“What are you doing?”
I’m furiously pulling books from off my bedroom shelves, tossing them into a pile on the floor. “Looking for something. A book.”
“Won’t any of these you’ve thrown on the floor do?”
“It’s a book Violet and I used to read when we were kids. It was her favorite.”
“See Spot Run?”
“What? No.” I crawl over Violet’s bed. She hasn’t slept here in months, so the sheets and bedding have been stripped from it. I move to our desk and start yanking drawers open, searching among the mess of papers, hair accessories and schoolbooks. “I know it’s in here. I saw it not too long ago. At least I think I did.”
“Um. Hello?”
I look up at the ceiling, exasperated. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”
“You do know I know everything, right? Since I’m God and all.”
“Stop saying that! It’s sacrilegious. Besides, if you were God, Jedidiah would be able to hear you too, since he collects energy from beast masters.”
“Ascended masters.”
“Yeah. Those guys.”
“Well, suit yourself. Don’t mind me. I’ll be here. Knowing exactly what you’re looking for aaaaand exactly where it is.”
I sit on the edge of my bed. “Fine. It’s called—”
“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? I know.”
Right. Okay, maybe this isn’t a voice after all. It’s only me. I’m talking to myself. Of course I would know what book I’m looking for because... I’m me.
“Would you like to know where it is? Because if you really are talking to yourself, you’d know.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to read my thoughts?”
“What? I can’t help it.”
A knock at the door startles me. I jump up. “Yeah?”
“Indigo!” It’s Alfred. “Everyone is downstairs waiting for you.”
“I’m finishing up my letter. Be down in five minutes.”
“Mom said, ‘If you don’t come back with Indigo, I’m gonna go straight postal up in here, so help me God.’ End quote.”
“Straight postal?” I scratch my head. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, Indigo! Just hurry the eff up!” Alfred replies.
I glance at the ceiling. “Tell me where it is. Quick.”
“Oh, now you wanna know? Now you trust me?”
“Tell me. Please.”
“Closet. Top shelf. Cardboard box.”
“Why would it be up there?”
“Your mom. Cleaning in here a few years ago. Put a bunch of books up there. Wanted to donate them and never got around to it. Typical Mom stuff.” The voice snorts. “You know how she is.”
I rush to the closet and pull the long string that turns on the light. It’s a cluttered mess, clothes on the floor, shoes strewn about, school papers and old boxes crammed into corners. I carefully climb on top of a dresser rammed inside.
“If you fall, you’ll break your other arm. Maybe dislocate your other shoulder.”
“Don’t jinx me.”
“No such thing.”
Another loud bang on the door. Alfred’s muffled voice is more agitated than ever. “Indigo!”
“I’m coming! Geez luss!”
The dresser wobbles. Considering it’s from a cheap chain store, cost $19.99 and me and Vee put it together with one of those disposable offset screwdrivers, I should be very afraid right now. I grab on to the top shelf to steady myself, stand up on my tiptoes and peek over the edge. Pushed to the far back, up against the wall, is an old, sunk-in packing box I’ve never seen before. I pull it forward, blow dust off the top, rip open the flaps and tip the box forward to examine the contents. Inside is a large stack of old books. I dig around until I see the weathered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
“Told ya. Now do you believe I’m God?”
“Arch a rainbow across the sky or something and I might.” I jump down from the dresser, fling off my shirt, tug open one of the drawers and grab a tank top. I stare at my mesh sling. “Do I really even need this thing?”
“Yes.”
“I disagree.” I peel up the Velcro straps, freeing my broken arm, and throw the sling onto the floor. I groan with sweet relief.
“You shouldn’t have taken that off.”
I move my arm slowly back and forth, trying to get used to the weight of the cast. The movement makes my shoulder throb. “I can’t function with one arm stuffed inside a shirt, inside a sling.” I clumsily pull the tank over my head and rush from the closet to my desk, grab a pen and begin writing furiously.
“Whatcha writin’?”
“Don’t you know everything?”
“Well...yeah, but I do enjoy a good conversation.”
“I’m writing my letter to Violet.”
“Saying goodbye?”
“No. It’s not really even a letter but you already know that. It’s part of my plan. I’m thinking outside of the box like you told me to.”
“You’re listening to me! This is so exciting!”
I write more feverishly than I’ve ever written in my life. Just as Alfred kicks the door, hard, I finish.
“Indigo!”
I rush to the door and jerk it open. Alfred’s baby face and gentle features are forced into a scowl. He looks down at my arm.
“What happened to your sling?”
“I don’t need it.”
“Indigo, your arm is broken.”
“Yeah, but not in half.”
“But your shoulder.”
“I’ll be fine.”
His expression softens. “Do you think—” he pauses, flips his Seahawks cap backward “—she’ll go to hell for this? And us too, for letting her do it? We could be seen as accomplices. I don’t wanna go to hell, Indi.”
