• Dearest Mama,
    This morning when you wake up, I will be gone. Forget about coming after me- you have the kids to take care of. Instead be relieved- at the least it is one less mouth to feed. I have been planning this for a while, you have to work too hard and it’s just not fair.

    The Haircut

    Sydney took a deep breath staring back at herself in the mirror. Her eyes wandered from her long red hair- falling in locks and tresses past her waist, down her pink nightgown- clinging to her budding chest and hips, following its flowing curves to the floor. She bit her lower lip nervously, trying to picture what her reflection would look like in just a few hours.

    Closing her eyes, she tried to remove all of her prized hair from her mind’s eye, however she could only imagine it shoulder length, no shorter. Sydney could not remember a time when her hair was any shorter than that. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at the clothes laying on the bed waiting for her. They were bought from a thrift shop a few weeks ago, but she had never tried them on in front of a mirror. She closed her eyes again, trying to remove the soft cotton nightgown and replace it with the less beautiful clothes on the bed. This was only marginally more effective than imagining her hair short. With a suppressed scream of aggravation, she opened her eyes again and reached for her father’s pocket knife, running her fingers along it’s handle.

    “I guess I won’t know until I’m done,” she muttered to herself.

    She opened the knife, testing it’s sharpness against her thumb before grabbing a lock of hair and hacking through it, near her head. The nearly audible rip made as she hacked through made her cringe. As she looked at the short tuff of hair above her forehead she gasped. It looked out of place against her pale skin. It was short, disheveled, and not at all feminine. She looked at the handful of bright red hair in her hand, severed from her body and her chest began to tighten. She stifled a cry that wanted to burst free of her body, and tears started to well up in her eyes. She looked one last time at the long locks of hair, her pride and joy as a young woman- the one thing that she received praise for. She looked back up at the tuff, trying to imagine what she would look like when it was all that short.

    As Sydney let the handful of hair fall, watching it float to the floor, she was reminded of blood falling from skinned knees onto schoolyard cement. She then turned her back on the mirror, hoping it would be easier if she didn’t watch her femininity sheared from her one cut at a time. She wiped the tears away that threatened to fall, and reached for another thicker tress of long hair, sawing through it close to the scalp, then let it fall to join the first handful on the ground. As she watched it fall, she felt another sob well up from her core and she bit her lip hard to keep from letting it out. The second handful saw less sun over the years, and as it fell she was concerned she might have cut herself, so dark was the hair stained.

    “There’s no turning back now,” she muttered to no one in particular, as she grabbed another handful of hair and yanked it away from her head firmly. She slid the knife through the tension of the hair feeling the individual hairs snap under the blade. She had to grit back a scream, overwhelmed with how easy it was to shear her precious hair from her body.

    She took the anger and pain using both as energy to yank chunks of hair away from her head, then hack and saw through each handful until there was a large pile on the ground in front of her. Finally she could not find any more hair to yank from her scalp. She had not dared to look into the mirror while she had done any of this, even though she was curious to see what she looked like. Instead she had kept her eyes on the pile of hair on the floor, watching it grow from handfuls into a mass of hair in a variety of shades from bright and fiery to a darker red, near crimson in color. She was not sure which the pile resembled, a pool of blood or a small fire. As she added more of her blood to the pile, the fire grew.

    After staring at the mass for quite a long time, she finally drew up the nerve to turn and look into the mirror. The second she caught sight of herself, she lost all control of her emotions. Where there had been gorgeous locks of red, multi-toned from the sun and time, there now were tuffs of uneven lengths, ranging from less than an inch to around three inches in length. Instead of the variety of reds, from bright to dark, the tuffs were all a mid to dark auburn. Her head seemed alien in relation to her body, tiny atop her shoulders. She turned and threw herself down onto the bed, burying her face deep in her pillows finally allowing herself to release her sobs and screams.

    After ten to fifteen minutes of sobbing and screaming into her pillow she stood again looking back into the mirror. She carefully held the knife in her hand, and clenching her jaw she worked to even out the tuffs to create an acceptable style. Methodically she grabbed the longer tuffs and sawed through them with the knife, trying to make everything approximately even. When her hair was as uniform as she was going to be able to get it, she forced herself to look at her reflection until she got used to the new her. Finally she nodded her head, satisfied with her hair; it was not the pride and joy that she had grown carefully, shampooing it often, combing it 100 strokes every morning and night, but it would do.

