The Irony Down Whittman Hill

The sun was getting lower with each passing minute and still, I sat alone at the top of Whittman Hill.

She was late. Again.

We always made the same plan to meet on the same day at the same time every single year under the same pear tree and yet, this was not the first time she kept me waiting on her. At this point, I shouldn't be surprised. I should expect it.

My sister always thought time to be irrelevant and that the world obsessed too much over it. She was the type of person who flew by the seat of her pants and time was just never much of a priority. Whereas me on the other hand showed up 30 minutes early anywhere I went.

I tapped on my phone screen again. 43 minutes late now.

I adjusted myself on the grass, some dead spots prickling the exposed parts of my legs. Sighing, I looked up and noticed how unusually bare the tree looked this year compared to how full and lively it had looked in previous years. I wonder what had changed.

Then my thoughts came back to my sister and annoyance crept up knowing she probably didn't realize what time it even was. I couldn't decide which was worse: her knowingly keeping me waiting or her being oblivious to it entirely?

I would've text or called her, but I had decided awhile back that I shouldn't have to remind her to prioritize me, even just sometimes. She should care about me enough to show up on her own without being told. But it never happened that way. And now I was thinking it probably never would.

We had been close once, but her drinking came between us. This contributed to her ignoring the importance of time. She tried and tried so many times to get sober. Each time, we all got our hopes up just for her to relapse once more. This time she has made it to 6 months and she was so proud. I was really hoping her lack of presence wasn't due to a relapse.

The sun was nearly set and so I stood up, stretched, and walked carefully back down the hill to where I had left my car. I wasn't going to wait any longer. If she showed up and I was gone, then it would be no one's fault, but her own.

I started my car and just sat for a minute as the engine ran. One day, I thought, she will regret these moments that we lost together.

I drove away before I convinced myself to stay and continue wondering if she would come.

As I headed towards the main highway, traffic began to slow down and there were emergency vehicles scattered everywhere. Someone in a uniform stood in the middle of the road directing people this way and that. Passing, I couldn't see any car wreckage anywhere, but I assumed there had to be one as I could see them pushing a gurney with a sheet covering what looked to be a body.

Driving away, my heart sank for the family of whoever that happened to be.

I made a few stops and ran a few errands before making my way back home. I pulled up to my house to find my father's car in front. It was dark out by now, but I knew it was his. As I began parking in the driveway, he opened his driver door and stepped out.

"Dad. Hey. Everything okay?" I asked as I stepped out of my own.

I could see in the dim overcast of my streets light that he put his hands in his pockets and I heard him sigh.

"I've been calling you," He said.

"My phone's been in my bag. Why? What's wrong? Did something happen to Mom?"

"No, no. Mom is fine." He paused.

"What is it?" I insisted.

"It's your sister. It's Lonnie."

I swallowed hard. "What about her? She was supposed to meet me, but she didn't show. I figured she was just late, like every other time, but I was tired of waiting and..."

"She's dead, Cris."

My lips tightened.

I finally found my voice, "What? That's impossible."

"She was found in a ditch not to far from Wittmann Hill. A drunk driver ran a stop sign and slammed directly into her. She was dead on impact, so we've been told."

My breath caught and it felt like my chest was closing in on itself as I pictured the sheet covered body on the gurney. The last thing I saw was my dad racing towards me before I fell to my knees and everything around me disappeared.

Short Story by: Asia, The Colorful Writer