Her Last Call to Dad

Mom died on the operating table.

The lights in the hospital hallway were painfully bright.

Dad stood outside the operating room as if someone had hollowed him out.

The doctor came out and said a lot of things.

I only understood one of them.

Mom was gone. My little sister was gone too.

Before that day, I thought my sister would come out of Mom's belly all soft and sweet and call me her big sister.

Mom had bought a little pink rattle.

Every day, I leaned against her belly and shook it so my sister could hear.

Mom would laugh. "My Sadie is going to be the best big sister ever."

But Mom would never laugh again.

When we got home, Dad set her memorial photo in the living room.

I stood beside it holding the rattle, trying not to cry out loud.

I was afraid it would make Dad even sadder.

Then he suddenly turned toward me, his eyes bloodshot, like he wanted to tear me apart.

"You're still holding that thing?"

I was so scared that my hand let go.

The rattle hit the floor with a thud.

Dad stormed over and kicked it into the corner.

"It's that thing!

"You shook that stupid toy every single day and kept pestering your mom to give you a sister!"

He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me in front of Mom's photo.

"On your knees!"

My knees slammed into the tile so hard that tears flooded my eyes.

Dad pointed at Mom's picture and shouted at me.

"Say you're sorry to your mother!

"Say you're sorry to the sister who never got to be born!

"Sadie, two people are dead because of you. How are you still alive?"

Crying, I said I was sorry over and over, until my throat burned.

"Dad, I'm sorry.

"I don't want a little sister anymore."

He was so furious he slapped me.

"What good does saying that do now?

"Is that going to bring your mother back?"

My head snapped to the side, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

Dad acted like he didn't see it. He grabbed his coat and turned to leave.

I threw myself at him and wrapped my arms around his leg.

"Dad, please don't go.

"I'm scared being home by myself."

He looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust.

"You're scared?

"What about your mother, lying on that operating table waiting to die? Don't you think she was scared?"

I was crying too hard to speak.

Dad pried my fingers off him one by one, then slammed the door behind him.

The key turned twice in the lock outside. Dad had locked me in.

I couldn't get the door open, so I sat down against it to wait for him to calm down and come home.

The first day, I drank water.

The second day, I found half a bag of stale crackers. They tasted awful, but I ate them anyway.

The third day, there was nothing left.

I was so hungry I couldn't stand up, so I called Dad.

"Dad, I'm really hungry. Can you bring me something to eat?"

He let out an annoyed huff.

"Isn't there flour in the kitchen?

"Eat some flour. You'll live."

He hung up.

I crawled into the kitchen.

The cabinets were high. I dragged over my little stool and fell twice before I finally felt a small bottle all the way in the back.

The bottle had no label.

Inside was white powder.

I figured this must be the flour Dad meant.

But it was bitter.

I took one mouthful, then drank a lot of water.

Not long after, my stomach started to hurt.

It hurt so much I rolled around on the floor.

Little by little, I crawled back into the living room and pulled the rattle out of the corner and into my arms.

"Daisy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to come.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I'll never want a little sister again."

I called Dad again.

This time, he picked up right away.

"Are you ever going to stop?"

The pain was turning everything black, but suddenly I wanted to smile, because I was about to see Mom.

"Dad, I think I can go be with Mom now..."

The other end went quiet for a second.

Then came his angry voice.

"Enough!

"Your mother isn't something you get to use for your little pranks!"

The line went dead.

I held the rattle and slowly closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was standing in the middle of the living room.

On the floor lay a tiny me, still clutching the rattle.

I looked down at her for a long time.

So I really was dead.