    When she clenched her jaw just right, if she didn’t look below the neck she saw a boy looking back at her. The hair still needed work, maybe some grease, but it would work. From the neck up, she looked like a boy. Maybe not the most masculine boy, but it was still a boy all the same.

    Mama, tell the kids I love them. Bre is now the oldest, she will be happy about that. Tell her not to be too bratty to Junior. Tell Junior not to stress as much about being the man of the house, he is far to young to be worrying about being a man. Just make sure that they know I love them, and I didn’t want to leave them.
    Love,
    Sydney

    The Beginning

    Sydney Marie Doyle was born in the winter of 1946 to Shane Doyle and Eleanor Doyle, formerly Eleanor Beck. She was a beautiful baby girl, a weighing in heartily at over 8lbs, and there was already a hint of fiery red atop her head. Shane had been adamant that whether they had a boy or a girl, he wanted his first born named Sydney after the far off town of Sydney, Australia where he had always wanted to go. Eli conceded the first name, on the agreement that the middle name was hers to decide. If it had been a boy she would have named him Sydney Clarence Doyle after her father, but luckily for Sydney, she was a girl and named after Grandma Marie.

    Things were cozy for the young family. Shane and Eli had only been married a year and a half when little Sydney was born, and life could not have been better. Shane had a good job on the assembly line and made decent money, while Eli stayed home to take care of Sydney and the housework. They had a nice suburban house on mortgage, and it would be paid off in 1970 with any luck (Shane was paying extra each month). As a new family life was satisfactory- even wonderful, if one dared to go that far.

    Two years after Sydney was born Shane and Eli had Brenda Doyle. Brenda Doyle was smaller and more sickly than her sister- she always seemed to cling to her mother, or the rag doll she got when she was born. Despite being more frail than Sydney, Brenda was a beautiful blonde, with a cute little button nose and very fair skin. Sydney both loved and hated Bre, as she was not the center of attention anymore, and at two years old, having a little sister ruined her. She saw baby Bre as far too whiny, and on occasion would steal the rag doll and hide it, just to watch Bre whimper.

    As baby Bre grew up, however, Sydney found herself loving Bre in spite of her childish, needy ways. She helped teach Bre how to use the toilet like a big girl, reciting rhymes that her mother had taught her. Bre likewise idolized her big sister. She followed her everywhere, she even tried to follow Sydney and Eli to school the first day. When Sydney and Eli put their coats on, Bre reached for her coat to put on as well. When Eli told her that she couldn’t come along, she pouted then followed them out the door a few seconds behind, walking until her legs got tired. Finally she sat on the side of the street crying until Eli came across her.

    Bre tried to follow Sydney to school every morning of that first week. Each morning she would get a little further, but never did she make it to the school and her big sister. Even after she had given up on following Sydney, Bre would cling to her waist in the mornings, begging her not to leave. When her sister left anyway, Bre moped about the house listlessly during the school day. Eli tried her hardest to comfort Bre, praying that it was just a phase. She would play hide and seek while cooking or cleaning, and sing with Bre while washing cloths or making beds. Eli even tried to convince Bre that now that Sydney was at school she would have to be Brenda, the big girl of the house. None of her efforts worked. It nearly broke Eli’s heart when after a month of trying to comfort the girl, she still would walk around the house asking if ‘Sydy’ was coming home yet.

    After a few months of watching her youngest daughter wander listlessly during the day, Eli asked Shane to take a look at their finances and see if they could afford just one more child. The two months convinced her that her youngest daughter was not going to get over the loneliness of being the only child in the house during the day, and Eli hoped that another sibling may distract Bre for the two years before she went off to school. Shane agreed that if he put a few more hours overtime in at the assembly line they should be able to get by with one more child, things would just be a bit tighter. The house would not be paid off for a bit longer but Eli shook her head saying that it was not important. They agreed that they would try for one more child, for Bre’s sake. Eli smiled and kissed him graciously, though they both he still wanted a son to teach manly things.

    Eleven months later Shane Doyle Jr. was born at a healthy 9lbs 8oz. He had his mother’s beautiful hazel eyes, his fathers stubborn jaw, and he had an indignant cry when he was moved from where he settled. Shane Sr. grinned happily and kissed Eli’s temple.

