This is the third chapter. Gwen's POV. Let's get it started in ha, let's get it started in here...
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My mom woke me up early that morning. We had to go pick up my cousin from the train station.
As we waited outside the train tracks, I started to imagine what she might look like again.
My mom had told me a little zaidi about her while we were driving to the station.
“You know, you’re cousin likes a lot of the same things wewe do, Gwenneth,” she’d said, smiling. “She used to be your playmate when wewe were little.”
“You mean that kid in the red and black ‘The voices told me to’ t-shirt?”
She laughed and exclaimed, “Yes, that’s the girl.” Then her expression grew grim. “Sweetie, although wewe remember her, she might not remember you.”
I frowned. “What do wewe mean?”
She sighed. “Well, while she was living with her parents, she got into a…er…accident.”
“What?!”
“Her mother was driving her from school one day,” she started. “And a truck driver had been drinking and…plowed right into their car.” She seemed like she was near tears.
“They survived, right mom?” my brother, Damien, piped up from the back seat.
“Of course they did,” she assured, wiping her eyes with her hands. “But…your cousin had a slight case of amnesia.”
“What’s amnesia?” he asked, very annoyingly.
“It’s when wewe forget stuff, Einstein,” I snapped.
“Oh, it’s so nice to see wewe two getting along.” Mom smirked and giggled. “Your sister’s right. And she may au may not remember you, depending on whether her parents tried to help get her memory back.”
“Can wewe tell me her name now?” I asked, somewhat annoyed that she’d refrained from telling me her first name.
“That’s a secret until wewe meet her,” she informed, winking at me.
The girl I’d seen at age 3 had frizzy, curly locks of reddish-brown hair, always wore some kind of joke t-shirt (‘I’m With Stupid,’ ‘My Sister Did It,’ ‘Me Pretending to Listen Should Be Enough for You,’ etc), and always had the same bracelet she’d told me she had made out of recycled newspaper. We’d become such good Marafiki that summer, and she’d always been in such a good mood all the time…
I sometimes guessed that I’d turned Goth around the time that she moved away. But from how much fun we’d had with each other, I couldn’t wait to meet her.
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My mom woke me up early that morning. We had to go pick up my cousin from the train station.
As we waited outside the train tracks, I started to imagine what she might look like again.
My mom had told me a little zaidi about her while we were driving to the station.
“You know, you’re cousin likes a lot of the same things wewe do, Gwenneth,” she’d said, smiling. “She used to be your playmate when wewe were little.”
“You mean that kid in the red and black ‘The voices told me to’ t-shirt?”
She laughed and exclaimed, “Yes, that’s the girl.” Then her expression grew grim. “Sweetie, although wewe remember her, she might not remember you.”
I frowned. “What do wewe mean?”
She sighed. “Well, while she was living with her parents, she got into a…er…accident.”
“What?!”
“Her mother was driving her from school one day,” she started. “And a truck driver had been drinking and…plowed right into their car.” She seemed like she was near tears.
“They survived, right mom?” my brother, Damien, piped up from the back seat.
“Of course they did,” she assured, wiping her eyes with her hands. “But…your cousin had a slight case of amnesia.”
“What’s amnesia?” he asked, very annoyingly.
“It’s when wewe forget stuff, Einstein,” I snapped.
“Oh, it’s so nice to see wewe two getting along.” Mom smirked and giggled. “Your sister’s right. And she may au may not remember you, depending on whether her parents tried to help get her memory back.”
“Can wewe tell me her name now?” I asked, somewhat annoyed that she’d refrained from telling me her first name.
“That’s a secret until wewe meet her,” she informed, winking at me.
The girl I’d seen at age 3 had frizzy, curly locks of reddish-brown hair, always wore some kind of joke t-shirt (‘I’m With Stupid,’ ‘My Sister Did It,’ ‘Me Pretending to Listen Should Be Enough for You,’ etc), and always had the same bracelet she’d told me she had made out of recycled newspaper. We’d become such good Marafiki that summer, and she’d always been in such a good mood all the time…
I sometimes guessed that I’d turned Goth around the time that she moved away. But from how much fun we’d had with each other, I couldn’t wait to meet her.
