"Ohh." My bones creak as I walk to my rocking chair. I grip desperately to the cane I hold in my left hand. I carry it because of my hip. I broke it three years ago. I remember being rushed to the hospital, with my children. And standing in the door was Yolanda.

As I sit down, I sigh. Rocking in the chair, I think to myself, I'm old, by god, I'm so old. I'm eighty-six, nine months older than Yolanda. Listening to the rhythmic crick of the rocking chair reminds of the sounds these old bones of mine make, as they cling to this weight of mine. My bones are tired. Sometimes, when I bend they hurt. I used to complain about them, to Yolanda.

"I'm goin' Ma!" my daughter-in-law calls, emerging from the bathroom. I glance her way, seeing the cheap burgundy dress she wears. That woman took my boy away. That woman wore that dress to the funeral today. I never liked that witch. I look up and see my son coming down the hall. He gives her a kiss on the forehead. He walks this way and does the same to me. I watch then go to the front down. Before they leave I say good bye. Earlier today, I said the same to Yolanda.

Hearing the sounds of my knees pop, I pull myself up. Making my way to the bedroom, I sigh again. I walk into the bedroom. I start to remove my dress. I turn to see my reflection in the mirror. I stare at the legs that don't stand as tall. And the back that doesn't hold this head quite so high. I stop when I see the pictures on my wall. Some are of my husband. Some are of my children, and grandchildren. Some are of Yolanda.

I slide my eyes to the things sitting on the dresser. An old clay ashtray Brain made in second grade. The red ribbon Brain gave me on Mother's Day so long ago. As I slide my eyes over the well-worn surface, they catch on the edge of my scrapbook. Flipping through the pages I see my parents. The pictures browning on the page. Old memories with curling edges. Turning the page, I see a little girl in her new school dress hugging her best friend. It's Yolanda and I.

Grabbing the scrapbook I make my way to my rocking chair. I remember the day we took that picture, the picture of Yolanda and I. It was the year Yolanda turned seven. It was the day Yolanda asked me to be best friends. Best friends forever! And we were. As I reach the rocking chair I practically collapse. The old hallway is getting longer than it used to be. Sometimes I think it's just me.

Sitting in the rocking chair, I open the book again. I've opened it to another memory. Gently fingering the dried rose petal I remember my first date. A double date with Yolanda. Sitting in the soda shop, we met our dates. Later he walked me home. Braving a dog, and the tip of a broom, he risked his life to bring me the rose he placed in my hair. Later that night I called and told Yolanda. Shaking the sleep prematurely penetrating my eyes, I turn the page once more.

A piece of lace...a piece of my wedding dress. Mama and daddy didn't want me to get married. They said I was wasting my life away. They didn't come to justice of the peace with us. But Yolanda did. She walked me from her car to city hall. "Bad luck to see the groom before the wedding," she said. I got married in a plain dress trimmed with lace. A dress Yolanda made for me.

The damn phone rings, shaking me from my thoughts. It's Brian, calling to see if I'm ok. Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? My best friend just died! Hearing Brian's voice made me think of my time at the hospital, having him. And through the pain there was one. One person, I'd always need, Yolanda.

Dropping the book to the floor, I felt tears fall from my eyes. Feeling the streams flow down my face, I realize I'm crying. I know I'm in pain. Where's my helping hand? Where's my Yolanda? My Yolanda…Yolanda….Yolanda….Yolanda…

Yolanda is gone. She left! She left. Leaving me with the loneliness. Leaving me with the pain of going on. She left me alone. Alone with this house that calls my name…this body, that refuses to work...these memories that thrash my brain. "How dare you leave me!", my dry tongue cries into the night. "Oh Yolanda, Yolanda…."

I feel a warm breeze from the window brush my skin. I smell Yolanda. The smell of honey suckle and breath mints wafting from my front room. I hold my self, knowing that Yolanda is not gone. She fills my house with her love. Her life. I close my eyes, cursing he energy that's left with my youth. I feel her courage…her strength. Once more, she will help me with my pain. Ease my hurt.

Sometimes it's good to close my eyes. I do. Laying back, feeling the movement of the rocking chair, I sleep. And when I do, I see Yolanda.

Dear Momma

It was cold the day you died, Momma. Cold and wet. And the leaves fell outside my bedroom window like rain. You hated the rain, Momma. Maybe that's why you killed yourself. You hated the rain.

And, sometimes, I hate you. I hate the way you were weak, and scared, and afraid. Were you always afraid, Momma? Did you always tremble? Did you always cry? I'm waiting for the answers Momma. Tell me why.

Why did you have to leave? I guess it's my fault. I wasn't there, or maybe I was there too much. You could have come to me, Momma. You could have cried on my shoulder, and I would have held your hand. You could have screamed at me, told me to leave, and I would have left. You could have, but you didn't.

The funeral was nice, I suppose. Dad wore black, and I wore a dress, and everyone cried. Dad cried a lot, and so did I. He hasn't been the same. He just hasn't been the same since. He doesn't laugh anymore, and he hardly smiles. He doesn't get angry any more because it hurts to feel. You hurt him. You promised you'd never hurt him Momma. I guess you lied. You lied to Dad.

And I'm angry, Momma. I'm angry at you, because I still feel. And it hurts. It hurts deep in my chest. Sometimes I can't breath. And you did this Momma. You did this to me. You left me alone, for some reason. And now I'm angry at you. Something's hurting me, and I can't make it stop. Please make it stop, Momma. Just make it stop.