    “Now you have a little man of the house,” he whispered softly, “he’ll watch over you while I am at work.”

    And so he did. Within a year of birth, Shane Jr. figured out that he could control his existence by crying an indignant whimper until he was placed where he wanted. Junior liked being able to see his mother and Bre at the same time, he would cry if either of them wandered out of eyesight. Bre found the small bundle of flesh fascinating, and spent time poking him in the belly to see what he was, only to have him coo and giggle up at her. She found it reassuring that such a small creature wanted her to be near it, and she would comfort him when her mother had to go out of the room by playing peek-a-boo or making funny faces at him. The little man of the house was happy enough to be comforted by Bre, but could care less about Sydney and his father. He didn‘t spend much time with them and therefore they were not worth his time.

    The larger family got by fairly well. They might not have been rich, but they lived within their means happily. Eli still happily took care of her house and children, helping Sydney with homework, babying Shane Jr. and preparing little Bre to go off to school herself. Shane pulled overtime once a month or so to help buy a few luxury items such as a television, toys for Christmas, and to save up for a camping trip to Yellowstone. The girls were oblivious to any change. Sydney was enjoying school, or so she told Bre, who was counting down the days ‘til she could start kindergarten. The family was financially sound, and everyone was fairly happy.

    Bre,
    I love you little sis. You better not sit around and mope until I come back like you used to when I started school. This isn’t the same, I won’t be coming back any time soon. If you do, you’ll be moping for a long while. I will be fine, not to worry.

    The Clothes

    Sydney took one last look in the mirror, nodding in approval at her new hair. She then turned towards the bed, and picked up the clothes she had bought. The white undershirt was a bit snug when she had tried it on, especially around the bust, but she figured it would work fine in the long run. A long sleeve red plaid shirt lay next to it, she bought it a little loose so that it covered her bust decently well, and she could roll up the sleeves if she got too warm. For pants she chose a pair of slightly warn, straight legged jeans, with enough room to move freely and 5 pockets for all practical usage.

    Everything laid out on the bed was practical, not fashionable. Sydney wrinkled her nose slightly at the though of never wearing her cotton nightgown again as she looked at the scratchy pajamas she had picked out for herself. She ran her hands along her nightgown one last time before slowly taking it off.

    Using her knife to start the tears, Sydney ripped the gown, tearing a few strips from it, approximately 5 inches wide and four feet long. Then, looking down at her budding breasts, she placed the cloth across them, holding it tight as she wrapped the first strip tightly around her torso. As she pulled as tightly as she could, she watched her bosom flatten slowly, wincing in pain. When it was wrapped as tightly as possible, she reached for the roll of duct tape she had grabbed from her dad’s tool chest, and carefully taped the strip down. She repeated the task again, this time wrapping from just under the armpits down below her bust, smoothing out her new shape. After taping the second strip in place, she carefully added tape around the whole ensemble, creating a uniform shape and reinforcing the ensemble.

    She turned to look back in the mirror, at the shiny silver flat chest that replaced her natural curves. She sighed softly, all cried out from cutting her hair, with very little strength left to protest her self mutilation. She was sad to see the lack of shape in her bust, although it hadn’t been too long since she had acquired that shape so the change was not such a shock as her hair had been. She was satisfied with her work she looked like a boy, this time from the waist up, with the exception of the silvery torso.

    She pulled on a pair of loose white boxers (which she had stolen from a department store, not wanting to wear used underwear). She was glad that she had found boxers, in case she needed to change her clothes in front of others, the boxers would give her protections that the close fit of briefs would not. She then pulled on the undershirt, and the jeans, tucking the undershirt in. She gasped softly as she looked at her reflection, she could hardly call herself a girl anymore. The person who stared back looked a bit younger than herself, maybe a year or two, but it was a boy. The smallness of her shoulders was a bit problematic, and she thanked the heavens that rumor had it boys became men slower than girls became women. She pulled on the plaid work shirt and buttoned it up slowly, watching the stranger in the mirror imitate her movements exactly.

    When fully clothed, she again had to stop and stare at the mirror, trying to get used to the stranger staring sulkily back at her. Without her volumes of hair her eyes looked sunken and sullen, a murky swamp green replaced the beautiful emerald they were in contrast with her ruby locks. Her jaw line was more pronounced as was her neck, and for once she was proud to have inherited her father’s strong jaw instead of her mother’s dainty one. Her hips looked thinner in the loose jeans than they ever had, and although she had just gotten used to having a woman’s figure, she was surprised how much she missed it as she looked at the strange boy looking back at her.

