Catherina - Day 24

My sister lived on the second floor of our glassware store. A few years younger than me, she was more than energetic. Running up and down the stairs being one of her favorite activities, she had cost my parents some trouble. For example, when my parents chatted with clients at the counter, she would suddenly pop up with a grimace. As their business (or potential business) got interrupted, one parent would give her a quick stern look – usually the mother – before turning back to the client. Of course, most clients, knowing our family, and even our family history, for years as my great grandfather passed this glassware craft down from a century ago at this exact place, would give a lighthearted laugh and pleaded for her, "come on, she's just a kid." The conversation might change a direction, accordingly, re-focusing the education and achievements of the younger generation. In the end, my parents would be quite satisfied with the gossip they derived that they would not mind giving the customer a little discount.

Days went thus, and my sister's love for running around never diminished. She even extended her territory beyond the second floor and the stairs, intruding upon my parents' domain – the store on the ground floor. Soon, after almost knocking a peacock-blue vase down, she was barred from between the metal racks filled with delicate vessels. Overwhelmed by vigor and curiosity, my sister finally made that critical step out towards the world – she exited the store. No need to worry, though, for she had been doing that for years and had proven herself not the kind of kids that would be lured away by a sweet. Still, this breakthrough was memorable because my sister, for her first time in life, went out of the store, not for a practical purpose but solely exploration.

She paced herself well on the stone pavements, walking along the main street decorated by colorful flags, neon signs, and blooming flowers. Under the driving demand for tourism, this area of the town had gone through a substantial change to accommodate souvenir stores, inns, and cafes and restaurants. Since our glassware store had the glass-making performance in its backyard, it was honored a spot along this flowery road. Nonetheless, I saw the main street to be a bit too brightly colored and the decorations a bit too noisy.

As if answering my call, my sister turned into a narrow lane, which bridged the tourist district to the residence area. There, the colors were softer, greyer, and creamier. Walking along a butter-yellow wall, my sister had in her hand a cupcake she just bought from a corner bakery – a small one with a pallid white plastic door frame and hardly any catchy ornaments – which targeted mainly locals. However, for its exceptional cupcakes and other baked goods (carrot bread being another recommendation), the street was usually stuffed with visitors who were complacent with finding a niche local pastry shop. It was that niche and chic for its 5.0 review to be at the top of the search for years.

The wall led to a place of memory – my old school. Since it was a weekend, the black steel gates were locked. Through the hollows in the decorative pattern, I could see a green gradation, with the lightest blending into the cloudless sky and the darkest molten into shadows. It was summer, and the trees had bursting vitality, winding their branches into seamless umbrellas, some of which grew over the gate and slipped outside of the school's boundary. My sister was standing under one such umbrella, still having the cupcake in her hand. The icing had melted, adding a velvety texture to that sickenly sweet double chocolate bun. She stood in the shade to finish the cake, allowing me some time to recall my past.

Like an amnesiac patient, I needed something to help bring the memory back. Therefore, I looked around, and eventually, some small, white dots at the bottom of the wall - by my sister's ankles - caught my attention. I went closer to examine them: too big to be dots, and too faded to resemble anything. Precisely, I should call them "filled white irregular shapes." Why were they peculiar to my eyes? I searched my brain, and finally, in a dusty corner behind clusters of contradictory ideas, I found a short clip.

Automatic play. I saw the younger me and my friends lingering outside the school gates on a sunny afternoon, seeking things to do. Hot and thirsty, we spent the last few coins on popsicles and squatted in the shade – the same one that my sister was under but only bigger, for the trees were later trimmed. Then, my friend found some pieces of white chalk in his pocket, possibly one that he borrowed from old Mr - who? Never mind that aged gentleman who taught history and literature! We had chalks, and we decided to make good use of them. First of all, we agreed that we were not making graffiti but adding décor to the plain, newly painted wall. Secondly, we settled on the theme of peace and love, for at that time, this kind of posters was popular on lampstands and telephone poles. Thus, we tried our best to draw some doves at the foot of the wall – at most some connecting circles.

Now, years later, the white circles remained; perhaps they were too innocent and faded that no one took them as an offense to public properties. I pulled myself back into the early summer morning, and my sister's pair of ankles were no longer there in my sight. I panicked for a moment but immediately eased up as I saw her walking back along the way by which we had come. I caught up with her, returning to the main street. My sister had no intention of finishing her expedition just yet, and she went straight forward, aiming at the end of the road, where a central park came into view.

However, my sister turned again half-way, entering a wooden construction that had an opening balcony on the second floor. Though looking like a restaurant, the building had a dimly lit, narrow pathway leading to a similarly dark stairwell. My sister stepped onto the first staircase and drew herself back into a bow. Following her sight, I saw a department unit hidden behind a pink cloth curtain that had the appearance of being washed too often.

My sister wanted to go into that unit, although she did not know to whom it belonged. Infringing on someone else's property was not an applaudable idea, but at that time, I found no logical reason against her intention. Nonetheless, we face an obstacle in our way: at the turn of the stairs, a smoky grey figure floated in the air, and its tail almost touched the cracking wooden floor.

An apparition, I heard my sister thinking, a ghost that haunted and guarded this place. The figure was silent, though we could feel her hissing, warning us against any attempt to proceed. No guarantee of attack, the specter just floated there, shifting its shape. Despite being a tall cluster of dusty with no face or limbs, we could sense her lifeless gaze into our eyes, and that malicious smile at our fragile necks - a blood-thirsty spirit.

Standing off for a prolonged period, my sister finally retreated into the pathway, walking backward into an opening of sunlight.

Leaving the apparition behind, we entered the park. For it was midsummer, the place was green with luxuriant plants along the soft, dry trail. We walked briskly with breeze brushing against the tip of peach fuzz on my sister's face. With canopy forming a translucent dome over our head, we could hardly tell the time from the sun's position until more and more tourists and hikers emerged from behind trees and rocks. It must be late morning – a few hours from the lunch hour – for at noon sun would be burning, and even the woods would not be an ideal place to stay.

My sister was stubborn to walk off-trail, skipping from rocks to rocks; she was light and deft as a buck. A few groups of hikers tailed us, but we did not mind their presence. We walked a long way sheltered by the canopy until we had reached an open stone platform.

A bell tolled in the distance, conveying an extreme spaciousness that brought about oppressed misery and regret. Weirdly, my sister stood on that platform, reading a board about some geological stuff as if not hearing. I was confused, bewildered, and unsettled. Suddenly, I found my perspective shifted, and now I was looking at my sister from a distance. Judging from this height, I must be somewhere on a tree – I could see her crown.

Lifting her head, my sister looked to my direction – her eyes empty, and I saw no reflection of mine.

photo credit: https://www.discoverimages.com/p/251/traditional-wooden-houses-decorated-flags-dutch-19417458.jpg