It takes a few days for me to realize something about this new house. Sissika is not here. She didn’t come. We didn’t bring her
Memories
I am wrapped in the edge of the white billowy curtains by the big bay window. Sissika is with me, and we’re standing together, watching as the car pulls up into the large circular driveway. A lady with a clipboard gets out, followed by a man and a woman. They are walking up to our front door.
Sissika grabs my hand and we run together to the big closet in the entryway. We slide open the door, slip inside, and then pull it closed along the track. I have no idea where Mommy is. But that’s okay, because Sissika is here.
I hear footsteps, the soft creak of the front door, voices, and then receding footsteps. Sissika and I stand together in the dark, hiding and waiting. I don’t know what we’re hiding from, but it has to do with those people. And we are waiting for them to leave.
The footsteps draw near again and so do the voices. Suddenly the closet door is sliding open, and the lady with the clipboard is standing right in front of us.
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