Often she’ll push my door open late at night. Right big toe rubbing left shin bruise.
Drowning in some one-size-fits-all t-shirt from last year’s school sports day, the
ribbed neck hanging off one bony shoulder. Faded cotton knickers with purple
flowers and bunchy elastic. Clumps of matted hair stuck to her face from crying,
brown eyes like mine rubbed red.

“I can’t sleep,” she’ll say. “It’s too dark.”

So I take her back to her room next door; stepping over plastic trinkets, wire-bound
notebooks, pens with pink & purple ink, stuffed cats and bears; jewellery boxes filled
with baby teeth, foreign coins, badges from athletics, but no jewellery. Strewn with
small things that make up her small world, where dark is the worst thing that can
happen.

When I was 10 my best friend and I ripped holes in the asses of our jeans and
plastered stick-on tattoos to the backs of each others thighs before school. We painted
our nails black and baby blue. When I was 11, my friends started smoking. The year
after that I decided 43 kilos was too heavy and went on my first diet.

Charlie comes up behind me and I can hear her stuffing laughter back into her mouth,
trying to be quiet. She clasps both hands over my eyes. Up close they are like little
slabs of salmon, I can feel the sweat on her flushed palms.

I keep my eyes open, and want to tell her how even when you can’t see what’s around
you, it’s not always that bad. Sometimes the dark is the safest place to be.

Love,

Amy

Written by Amy Fraser. Read more of Amy’s works here at onislands