    “Who are you?” she asked the mirror meekly.

    You are technically the oldest now, make sure Mama doesn’t work too hard. You know how to cook, well at least you don’t cook horribly, so take it upon yourself to help Mama every once in a while. You and I both know she cleans enough at work without having to come home and do it all again. Make sure both you and Junior do well in school, even if Mama is too busy to help you both with your studies. Remember- Dad used to say studying harder would have gotten him a better job and more time to spend with us.

    I love you so much, baby Bre, never, ever, forget that.
    Your Older Sissy,
    Sydy

    The Sickness

    It started as a single mole. Sydney and Bre noticed it as they were coming home from the Yellow Stone trip that Shane had been saving up for since before Junior was born.

    “What’s that?” Bre asked, poking the black mole on the side of Shane’s neck, and twisting her finger gently as he was driving.

    Eli looked at the spot, and scratched at it lightly, checking to see if it was dirt. When it turned out not to be, she turned to the crowded back seat and smiled, “it’s a beauty mark girls. It’s like the one Marilyn Monroe had. You girls remember the one on her cheek?”

    Both Sydney and Bre giggled, with Junior cooing softly between them in his car seat. The girls both thought it was hilarious that their father had a “beauty” mark, and they made sure he knew it. They imitated Maralyn, they giggled, and they even called him Mama instead of Papa.

    “Am I not allowed to have any beauty, just because I’m a boy?” he responded, twisting back to tickle Sydney’s stomach before quickly refocusing on the road.

    The girls giggled louder, pestering him for a few more miles before loosing interest. They resumed staring out the window, and the baby resumed his sleep. The whole family was fairly happy on the ride, and it wasn’t until they were only a few hours from home when the girls started asking the age old travel question, “Are we there yet?”

    Shane resumed his work at the assembly factory, pulling overtime that weekend to make up for the week’s worth of vacation he had taken. It was not that he had not earned it after 9 years of faithful service, taking only one day off for the birth of each of his three children, it was the guilt of loosing a weeks wages that drove him to work overtime the first week that he was back. Sydney and Bre returned the school, bragging that over their spring break they had come within inches of a moose (not true in any way, they did see a moose, and it was rather close, but it was still a good 30 feet away, not inches), while Eli and Junior resumed the life of mother and son, taking care of the house and each other.

    It became two moles. It didn’t happen very fast, in fact it was Junior who noticed the second mole. It appeared a bit higher on the neck, and made Shane look as if he had been bitten by a vampire.

    “MaaaaaaaaaMaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” Junior shrieked, as he ran from Shane straight for the kitchen. Junior had been just about to kiss Shane’s cheek when he noticed the second mole and started the scream. Shane continued to stand where he had swept Junior into his arms after opening the door, dazed by the ear piercing shriek.

    “Shhhhhh…” Eli hugged Junior close and kissed his forehead lovingly, rubbing his back to calm the terrified child down. “What’s wrong, baby?”

    “Va…Va…Vampire!!!!” the terrified four year old whimpered into her loving embrace.

    Eli hugged him closer and sighed, “Sydney Marie, Brenda, GET OUT HERE NOW!” she shouted. She then turned her attention back to the terrified child in her arms. “Who’s the Vampire Junior? Sydy, or Bre?”

    Junior shook his head whimpering and pointed towards the front door. Shane had slowly been walking closer and closer to the kitchen and his terrified son, and Junior yelped as Shane appeared in the kitchen door. The quivering child then hid behind Eli peering at Shane from behind her skirt.

    Sydney and Bre both ran in, excusing themselves as they bumped past their father. Both asked, almost in unison, “what did we do now?” followed by, “whatever it was we didn’t do it!”

    Eli shook her head, “you two have been scaring your brother again. How many times do I have to tell you not to tell him about the monsters you hear about at school?” She then turned her attention to Shane, who was still standing in the doorway looking baffled and concerned. “Come here you!” She reached out to inspect him, trying to see what it was that had scared her youngest so much. Finally she noticed the second mole.

    “What?” Shane asked as she scratched at the second one as she had the first. “What is it?!”

