Kolbi Part III

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It was an overcast afternoon in May. Kolbi was five, already a rebel, and she refused to pick up her room. Mom was mad (this was back when we still had a Mom) and would not except Kolbi’s apology. Sure, Kolbes said she was sorry but she still was not going to pick up her room in the same breath, but couldn’t Mom have some grace? Nope.

My little sister grabbed her Dora The Explorer backpack and an Oreo poptart, and said she was going to run away. Mom and Dad figured we would find her on the porch covered in poptart crumbs like every other time she was “running away.” But, somehow I knew this time was different.

Hours later,when Mom told me to call Kolbes in for dinner, she was nowhere to be found. Dad cranked up the Jeep, and went to search our woods.

I remember being surprised at how worried Mom was; pacing and muttering, but not calling the police. I sat quietly in the corner, hoping Kolbes hadn’t been kidnapped.

A light rain was falling, when Dad pulled up. We ran outside and Mom hugged Kolbi for a long time. But my sister just stood there, with a blank face, not even acknowledging Mom’s arms around her.

Mom changed that night, after nearly losing Kolbi. She started to slip away.

Kolbes changed too. She was always too far away, in some distant place I couldn’t quite reach.

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