Age 3
Blood as red as the pacifier
Flowers collected outside of the Davis’ home, showcasing pretty, vibrant colors on a rather solemn occasion. The Boston Globe had issued a whole article on the “Tragic Car Accident on Boston Suburbs,” which was peculiar enough on its own, considering Sydneys’ family was neither famous nor rich enough to be featured in a newspaper. Sydney vaguely remembered her dad’s death, but she got flashbacks every now and then. How the drunk driver behind them smashed into her dad’s old honda car on the bridge, and how her dad’s death wasn’t ruled a homicide, but rather a natural death, because he didn't die from the impact but from drowning.
She also remembered how her mother had gone to every single lawyer in the city, trying to find someone who was willing to incriminate the drunk driver, leaving Sydney with her older sisters, London and Paris. She also remembered how the last thing her dad did had been to unbuckle her from the car seat, so she could float up and be rescued in time. After they lost Mr. Davis’ steady accountant income, Mrs. Davis had to work two jobs to support a 4 person household, making just enough for them to eat 3 times a day. However Mrs. Davis quickly realized that her youngest daughter, Sydney, was a natural beauty, and how she could profit off of this. Sydney, with her big blonde curls, button nose, and big, blue eyes, was quickly booked for commercials. Her mother didn’t precisely love her, but she rather saw Sydney as another way of income. But this was okay, because at least Sydney had her Yorkie dog, Princess.
Age 6
Blood as red as the American Girl Doll’s hair
Princess’ death was rather a tragic one for the Davis’ family. Sydney, at only 6 years old, was supposed to be watching the dog that Monday afternoon, while her sisters attended soccer practice. Sydney had accidentally left the front door open and by the time she realized this the dog was already gone. The cables were down, and Sydney had no choice but to go and search for the dog.
It was 7 o'clock when she found the dog’s body next to the highway, so crushed it was almost impossible to recognize. The image was blurred in her head, but she remembered the maroon red leaking from her dog’s body. What Sydney didn’t know was that her mother had been looking for her since 5 o'clock, and that she would be punished and spanked when she got back home. But this was okay, because at least Sydney had her Grandma, Nanna.
Age 8
Blood as red as the Cherry smelling marker.
Nanna’s death was expected, she had lung cancer and could barely even breath on her own. She had moved in with them after refusing to live in a retirement home. Sydney’s mom did not agree with this, but after Nanna offered to add a generous amount to the girls’ college fund, Mrs. Davis quickly made Sydney give Nanna her room. What Nanna didn’t know was that the girls did not have a college fund, and she never questioned how her daughter afforded to buy all the alcohol she drank.
By this time, Mrs. Davis had quit both of her jobs, as Sydney was making enough from her acting gigs to buy the weekly groceries and pay the mortgage. Sydney hated acting, most often than not her directors made her feel uncomfortable, and all the other kids made fun of her mom. Sydney’s child brain quickly came to the conclusion that if she cut off her mom’s main source of income, she would stop being drunk all the time.
Nanna died in her sleep, and the police didn’t even pay an ounce of attention towards the fact that the oxygen machine that made breathing for her possible had been disconnected, or how she had scarlet red droplets around her mouth. Sydney’s mother’s behavior did not change but this was okay, because at least Sydney had London.
Age 11
Blood as red as the heart sunglasses.
London died when she went into anaphylactic shock after eating cookies that had traces of nuts in them. On Monday morning the epi pens were stored in the bathroom cabinet where they always were, but by Monday afternoon they were nowhere to be found. London, Sydney and Paris arrived from school tired and exhausted, but they had to do their chores or else their mother would punish them. London and Paris loaded the dishwasher and washing machine, whilst Sydney moped and dusted the whole house. Once, she tried to complain about how she had to do much more than her sisters, but Mrs. Davis’ said that they were older and had more responsibilities, and then she hit Sydney. Around this time was when Mrs. Davis started going out with the barista, who smelled like beer and had a long, coiled beard. He was a creep and hit on Sydney several times.
That Monday afternoon, after finishing all their chores, the sisters decided to buy a box of cookies from the Girl Scout Stand down the street. They collected all the loose change from around the house, and bought the mint chocolate chip box. London suffered for ten minutes whilst her sisters searched for the epipen and during the whole ten minutes no one thought to call 911. After London’s body had been lying cold on the floor for half an hour, it was when they thought to call the police, which arrived just as their mother got home from work.
London’s death was given very little attention, because police found bruises all over Sydney’s body and after all filling a domestic abuse case was less work than a homicide case and they got paid the same for either of them. London got an announcement on the school’s speaker Tuesday morning, but apart from this her death was never mentioned again. Sydney, however, spent the next 3 weeks on the police station, where her mother miraculously convinced the officers that her bruises were a result of softball practice.