    “Well it seems you have been bitten,” Eli laughed softly. “Go look for your self,” she said shooing him out of the kitchen and turning to the terrified boy once again. “Honey, your father is not a vampire, those are just moles. He’s had the one since you were a baby.”

    And then there were many… It took a while before anyone thought something was wrong. A mole was a mole, it was a sign of beauty. Besides the moles were spreading slowly at first, by the time they start spreading fast it was too late.

    Shane started feeling tired- calling in sick to work so that he could spend the day in bed. By this time there were ten moles, and they knew that something was wrong. Shane did not want to go to the doctors, he wasn’t sure what they could do to help, besides they did not have medical insurance for themselves they could only afford it for the children.

    The ten turned to fifteen and the children started to worry. The fifteen to twenty, his neck was covered with black spots by the time Sydney turned 12, and started to go through the rebellious phase all youngsters go through. She focused her rebellion on Shane. Whenever he stayed home from work, she would scream at him- telling him that he was the reason the family didn’t have enough money for her to go to see a movie, or for her to buy a dress for a school dance.

    In early December of 1959, the inevitable happened. Shane had been taking more and more time off work because he didn’t feel well enough to put 25000 screws in 25000 holes every day. He was down to part time status at the factory, and things were tight. Eli had started at a temp agency, working as a receptionist when there was work to be had, or waiting at the agency for someone to call for a temp worker. Sydney was barely talking to Shane anymore, convinced that her unhappiness was his fault. The upcoming Christmas was looking bleak, and Sydney was sure she wasn’t going to get the makeup set she had been asking for.

    Then one morning when Sydney tried to wake her father up to tell him he had to cook for her and her siblings, he would not respond. He stared at her, and blinked, but his face was immobile, as was the rest of his body. The look on his face would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. His face was motionless, but his eyes held the most horrified expression she had ever seen. They moved from side to side, as if trying to communicate with her, and moans were coming out of his throat. She just stared at him, frozen in terror as he stared back at her.

    When she finally was freed from the terror of finding him petrified, she ran to the phone to call the fire department. Eli was at the temp agency, and the kids were both asleep still, so she went back to him and talked to him as calmly as she could to try to remove the fear from his eyes.

    “It’s okay Papa, I called the fire department and the ambulance will be here soon. They said you probably had a stroke.” Shane’s eyes started moving faster as he realized how much this all would cost without health insurance. “Relax Papa, you’re going to be okay, they will be here soon, I promise,” Sydney cried, starting to get hysterical again. “Please calm down! Please!”

    When the ambulance arrived, one of the firemen saw to taking care of Shane, checking vitals, and placing him on a stretcher, while the other gave Sydney a paper bag to breath into, and had her sit down in a chair, rubbing her back gently as she slowly ceased to hyperventilate.

    It was indeed a stroke. The cancer had spread to his brain before he had even seen the doctors, and there was not much they could do for him. They made him as comfortable as possible, and the family all came to see him every day until he passed. Two weeks later, a meager funeral procession passed through their small town, family and friends gathered at the graveyard to say goodbye.

    That Christmas was a somber one, everyone treasuring every present, even the socks. The last item, brought out by Eli for Sydney turned out to be a makeup kit, larger by far than the one she had asked for. Inside was a note, in Shane’s handwriting: “I’m sorry it couldn’t be bigger.”

    Junior,

    I know you’re getting old enough to understand what is going on. Don’t worry. You are still far too young to have to stress about money problems. I am leaving so there will be more to go around for the rest of you. That way you can focus on your school work instead of worrying. You are still a kid, Junior, you don’t have to try and be like Papa. Relax.
    Your Loving Sister,
    Sydney

    No Time For Goodbye

    Sydney continued to stare at the boy in the reflection, trying to figure out who he was. She started filling out his past mentally like she was taught in the fiction section of English Comp. His name, she decided, was Sid. It was simple enough to remember, and not feminine. He was from a small town in Kansas, an orphan. She played with her facial muscles, watching as Sid made faces back at her.

    “I am Sid,” she said meekly. She shook her head, that would never do. She did not want to come across as meek, she was going to try to get a job at a factory, if she came off as meek, she would seem to weak for a good paying job.

    “Hello, my name is Sid,” she said trying to make her voice low, but shook her head again, annoyed at the femininity in her voice. It would never do. She might as well un-tape her breasts if that was the best she could muster.

