Maia's Melody

I sit unaware of my body’s stillness. Lost in thought: I remember the moment you told me how fascinated you were by the spacing in between my words. It was on graduation night, right after the grad party, we went to the beach at night and listened to the waves unwind. When I spoke, you smiled, musing that my voice was like a sweet melody and my intention behind the words was pure. You joked that my future husband would be a musician; I would play along and blame my name. I replay the way your eyes lit up when I laughed out of nervousness of your adoration for me. My soul had never felt more naked than when in front of you. And every instance of vulnerability, you reminded me how safe I was. You were my family.

“Melody?”

If your brother hadn’t called my name I would have sat in front of this rainy window for hours.

“Yes?”

“Did you get everything?”

How do I answer him? Yes, I collected all my personal items that I left in your room, but I can’t move these paralyzed limbs to pick up your memorabilia. I cannot take your things. Every object screams at me with a memory. Your Dave Matthews band tee that I thought was a waste of money until you kidnapped me for a roadtrip to see your boyfriend and had his music on repeat. I fell in love with the endless sea of gravel that trip.

“Melody, did you get what you needed?” He looks at me with worry and slight irritation. “You know she would want you to have her valuables.”

Yes, the fine jewelry collection you swore was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, all vintage rare pieces; ‘only the most educated with exceptional taste would understand its value.’ I know you said that in order to ease my anxiety about my situation. My favorite was always the sapphire pendant in the shape of a dragonfly with gold housing. You wore it the first day I met you.

“I’m still looking,” is all I can manage to say. Your brother opens your closet door and pulls out a sealed box. “I think she kept her childhood stuff in here. She never opened it after we moved.” He pulls a pocket knife and cuts the seal. I watch as he flips through photo albums and laughs at your one and only Barbie Doll. “I think she kept this because it reminded her of our mom.” His face dissolves into despair. He looks at me and gestures for me to go through the rest and walks out of the room. I look at the Barbie Doll and realize you never did get the Barbie dreamhouse for her. You always said you wanted to wait for your mom. “We will build it together, “ you would mention dreamily. You always spoke of your mom as if all your interactions with her were full of magic. “She always promised to build it with me, and I’m holding her to it.”

I parse through your belongings, most of it awakens a faint memory. However, there is one gift box I don’t recall ever seeing. Was this when you volunteered at the academy and they gifted you that award? Same blue and red shades as their school colors. I open it.

Oh, it’s a little black book. I don’t remember you journaling. Maybe you didn’t, it looks almost brand new.

To Melody, it’s written, in your penmanship. When were you going to give me this?

“To Melody, I knew you would find this sooner or later. I’d hope for sooner as you have a lot to live for now!”

Wait, what?

“I got into some trouble trying to acquire this, you know how I am. And if you’re reading this then you know what happened.”

I know that you crashed your car at 100mph into a ditch after leaving a suicide note.

“If you need more, then more will come. You don’t have to worry about money ever again. I hope you enjoy my story I wrote for you.”

In the back of the book is a poorly taped envelope. You never could wrap things properly. A key is falling out of the envelope. “$20,000” is written on a small piece of paper.

I look behind me; does your brother know?

I continue your letter. “All you have to do is mail a letter to the below PO Box with your money request. Keep the book to yourself, it’s for your eyes only. It’ll transport you to a different world if you want. I’m so happy you can now reach the stars you always dreamed about. Love you. Your sister in spirit, Maia.”

The world feels extremely loud and unnaturally quiet synchronously.

Maia, how could you do this?

Tears unknowingly pour down my cheeks. You know that I never wanted this. You know that I would choose you over any sort of wealth any day. You were like a sister to me, a soulmate that comes once in a lifetime. And now you leave this mysterious book?

Did you kill yourself to save me?

I take your key and open the briefcase; sure enough you have hundred dollar bills lining it. When did you prepare this Maia?

Why didn’t you say goodbye?

“You’re a tough cookie,” you chirped at me the first day we met. Your blue eyes full of concern and hope. I was so upset that my mother had exposed my illness to you and your family on Back to School night. I thought you were the coolest girl in my class, and I never wanted to appear weird in your eyes.

“A tough cookie? Who would want that?” I barked back at you. Shocked, you took a step back with a puzzled brow and waited. You always gave me space to explain myself, even then.

“No one likes tough cookies. Cookies should be soft or crunchy,” I clarified. Immediate roaring laughter erupted from your mouth, and I couldn’t help but chuckle myself. You retained the biggest grin and shook my hand. I knew from that moment we were friends.

So how can this wonderful girl, someone beyond an average human, set this up? How could you leave me with an incomplete puzzle? How could someone so generous vanish within seconds and come back to haunt me?

Maia. Please help me make sense of this.

“Melody, are you okay?” Your brother sees my tears, pulls me away from the briefcase and hugs me tight and quick. I quickly hide the book per your instructions. “What is this?” he asks in urgency.

I can barely breathe now. My nose is completely restricted. I feel like coughing but can’t. I can’t answer him.

“Len,” I choke. “She left me money. Did you have any idea?”

His eyes dance in confusion. It always amazed me how you both had the same crystal blue eyes. He shakes his head and flips through the money.

“You know I didn’t always agree with her choices,” he swallows tears. “But I also know she always had the best of intentions. You should take the money and enjoy it.” His voice possesses a slight flicker of anger.

Silence between him and I. All I can hear is the sweet drops of rain on the window in unison with my own heartbeat. It feels like I’m choosing money over you; as if you’re still here.

Len picks up the box and walks out of the room and closes the door, mumbles something about running an errand. I close the briefcase and look at the little black book again. I flip through it and notice writing on the last page.

“You’re a crunchy cookie,” it reads, with a terrible drawing of what I’m assuming is a chocolate chip cookie. I laugh so hard that tears form. “Which means I’m your milk,” it continues.

But now it’s blurry.

I’m sobbing. I’m fuming. I’m violently aching. Grief has fully set in.

I hold the little black book close and pray for the first time in my life. I pray that this nightmare will end soon and I’ll get my sister back. I pray that the only person I trust on this earth is playing a bad joke and will walk through that door. I pray that whatever is in this little black book can make sense of your disappearance. Wow, I cannot even say death. I pray that I wake up from this reality and find myself in a version that has you.

I hear a melodic door knock.