The only positive thing from this year was that she befriended the deputy’s son Nick. However, her home became an even more insufferable place, because now her mother blamed her for London’s death on top of her dad’s death. The day after the domestic abuse investigation finished Mrs. Davis took out all her anger on Sydney, but this was okay, because at least Sydney had Paris.
Age 12
Blood as red as the calc 2 textbook.
Paris was an addict. Nanna’s old pill bottles were stored in the kitchen cabinet, behind a rusty pan. Paris discovered them right after London’s death and coped with grief everyday by taking a pill. The first month after London’s death, Paris faked her sobriety wearing concealer and drinking two liters of water daily to flush out the drugs quickly. The second month she started taking two pills daily, and stopped doing her homework assignments. Mrs. Davis blamed Sydney for Paris’ problems, but she never even took a second of her time to focus on the real problem. She thought that by taking Paris to therapy the problem would be solved, because this was what Mrs. Davis always did, she found a quick way to solve the problem, but never fully understood it. The therapist diagnosed Paris with ptsd, prescribed her more drugs and sent her on her way. By the 6th month Paris was so strung out that the school counselor filled an application form to admit Paris to a rehab center.
The nurses took every personal item from Paris and checked her room two times a day to make sure she had no drugs hidden. What the staff didn’t know was that Sydney still talked with Paris’ dealer and during visiting hours on Sunday, she snuck 10 pills in between tampons and pads, but this was only because Paris threatened to tell everyone the truth about London’s death if Sydney didn’t take her the pills. Paris’ death came as a surprise to everyone, because staff members truly believed that she was on the right track to recovery.
Mrs. Davis, aside from being truly affected by her favorite daughter’s death, saw this as another way to profit. She sued the rehab center for one million dollars, arguing that staff members were so incompetent that a 15 year old girl died from an overdose right under their noses. Drowning in money, Mrs Davis moved herself and Sydney to a condo in the suburbs with an infinity pool and fake palm trees. Sydney hated it. The abuse from her mother stopped, but since Mrs. Davis only acknowledged Sydney’s existence when she hit her, Sydney started being a ghost in her own home. Her mother only spoke with her when she needed a foot massage or when the dishwasher needed to be unloaded, but this was okay because at least Sydney had Nick.
Age 15
Blood as red as the drugstore cream blush.
Nick never really died, but the heartache Sydney felt when she lost him, was almost as bad as him dying. After 4 years of being friends, Nick had finally asked Sydney to be his girlfriend. They had a great relationship, she spent almost all of her time at his house, and, even though he knew what had happened in Sydney’s family, he never asked. Nick’s father, the deputy, hated Sydney’s mom as he never really believed the softball practice story. But they never asked Sydney questions, and she started to spend more time with them than in her own home. That is until that fateful Friday night, when everything went down the toilet.
Nick was a gentleman, he always paid on dates and opened the door for Sydney. After they had gone out for dinner, they ended up in the elementary school park, with the bright red swings. Maybe it was the chilly air, maybe it was the feeling of liberty she got from the glowing stars, but Sydney decided to tell Nick everything that had happened in the past 13 years of her life. He swore he wouldn’t tell a single soul, but as every single person in Sydney’s life had done, Nick broke his promise. He took the next bus home, leaving Sydney alone on the dark, damp playground.
*
Blood as red as Mom’s favorite sweater.
Run, run, run. My body reacted faster than my mind did. I knew, when Nick left running for the bus stop, that I had very little time before police stormed my home. I had been a stupid girl for thinking I could tell him the truth, but lying every single day of my life feels like a heavy stone placed on my back that I carry everywhere. I told him how all I ever wanted, all I ever wished for, all I ever wrote on my Christmas list every year was for my mom to think of me as her daughter, just one single time.
All my mom ever saw was her husband's killer, the dog sitter, her mom’s caretaker, and the person she could blame for her favorite daughter´s death. She saw only a profitable image, not the girl beneath it. I was just another way for her to take out her anger, never one of her daughters.
I told Nick how easy it was to disconnect an oxygen machine from the outlet, how 5 epipens could fit in between my mattress and my bed frame, how I talked with Paris’s dealer and convinced him to give me drugs with a higher volume percentage. I thought of all of this, as I sat beside my mom’s body. Her blood formed a pool with different colors of red swirling in all directions, scarlet, vermillion and maroon all joined together to form a bright red puddle.
As I laid there, I wished she would have asked me after I got home from school how my day had been, instead of yelling at me, telling me to do my chores. I wished that that day, back in 4th grade she had used an ashtray to put out her cigarette, instead of my back. I wished I had never asked my dad to take me to the candy store the day he died. I wished I got treated like London and Paris did. I wished I had gotten loved like a normal 7 year old girl. I wished I hadn’t been forced to grow up so fast. Finally, to think all of this could have been avoided if Mom had loved her youngest daughter.
