Writing on the wall: My sister contiuation

This picks up right from where I left off in an earlier post of my Writing on the wall story.

For November 5, 2009

I closed the front door behind me, knowing that by the time I tried to inch my way up the stairs Aidan would be calling me back down into the living room to give me her life updates. Sure enough, she was home, and in a talkative mood.

“Zoe?” she called. I decided not to fight it and walked straight into the living room. “Is that you?” Her voice was perky, she knew it was me and she was happy.

“Yep, it's me,” I replied, plopping down on the Lay-Z Boy chair adjacent to the couch she was lying on.

Aidan sat up, crossing her legs. She smiled, clasping her hands together. “Good, I really need to tell you about what happened at work today.”

Unconsciously, I sunk a little in my chair, propping my elbow onto the arm of the chair and leaning on my hand. Aidan was like the Energizer Bunny: she could keep going and going. Once she started it was hard for to her stop. I listened to her begin telling me about two of her co-workers that were upset that another co-worker just got promoted to assistant manager—she worked at a clothing store at the local mall—and they thought the promotion was unfair. The last I heard was that “Justine totally didn't sleep with Greg, but they all think she did” before I zoned out and slipped into my own world.

I was standing in front of the bathroom sink again, staring at the eerie phrase scribbled on the wall. The room was empty and silent, no water running this time. My eyes were just glued to the wall, unable to look away or even blink. That image was displayed so clearly in my head, I couldn't get rid of it.

“Zoe. Zoe?”

I jerked my head up. “What?”

Aidan crossed her hands over her chest. “Did you even hear anything I just said?” she asked, her voice whinny.

“Um, no. Sorry. I'm not really feeling that well today,” I told her, rubbing my forehead.

“Are you okay?”

I let out a deep breath, very slowly, and tried to put on my best “I'm okay, really” face. “Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it.” I stood up, clearing my throat. “I'm just gonna go up to my room for a little.”

“Okay,” Aidan said.

I knew she was was watching me as I walked away, so I tried my best not to move too fast and rush up to my room. Once I was clear from her view I hustled up the stairs, slipped into my room and shut the door. Dumping my backpack on my desk, I turned to look in my mirror. My reflection was never something that scared me or made me uneasy. There were people in the world that had a phobia of their own reflection—as bizarre as that sounds—but thankfully I wasn't one of them. I saw a five-three, Japanese-Irish girl with thick black hair that I had always seen. Bangs swept to the side, earrings, no make-up. Same like everyday. Yet I looked at myself differently that time, curious as to whoever wrote that message on the wall, and if that person was really directing it to me, Zoe McCarthy.