Chapter Four: Like a Cookie’s Cream

My memory grew fuzzy after that. I do remember pure numbness, taking control of my mind as I collapsed into the backseat of the car, next to my weeping sister.

I did not talk. I did not cry. I just sat there, staring at the seat in front of me, breathing slowly, trying to wrap my head around what was going on. My dad was dead.

It was my fault- if I had not got the detention, my father would have never been out driving to his death.

Only, it was Vivian who had gotten me detention. I turned away from my sister in the car, finding it so much easier to blame her than myself.

My eyes drifted to my mom, whose fingers were white as she gripped the steering wheel much tighter than was necessary. Her brown hair was clumped and hanging down her shoulders.

“Are you two okay back there?” She asked, her voice cracking with desperation she did not want us to hear.

Silence.

Finally, I whispered, “Physically,” choking on the words.

“Shut up,” Vivian whispered, and I cowered before the girl next to me, showing rage I never thought possible in her brown eyes. “You could have just said yes or no, instead of- of being like this! I lost my father too, you know!”

I gaped at her, shrinking in my seat.

My mom gripped the steering wheel even tighter, her gray eyes flitting in between us nervously.

“Vivian…” she tried to scold. Neither of us listened as we glared at each other, tears streaming out of both of our eyes.

Finally, we both looked away, in unison.

“I don’t feel like fighting,” I grumbled.

“Then apologize,” Vivian begged, her demeanor changing to a desperate one.

“Fine,” I whispered. “After you.”

“Girls!” My mother shouted, pulling over, and turning her head to glare at us. “Your father just died. Whatever… conflict is between you, let it drop.”

“Alright,” I growled. “We’ll truce, for a brief period of time. Agreed?” I snapped my head around.

“Fine,” was my only response before my sister turned my back on me, and I turned my back on her.

That was the last thing I truly remembered for several days.

Guilt and hate are powerful emotions. Combined, they can take a serious toll on your mind.

They can also give you strange cravings at two A.M.- and that was exactly how I found myself in the kitchen digging through the cupboards, not getting very far with all my mumbling and pacing. My father died two days ago, and I had not left the home since then.

Finally, I found some Oreos. They had expired a week ago, but I still grabbed the box and set it on the table, and filled up a glass of almond milk, sipping on it as I walked into the dining room.

I set it down a little too hard, sending the white liquid pouring over the edge of the cup, onto the oak surace.

I just rolled my eyes and dipped an Oreo in the remaining milk, and bit in half, chewing slowly, trying to focus on the seeping flavor, but the treat did not taste as good as I recalled.

I sighed, shoving the other half of the cookie into my mouth, only to find Vivian walking into the kitchen, rummaging through the shelves, much as I had.

“Hi,” I mumbled, instantly regretting my choice of speaking.

Vivian looked at me, and after a few seconds of hesitation, whispered “Hi,” back to me, offering a tiny smile.

I stared at the floor, something that had become a habit recently, as I ate another Oreo. My sister continued to rummage through the cupboards, until she finally turned around to face me and asked “Have you seen any Oreos recently?”

I just held up the box, and beckoned her to the table. Vivian gave a quick nod of gratitude, and sat down next to me, grabbing a cookie and dipping it in my glass of milk.

“Funny, we both wanted the same midnight snack- in the wo hours of the morning,” Vivian stated dryly.

“It’s the wee hours of the morning-” I began, but was interrupted.

“Does it matter?” Vivian questioned. “Dad’s still dead.”

My gray eyes left their home on the floor, and stared into my sister’s empty ones.

“You’re right, I suppose,” I admitted. “I’m starting to think that life is like an Oreo,” I announced, reaching into the box of cookies. “You got the cookie. The cookie’s hard, so’s life. Then there’s the creme.” I took a bite of the cookie, licking my lips. “Everyone loves the cream. That’s the good part of life. Only, before you know it,” I popped the last half of the Oreo in my mouth, “the Oreo is gone.”

Vivian watched with an odd sort of fascination, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I am sorry, you know” Vivian murmured.

“Me too,” I agreed. “Me too.”