When I went back to school, everyone said that they were sorry. And I asked them why. They didn't kill you Momma. You did. At lunch, sometimes I catch my friends staring at me. They don't know what to say. What do you say to someone who's mom killed herself? That's just it. You don't.

Yesterday Diana came over. I accidentally let her see me cry. She asked my if I was okay. Can you believe that? Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be? I'm fine. Like you were fine, everyday that I asked you why you cried. And everything's fine. Look at me, Momma, I'm fine.

Some times I wonder, right before I go to sleep, if you can see me. Can you see me? I want you to see me. I need you to see me Momma. I need to know that even up there, you miss me. Even up there you love me. Do you love me? Did you ever love me? And If you did, why didn't you love me enough to stay? Can you tell me why?

Every day you used to tell me that you loved me. And you and dad would kiss me goodnight. Dad doesn't do that anymore. Some times in the mornings you'd give me a hug before I rushed out the door, trying to make to school on time. And I miss that, 'cause I miss you. I miss you Momma. I wish you were here.

I wish that you could have been at my graduation. I graduated with honors like you always wanted me to. You used to tell me that I could do anything that I put my mind to. But, why couldn't you? Momma, you promised me that you would be at my graduation when I graduated at the top of my class. Well I did, where were you?

Dad was there. And he clapped his hands, and he smiled. But it wasn't the same. And it never will be. Its just not the same now that you're gone. Its not the same.

I was accepted to that college you helped me write the essay for. I was so suprized I think that I had almost given up hope on that one. You always taught me to hold on to hope, because that's all I might have left. I've always done that, Momma. Why couldn't you?

I always wanted to go there. And now I have a chance to, but I don't think that I can. I can't leave dad alone like you did Momma. I can't do that to him. And, to tell you the truth, part of me doesn't want to leave. I'm afraid that if I leave, dad will go away too. Just like you did.

For the first time in my life I'm actually afraid. Afraid of the world. Of Life. I'm afraid to live. It makes me sad, and I'm sick of being sad. I'm sick of being here, but I'm afraid to leave. I'm sick of life. Hey. I guess you were too.

I'm so sick of things that I can hardly stand to eat. Sometimes I don't. I think I've lost weight since you died. I look better than I ever did. Part of me wants to laugh, Momma. I know you would have. But another part of me wants to cry, and I'm sick of crying.

I take care of things like you used to. I water the plants, and I make the beds. I clean the kitchen, and I buy groceries. I cook dinner, and make dad eat. And I'm tired. Maybe you were too.

Its hard to be you, because I'm not. Momma, I'm not you. I can't be you. I never realized until now how much you are. What you were. Like I said, Momma, I can't be you. And I'm tired of trying. I'm so damm tired.

Some days I don't leave the bed because all I want to do is sleep. I just want to sleep, because when I sleep I don't feel and I hardly ever dream. Did you dream Momma?

I used to have the most beautiful dreams. But now, when I dream, I dream of death. My dreams are black and faded, like my life without you Momma.

You ripped a hole in my world when you left, and no matter what I do I can't fill it. I can't fill place you did Momma. No matter how hard I try.

I guess I'm writing you this letter to tell you how irreplaceable you are. How perfect you were. And how much I love you. I love you Momma, and I miss you. I need you to see me, and miss me, and love me the way I love you.

I forgive you Momma. I promise you I do. I need you to be happy. I need you to rest, so I can rest. I have to rest Momma. I have to sleep. So do you. Maybe that's why you left in the first place. To sleep. To dream.

I have to say good-bye. I don't want to, but I'll try. If not for me, than for you. I'll always remember that you're up there, Momma. I'll always know that there's a star in the sky burning for me. And I promise, no matter what, you'll always be mine.

**************** Forever, Me

Danielle Moore used to stare at the mirror. Transfixed, she watched her face separate into separate features. She would sit there, some times for an hour or more. Because of this, people thought she was vain.

Walking down the street, she would see her reflection glancing off a window, or a car, and stare. Dissecting her face into a jumble of ambiguous parts. Wondering where they all went. Where they came from.

In a sixth grade science class, her teacher had said that a child took half of themselves from each parent. Danielle thought about that. A lot.

She’d stare in the mirror, matching her face to her mother’s. But they didn’t match. Not quite. The nose was wrong. So were the eyes. And the hair was a shade too light.

But that was natural. They way it was supposed to be. She wouldn’t look exactly like her mother. She’d also look like her father. Her real dad.

Those words were so strange to her. They hurt. Not a lot anymore. Just a little. Just enough. Like a stitch in the side that faded away with time. But it’s didn’t fade all the way.

Some times Danielle worried that she worried too much about it. But she was curious. Curious about a man who had never cared. Or maybe had never known. She wasn’t sure. But, she was curious just the same.

What was he like? Where was he form? Was he tall and dark, or short and round? Did he have a family? And if he did, why?

Why choose them over here? Were they so good? Was she so bad?

Maybe he wasn’t so nice at all. Maybe he was mean and cruel and hard. So bad, he’d scare her. So mean she’d run away.

Was she really part of that? Could she be? Truly? Maybe she was. Yes she was. She was.

Danielle Moore would stare at the mirror for hours. Searching for parts. Parts of him. And sometimes, she’d find them.