“Tell him there’s no such place.”
I lurch forward and wrap my arm around him, hugging Alfred closely for the first time in like...ever. “There’s no such place, little brother.”
He seems a bit shocked by the burst of affection but doesn’t pull away. Lays his head gently on my shoulder instead and sighs.
As Alfred and I make our way down the stairs, the smell of burning wood sticks wafts up to my nose, singeing my throat. I notice Violet. Her wheelchair is locked in place in front of the fireplace, facing the family. Her hair has been perfectly straightened, the long, freshly pressed strands pulled neatly over her shoulder. She wears a gorgeous burnt-orange sweater dress that must be new since I’ve never seen it. Thankfully, Violet and I aren’t the type of twins who wear matching clothes and hairstyles. We always found it to be a bit...horror movie–ish, so we made sure to stick to our own distinctive vibe. I’m more of a jeans, T-shirt and ponytail kind of a girl, while Violet is the prim and proper fashionista who spends at least an hour a day fixing her hair.
The rich color of the dress makes her light brown skin glow like the beacon of light she is. Even though her face is a bit swollen from all the steroids and she has her signature cannula wrapped around her ears with nasal prongs stuck up her nose, she doesn’t look like she’s dying. She looks like a princess. Both hands rest in her lap on top of her prescription. The petrifying bottle holding medicine that could painlessly end her life today. I cringe at the sight of it. Because her skin is a bit paler than mine now, the mole under her eye is more accentuated, making her look like a demure runway model. I know I have the same mole, but there’s no denying it looks better on Vee. Everything looks better on Vee—my face included.
She glances up as Alfred and I descend the stairs and our eyes meet for the first time in weeks. She gives me a polite wave. It’s the only communication I’ve had from her in at least a week. It makes my heart ache and want to burst with happiness all at the same time. She talked to me! Maybe not with actual words, but still! I wave back.
“So, what’s your master plan?”
“Shh,” I whisper as I settle into the cushy La-Z-Boy chair that’s so old and raggedy it squeaks whenever it moves. “I need you quiet so I can do this properly.”
“Oh. Gotcha. My nonexistent lips are sealed.”
I look over at Mom, seated on the couch beside Dad, as Alfred settles in next to her. She gives me a perturbed stare. Did she see me talking to myself? I smile awkwardly in return.
Michelle, Drew and the boys are all squished onto the love seat. Jedidiah sits on the arm of the couch beside Alfred.
Violet passes the prescription bottle back and forth between her hands. “I—” she takes a deep breath “—love you guys.”
Hearing her voice makes my eyes well. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her speak. Speaking has proved difficult for Violet in the end stage of pulmonary fibrosis. The air sacs in her lungs are rapidly forming new scar tissue every day. Usually when a person breathes, oxygen moves through the air sacs to their bloodstream. But for people with Violet’s condition, the scar tissue forming is so thick, oxygen cannot pass through properly. There’s no known cure, and the causes vary from genetic to environmental...to no cause at all. In the end stages of the disease, you suffocate to death. A lung transplant could extend life. But Violet’s not a candidate for a transplant. As a result of an experimental drug called Nathaxopril, a drug that effectively slowed the progression of Vee’s pulmonary fibrosis, her kidneys are failing. So on top of her lung struggles, she now needs dialysis once a week. People with other failing organs don’t really qualify for lung transplants. And besides, she’s in the final stage of the disease now. Weeks away from her imminent death. I quickly dab at my eyes before tears can fall. Dad wraps an arm around Mom.
Violet adjusts her cannula, continues. “This isn’t suicide. Please don’t think that. This is a chance—” she takes another deep, pained breath “—to end my suffering. I’m going to be with God.” Another deep breath. She pauses.
“Take your time, baby,” Mom says encouragingly.
Violet sniffs. “After I hear your letters, I’ll take my medicine, lie comfortably in bed and...go to sleep. The medicine takes a few hours to work but I’ll sleep the whole time. No pain involved.” She looks over to Jedidiah. “Right?”
“I’ll be beside you the entire time, Violet.” Jedidiah stands and turns to speak to the family. “I’ll be communicating with her guides as she transitions into the higher realms. The more family in the room the better. Your loving energies will work as a force to direct Violet. Transitioning isn’t always easy. Spirits have been known to get lost.”
“Like in The Conjuring?” Nam asks.
“That movie was scary,” Brandon adds.
Drew frowns. “You two watched The Conjuring?”
Nam points at Alfred. “Uncle Alfred let us.”
Drew turns to Alfred. “Really? The Conjuring? No wonder they’ve been having nightmares.”
“Go ahead, honey,” Mom urges Violet, tossing Drew an evil glare. “We’re listening.”