    “Name’s Sid,” she muttered, keeping her voice low and the volume soft. She then smiled at herself. It wasn’t perfect but it would work for the time being. She put her hand forward at her reflection, pretending to shake hands with the boy on the other side. “Nice to meet you.”

    She continued to play with her face and voice as she worked his story out. There were no papers- his parents died in a crash in the woods when he was young, and he was raised by the hillbilly family that found him. He had no formal education, but was a quick learner at what he did learn. She tried her hand at flirting in the mirror.

    “Well, hello gorgeous,” she cooed, and shook her head. That would never do. She tried again, muttering, then shook her head again. She knew she’d never convince a girl that way-then she grinned. After all, did she really want to get a girl? Or did she just want to convince others she did?

    When Sid was 14, he was told that he would have to earn a living in the family business of moonshinin’. He wanted something more out of life, and ran off west in hopes of making something of himself. He wanted to see more of the world. With no papers, there would be no proof of his past, and his employers would just have to take him at face value. He also felt responsible to his adopted family, after all they didn’t have to rescue him, so he would be sending money back for them to make up for running off. She smiled at him, he smiled back.

    Sid stood up, and picked up a leather wallet from Sydney’s desk. It had belonged to Shane, and had a picture of the whole family, before his cancer started to destroy him. His ‘vampire bite’ was just barely noticeable in the picture, and the two girls were hugging either side of him, grinning, With Eli in the back, and Junior on his lap, arms wrapped loosely around his neck, they were the picture perfect family. With tears in his eyes, he placed the picture on the desk and sat down to write.

    He could not very well say goodbye in ordinary terms to the family, he was sure Eli would try to stop him, and knew little Bre would not understand. He did the best he could to say as much as was possible in his letters, without telling too much. As he wrote, memories of happier times were dredged up, and not one page of the letters were left unstained with tears. Christmases long since past echoed through his head- the screams as Bre got her first tube of chap stick, the squeals of Junior as he got the Superman action figure he had wanted with real punching action. He first wrote to Eli, then to Bre, and lastly to Junior. Finally he placed the letters and photo in an envelope, delicately addressed it, and wrote one last thing on the flap before sealing the letters inside.

    He picked up the envelope and the make up set from the Christmas Sydney’s father died and moved carefully from room to room of the house, the past filling his head, sounds, smells, even tastes of happier times. He peeked into Junior’s room and smiled, the kid was almost 10 and still sucked his thumb. Man of the house, he shouldn’t be.

    He then walked to Bre’s room. She had kicked off her covers, and he carefully recovered her, tucking her in and kissing her cheek. She murmured softly in her sleep, but did not wake. He gently placed the set on her dresser, knowing that she would use it when he never could. His eyes filled with tears, as he continued.

    Lastly he crept into Eli’s room, walking as slowly as he could so as not to wake her, he moved over to her dresser to slide the envelope partially under the jewelry box, but in plain sight of Eli’s morning routine. As he was creeping back out of the room a sound made him freeze in place.

    “Shane?” Eli murmured, half asleep and half awake, staring straight at Sid. Sid turned, and nodded, pressing a finger to his lips.

    “Shhhh. It’s just a dream,” He whispered in the lowest voice he could master. Eli nodded compliantly and rolled over, resuming her rest.

    Fighting back the tears, Sid quickly moved through the house towards the front door, worried that Eli would wake up and realize it was not a dream. As he passed the kitchen, the timer on the oven told him that he was right to worry, it read 3:45, and the alarm in Eli’s bedroom rang at four every morning so she could get up and go to work. Brushing the tears from his eyes, Sid rushed to the front door, carefully let himself out, and ran down the driveway and away from the house where he had been born.

    He ran, turning randomly through the streets of the small town. It was a purposeless run, he was running like a startled deer. He kept running until he was deep in farm country, kept running until he was well away from Eli, and Bre, and sad little Junior. He ran until his legs cramped up from running, past cows and wheat and cotton. He finally collapsed at the side of the road, and let the tears flow.

    Back at the house, only months away from being foreclosed, Eli was just getting up to go to her morning job. She had dressed, and was just sitting down to put on her jewelry and makeup. In fact, right as Sid collapsed, she was picking up the envelope, and reading the back flap.

    No matter what happens, remember me as I was, before all of this happened, before Papa got sick, and before I hated him.
    Remember me as,
    Sydy