It’s the night before the first day of school, but I’m not nervous.  Moonlight shines through the clear-paned windows as I creep down the hallway.  I enter the room nearest to the backyard where my brother, Quincy, sleeps.  His head rests peacefully on the pillow I sewed for him and his arms cradle his favorite stuffed animal. 

  I hope Quincy will soon forget that day.  I hope he will erase it from his chalkboard of memories until all that’s left is faded beige dust.  And all because I was on the wrong side.  I slip under the blanket next to him and kiss his cheek softly.  Then, I close my eyes, and fall into sleep.
I hear Quincy shift in the bed as Vivaldi’s Four Seasons rings from the alarm clock in the master bedroom across the hall.  I rise quickly and go downstairs where Dad is already frying bacon.  There is stubble on his chin and bags under his dark eyes.  I take a seat at the table.  He doesn’t notice.  Soon, Mom and Quincy come downstairs and Dad delivers the breakfast.  Nobody looks in my direction. 
“Isn’t this so exciting?” Mom says to Quincy as they come into the kitchen, “I can’t believe you’re starting first grade!” Quincy ducks his head and picks at his food while Mom jabbers about school. “Your teacher, Mrs. Ritter, called yesterday, and she says she can’t wait to meet you!”  Quincy continues to push his scrambled eggs around with a fork.  “She said that today the first graders are going to write a story about their life!  And tomorrow is going to be even more exciting!  Tomorrow is-” Mom stops mid sentence.  Dad looks up, startled by the abrupt hitch in Mom’s everyday rant.
“Tomorrow,” she whispers, “is your sister’s birthday.”  Quincy stops chewing on his sausage.  “My…sister?” he says softly as the memories click into place.  “Yeah,” Dad smiles lightly.  They sit quietly at the table. Silverware clinks against cereal bowls while the people at the table are oblivious to the fact that I am less than a foot away from them.
“Oh, by the way, I’m going to need a check for the car repair shop,” Dad says.
“Why?” Mom shoots a questioning look at Dad. 
“Well…I was on my way to the grocery store yesterday and I accidentally scratched one of the minivans in the parking lot, but-” 
“Why weren’t you more careful?” Mom yells accusingly, “What is wrong with you?  Remember the last time this-” She suddenly spots Quincy fearfully glancing at them and she quickly sits down.  “Sorry,” Mom apologizes as Dad nods his head.
Soon, it is time for Quincy to go.  He kisses Mom and Dad on the cheek, grabs his backpack, and slips out the door.  I follow him to the bus stop where he stands quietly by himself while groups of kids surround themselves with chatter.  I resist the urge to hug him when he shies away from the crowd.  I remember when he used to blabber on and on.  Now he doesn’t talk unless somebody talks to him first.
I watch all the kids get on the bus, and then I climb on myself.  Quincy sits in the second seat from the front.  He’s alone.  He stares out the window, ignoring the noise of chatter and projectiles of chewed up gum flying through the air.  Suddenly, a ball of paper hits Quincy in the back of his head.  The older boys in the back of the bus laugh obnoxiously.  But before I can react, a flash of bright red streaks down the aisle. 
“Hey!” someone with flaming locks shouts at the boys.  The shenanigans freeze and turn to look at the stocky girl who spoke to them.  “Why don’t you mess with someone your own age?” she stomps away, leaving the boys stunned.  Then, she walks over to Quincy’s seat.  “Hi, I’m Jessica.  Sorry those boys were mean to you.  Can I sit here?” 
Quincy lifts his head up slightly.  Jessica, his new red-headed savior, takes that as a yes.  She sits down next to him and immediately starts talking about her trip to Florida as if the two have been friends for ages.  And suddenly, I know that Quincy will be okay without me. 
After school, I follow Quincy home.  Jessica talks to him the whole way and by the time Quincy and I get back, he and I already know the bulk of Jessica’s summer vacation at the beach.  When we get home, Quincy runs upstairs to his bedroom to play Legos.  Meanwhile, I am looking for Mom who must be home from work by now.  I find her in our living room, staring at the pictures on the wall, and I stop when I see her looking at pictures of me.
There is one of the whole family, our smiles taking up the whole picture.  There is another where Dad and I first tried indoor skydiving, and another where Mom and I almost burned down the house when trying a new banana cream pie recipe. 
“Hi Mom,” I smile,” We’re home.”  Mom continues to stare at the photographs.  “I-I had a good day today.  Quincy made a friend and I-uh, I had a good day, too.  What about you?” I say.  Mom says nothing.  I face her and look into her blank eyes.  Suddenly, she touches one photograph almost hidden behind the other frames.  It’s a picture that was taken on my 10th birthday, a day before the crash.  Mom murmurs,” It was a great day.” 
“What?” I ask.
“It was a great day,” she repeated,“ We packed a p-picnic and w-we were going to go hiking.  Y-you were always so adventurous...and then...and then-”
“And then what?” I say.  Mom says nothing. 
“What?” I say louder.  She shrugs and turns away.  I want to scream at her, “Talk to me, Mom!  Say something!”  But she turns away.
Time has healed most wounds, but has also left many scars.  I had almost forgotten that tomorrow is my eleventh birthday.  Tomorrow will be the day when my family buys flowers for me, but can’t deliver it into my hands, buys a cake for me, but can’t get it to my lips, sings songs for me, but doesn’t know I’m listening.
Dinner in the evening is eerily quiet.  Then, Quincy asks “Tomorrow...are we going to the-” 
“Yeah,” Dad replies. 
“Are we going to see Grandpa and Grandma there, too?” 
“Yeah, Quincy, we are.  We always see Grandpa and Grandma there.  Remember to bring the flowers, okay?” he says solemnly.
Quincy nods.  Dad looks at Mom’s swollen, red eyes, but doesn’t say anything.  In the evening, my father reads a book while my mother sits beside him.  Quincy has already fallen asleep in his bed.  I walk up behind my parents and give them a kiss, my hollow, airy body hugging them.  Then, I settle into Quincy’s blankets and caress my brother’s mussed hair.  I lean over to his ear, and whisper,” One more day.”  One more day for the pain and sorrow to wash away.  I know they cannot see me, I know that day will forever be a haunting shadow, but it’s only one day.  It’s only one more day.