Violet continues, “I will watch over you guys from the other...side.” She places a hand over her chest to gently massage it. I’ve never seen her do that before. Maybe this speech is causing her physical pain. “I’ll be your guardian angel now. I promise.” She transfers the prescription bottle back and forth between her hands again. “That’s all I...wanted to say.”
There is a long stretch of silence. Everyone sits with dejected looks on their faces. As if maybe they thought she was gonna say, Just kidding, y’all. I’m not killing myself today! Gotcha!
Alfred flips his Seahawks cap backward and forward, his new nervous tic. Michelle blows her nose and wipes tears. Drew looks despondently at the floor. The boys stare at Violet with wide-eyed fascination, as if waiting for her to drop dead at any moment. All those two need is a bag of popcorn and they’d be good as gold.
“Can I go first?” Alfred jumps from the couch like it’s on fire.
Violet smiles sweetly. Nods in agreement.
Crap. I wanted to go first. I need to go first. But Alfred’s already moving to stand front and center. He takes a knee beside Violet’s wheelchair.
“‘Violet.’” Alfred reads from the page with visibly shaking hands. “‘Please don’t tell Indigo or Michelle but—’” he leans forward and whispers “‘—you’re my favorite sister.’”
She smiles, seemingly enjoying Alfred’s letter.
He goes on, “‘I know I’m your favorite brother. But you don’t have any other brothers. So yeah. But even so, I wanted my letter to be your favorite letter. So I thought a lot about what to say. I was gonna do a bunch of remember whens. Like, remember when you, me and Indi snuck onto the Amtrak downtown and ended up in Portland and Mom and Dad had to drive four hours to pick us up?’”
I remember that. We were only ten and Alfred eight. Mom and Dad almost got arrested.
“‘But then I thought...nah. Remember whens aren’t all that interesting.’” Alfred pauses, fumbles with the paper. It falls onto the floor. “Sorry everybody. Shit.”
“Oooh, he said shit!” Brandon says to his dad.
“Now you just said shit, idiot,” Nam replies.
“Be quiet,” Drew scolds. “Both of you.”
Mom, Dad and Michelle murmur things like, “That’s okay, Alfred,” or “Take your time. You’re fine.”
Alfred flips his cap forward. “‘So I settled in on this. Five important dates I want you to promise me you’ll be there for. In ghostly form or whatever they call it when you’re dead.’” He clears his throat. “‘Number one. The day I graduate from high school. Because Mom and Dad seem to think that’ll never happen.’”
Mom lays her head on Dad’s shoulder, wipes her eyes with a handkerchief.
Alfred continues reading. “‘I want you there to whisper in their ears, “I told you he could do it.” Number two. When I get married. I want you to be my best ghost. Sort of like a best man but way cooler.’”
Violet no longer looks like she’s enjoying Alfred’s letter. In fact, she appears downright miserable. She wipes tears as they flow freely.
“‘When I get my first job because Michelle says, “That’ll be the day.” So I want you there to say, “Yep, what a day it is, F-R. F-R.”’”
Dad looks over at me and I mouth, “For real, for real.”
Dad rolls his eyes.
Alfred flips his Seahawks cap backward and then forward again. “‘Number four. When I have a kid, because Mom says that’ll be my sweet karma and she can’t wait to see how bad the kid will be. I want you there to be his or her guardian angel. In case the kid turns out like me. And lastly, I want you to be there when I die, so your face is the first face I see when I get to the other side.’” I’ve never seen Alfred cry, at least not before this very moment. He slides off his Seahawks cap and hands it to Violet. “It’s my favorite.” He cries. “I want you to have it.”
Violet takes the cap and places it on her head. Alfred leans forward and the two embrace, crying onto one another’s shoulders.
I look over at Mom and Dad. Mom’s head is in her hands. Dad is rubbing her back. I hate to interrupt such a moment, but it’s now or I’ll have to sit through more sad letters. And I really don’t wanna endure Michelle wailing through hers with another Category 5 cry.
I jump up. The La-Z-Boy squeaks. “I’m going next!”
Everyone seems startled at my burst of enthusiasm, but no one objects. I step in front of the group as Alfred returns to the couch. Violet fiddles with her bottle of medicine, doesn’t look up at me.
I stare down at my stained boots in an effort to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, clutching Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland tightly in my hand, my letter to Violet stuffed inside. I clear my throat and start softly. “I have lots to say but never speak. Knowledge is the thing I eat. Inside me adventures you will find. Quests and treasures of every kind. For all those that wish to visit me. Your hands are the ultimate key.” I turn to Violet and ask kindly, “What am I?”
She blinks, confused. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s a riddle,” I reply. “What am I?”
“Indigo, what is this?” Michelle interrupts, annoyed.
“Hey.” I point to her. “It is not your turn.”
Michelle sits back with a loud, exasperated sigh.
