I remember when the first locks of hair started to fall. My sister had such lovely hair. Jet-black, lush and shiny – strong too. She spent hours upon hours caring for it, brushing, braiding and applying whatever concoction of creams. I remember how devastated I was when the diagnosis came in. Every memory I have is tied to her. The days when she would treat wounds I had earned in many fights. The cheap meals she poured love into. Cinnamon and sugar on toast. Rice mixed with whatever we found in the cupboards, and the endless pranks. I remember her smile when I shaved the last of her hair, as though I wasn’t cutting off a part of her.
I made a promise to her on her deathbed – a strange one, no doubt, but it was her after all. My sister, the only family I knew. She handed me a shoebox, and as I reached to take it from her, she yanked it just out of my reach. Not once, but three times. Fair enough. She snickered as she told me to guard it with my life – I took it literally. She asked me to open it on our favourite spot when I graduated college. I promised her I would, eleven years ago. Through fires and robberies, I kept that box safe. Now, I’ve just graduated, and she’s all I can think of.
The hilltop glosses over the city. It looks so tiny from up here like I could reach out and dig it up. Back then, you could see the stars from here, idly twinkling in the pitch-black night. She’d be heartbroken knowing they are gone now; the city lights drown them out. The last time we came here, Dr Ola said her cancer was in remission, so we had a picnic to celebrate. We splurged on sandwiches then, each bite rich with chunks of ham, cheese and tomatoes. If I knew that it would be the last time, I would have asked for a recipe.
I sat on the edge of the hill, this– expensive-looking box in my hands. I see why she asked me to guard it. My hands are shaking, and I can’t keep my breath steady for some reason. After this, will I remember to… remember her? Or is this it? I take a breath, bite my lip, close my eyes, and then take the cover off. Lying there… is a piece of gum. A piece of used gum.
I almost can’t believe it. It’s typical of my sister, but is that all there is? After eleven years?! I’m laughing and crying as I lift the box above my head and shake it – hoping there’s something more. And there is. The box had a false bottom. On the grass next to me are the box’s contents: a necklace – the pendant, a polished marble, a letter and a Polaroid. The letter has a list of recipes, and the picture is of her and me: heads shaved, and teeth gleaming in the sunlight.