Violet definitely seems intrigued; she flips Alfred’s Seahawks cap backward. When Alfred did that, it made him look deranged; somehow Violet makes the movement seem delicate. “Can you say it again?”
“Sure.” I start. “I have lots to say but never speak. Knowledge is the thing I eat. Inside me adventures you will find. Quests and treasures of every kind. For all those that wish to visit me. Your hands are the ultimate key.”
“Something that has lots to say but...can’t speak.” Violet smiles. Like really smiles. She’s enjoying this?
“Words on a page,” Alfred pipes in.
Violet’s eyes brighten. “A book!”
“Yes!” I hand her the volume I’m holding. She takes it, stares at the cover.
“How—” she takes another deep breath “—did you find this?”
“Closet. Top shelf.”
She glides her fingers across the cover. “It was my favorite.”
“What book is it?” Brandon asks.
Violet holds up the old and weathered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
“Remember what we always talked about as kids?” I ask. “About going down the rabbit hole in search of another way to be. A magical land where the rules were undefined.”
“A new life to be led.” She nods. “Where the rules were, there were no rules.”
“Exactly! That being said. I have another riddle.” I mistakenly make eye contact with Michelle. If looks could kill. Yikes! I turn back to Violet, whose eyes are not menacing and murderous but alive with wonder. In fact, she looks more alive than she has in months. She is enjoying this!
“What’s the riddle?” she asks breathlessly.
“Roses are red,” I state. “Violets are blue. For the rest of the riddle, turn to page sixty-two.”
Violet sits up tall in her wheelchair, flips open the book and turns the pages in her temperate, Violet way. On page sixty-two, a sheet of notebook paper folded in half falls out onto her lap. She looks up at me.
“Read it,” I instruct her.
I stare at her as she picks up the letter, noticing she did exactly the thing I wanted her to do. She placed the bottle of death medicine on her lap. Good girl, Violet. Goooood girl.
She reads, “‘Some people don’t believe me. Some people want to meet me. Some people claim to be me. Who am I?’”
“Ohh. I know, I know!”
“Don’t interrupt,” I say reflexively.
Michelle crosses her arms and huffs loudly. “Nobody was interrupting you, Indigo.”
“Right. Sorry.” I turn to Violet. “Do you know who it is?”
She adjusts her cannula. Her own nervous tic.
“Is it a ghost?” Alfred asks.
“Nobody claims to be a ghost,” Drew offers.
“A ghost would,” Alfred replies.
I shake my head. “No. It’s not a ghost.”
“God?” Violet says to herself. Then she beams. “It’s God.”
“Yes!” I kneel at her side and place my hand on her lap, strategically over the bottle of medicine.
“Flip over the page, Vee.”
She does. Grins. “Another riddle?”
“How many riddles are we gonna have here, Indigo?” Michelle asks.
“It’s okay,” Violet almost sings. “I like it.”
I decide sticking my tongue out at Michelle and saying Ha! There! is a bad idea. Instead, I stand and take the paper from Violet’s hands. “I’ll read the last one.” I’m using the sheet of paper to cover up the fact that I am now holding Violet’s medicine. I swallow. “For the next riddle.” I move dramatically toward the large window in the den while reading. “‘There was a window cleaner who was cleaning a window on the twenty-fifth floor of a skyscraper. He suddenly slips and falls. He has no safety equipment and nothing to soften his fall, but he is not hurt at all. How do you account for that?’” I stop in front of the window.
Drew scratches his head.
The boys exchange confused looks and shrug.
Michelle glares.
Jedidiah nods his head knowingly as if one of his Spirit guides told him the answer already.
Mom and Dad sit there looking perplexed like...now what is Indigo up to? But Violet is all lit up, eyes brighter than ever.
“Give up?” I ask.
Violet shrugs. “How...did he not hurt himself?”
I push open the window and cold air rushes inside the house.
“Indigo, what are you doing?” Michelle exclaims. “Whatever game you’re playing, we’ve all had enough of it.”
“The reason the construction worker didn’t get hurt,” I declare, “is because he was inside. Get it?”
Violet laughs. “I do!”
My eyes bulge. Like...she laughed.
Mom and Dad seem in awe as well because they stare at Violet as if seeing her for the first time in a long time, then turn to one another and exchange befuddled looks.
“I have only one more riddle.”
Violet smiles, and I take a mental picture of her in this moment. Almost like the Violet I’ve known my whole life. Full of wonder, smiling, happy, excited about life and what it has to offer. I know what I’m about to do will wipe the smile right off her face. I’m about to do it anyway.
I clear my throat. “‘Roses are red. Violets are not blue. I’m just doing—’” I take a page out of the Jedidiah Barnabas book of life and inhale and exhale dramatically “‘—what God told me to.’” I drop the letter and hold up the bottle of Violet’s medicine. I twist off the cap and dump it all out the window.