My eyes flew open as my little black alarm buzzed in my ear. I pressed the snooze button only to make the annoying high pitch buzzing stop. I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom as I fought to keep my eyes open. My right hand rested next to my head as my left arm hugged my semi-out-of-shape body. My bed covers were bunched up at the bottom of the mattress, just to prove that it was last night.

As I layed there, I could only think about the dream. There were a few possibilities to why I had it in the first place. My counselor’s excuse would be that I was still trying to cope with my sister’s death, and that I blamed myself. Of course anything my counselor said usually went out one ear and out the other. She talked to softly as if I was some wounded animal that needed comfort. Another reason why I had the dream would probably be because of my father’s cooking. I’m not saying that he’s a bad cook; I just get these weird dreams when I eat his food. One time I had a dream that I had a spider for a brother. Gross. I hate spiders.

I guess it's expected when my life isn’t that exciting to normal people. Only because I am as normal and average as a person could probably get. Even two years ago, I was part of the ideal average American family. Who would have thought one death would ruin everything that was considered so perfect? But I guess the need to blame someone for something so unexpected could rip people apart. My father ended up blaming my mother, and my mother blamed my father. I was stuck just blaming myself since no one else was going to do it.

To this day, I still couldn't wrap my head around my sister’s death. She was the happiest person I could have ever known in my eyes. Her grades were beyond perfect and she was part of almost every group in school. My parents could even call her the perfect child. While I was the complete opposite, living in my sister’s shadow. My sister had treated me like an equal and she trusted me with all of her secrets. It felt like we were the happiest family in town, but even happiness has an end, I guess.

After my sister died, everything changed. My parents started to have affairs because they couldn’t look at each other anymore. The blame that they had put on each other destroyed everything they had promised to each other. Soon divorce came around making me have to choose between my parents. I ended up staying with my father while my mother headed down south as soon as the papers were signed and finalized. I heard that she even remarried some guy that was from New York.

So here I was, in a house of two, staring at a ceiling. I couldn’t even remember why I was getting up so early. It could just be a force of habit that I built when I was still in school. I just continued to stare as my eye lids got heavier. Of course, when my eyes were almost closed, my alarm’s high pitched buzz broke the silence again. Scaring the crap out of me.

I groaned as I realized that my clock made me jump as high as my ceiling. I groaned some more as I turned off my alarm. I was going back to sleep. If I have to be up for something, I’m sure my father would make sure I was awake. But only if it was important enough.

About thirty minutes went by when I woke up again to my father walking around my room. I let out a yawn as I sat up on my bed to see what he was doing. My father was a middle aged man that had short gray hair. His frame-less glasses rested on his narrow nose that matched his narrow face. When I looked at him, I saw wisdom that I should never question. He wore his worn out green robe and brown slippers. His plaid pajama bottoms hardly showed under the robe. The sight just made me want to go clothes shopping for him. I had always respected my father, and his smile always made my day.

“Morning Sweetheart,” he said as soon as he noticed that I was awake, with his glasses gleaming in the sun light that was coming peaking through my bedroom window, “Sleep well?”

I tried to smile, but I was still too tired and my eyes were refusing to stay open. My father noticed and came over to my bed and sat next to me. He smiled and I manage to return a very sleepy one. He let out a little laugh as he hugged me and patted me on the head. I don’t see why my father did that. It was like I was still four years old. But he didn't say anything as he got up and left my room.

I looked at the area that my father was at and I let out a sigh as I noticed the light blue sun dress with white sandals near my dresser. That dress meant only one thing, my father had a very important meeting this morning and I was to tag along. I didn’t know much about what my father did for a job. There was probably trading and some other stuff involved that didn’t interest.

But I had no choice as I got out of my bed. My grey sweat pants fell to my feet. I

readjusted my blue tank top as I slowly walked over to the dress. I was grateful that my father didn’t pick out pink or yellow one, but I was still dreading that I even had to wear the thing. My father had always wanted me to look like a nice young lady, just in case there was a nice young man he wanted me to meet up with.

Putting on the dress, I walked to the mirror to see how it made me look. My hair was still in its messy ponytail, making me not look as appealing as the dress was supposed to make me look. Taking out my hair tie as I headed to my bathroom to get ready, I decided that I was going to bring a bag with my dark blue faded jeans and one of my many short sleeve shirts. I also was going to pack my favorite purple plaid shoes, even if I really did like the sandals my father had picked out.

My father ended up poking his head into my bathroom just as I was finish putting eyeliner on. He walked up to me with a smile. Giving away what he was about to say, “You look beautiful, Sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I replied with a forced smile. I wasn’t happy with this outfit, but it made my father happy, so I would suffer in silence.

“I know what you are thinking." my father began his speech, "Just bear with it, okay? One of the people I am meeting with today mentioned he was bringing his son. It wouldn't hurt to look nice for him."

I tried so hard not to roll my eyes. My father meant well, but this was a little dumb. There was no way I was going to hook up with one of his business partners' sons. They were always too stuck up and all about business. It wasn't a scene that I really fit into. My father should know that from my past behaviors.

After giving me a small peck on the top of my head, my father left me to myself. I ended up staring into the mirror. For some reason I was never happy with what I saw, but my sister told me that I didn't have to work hard to have every boy in town chasing after me. But what I saw was someone who who was very different from what my sister saw. Someone who was just average stared back at me. My blonde hair rested at my shoulders and was recently straightened, making it look slightly longer. Cursed with my father’s natural wavy made my hair look like a poodle’s fresh permed fur if I didn't style it right away as soon as I got out of the shower.

Most of my focus was always more on my eyes. They were such a bright ocean blue that everyone said that they would appear to glow in the right lighting. I could see the sadness that they held from what had happened years ago. They were the windows to every one of the stories that my heart held. If someone was to make eye contact, they would probably suddenly hug me due to what they saw there. My sister's death had left a huge wound that would probably never heal.

Also, my skin wasn’t perfect. It was close to being flawless, but there was a few break outs here and there. The whole thing proved that I was just not my sister, and part of me was glad for that fact. I wanted to be different from her. I would just be compared to her even more if we even looked even remotely similar. Sadly, the comparison was what I got for being five years younger than my sister. She had all the time in the world to set the bar high for me. It makes me wonder where she would be now if she hadn't died.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought about my sister. We were really close. Even when she went off to college, she would call me every day to see how I was doing. Our relationship always made our parents proud because we never fought once. Everything was just perfect.

Then one day my sister decided that she didn't want to be perfect anymore. She didn't want to be anything anymore. For a week I didn't get a call from her and it made us all worry. I remember my mother calling a family friend that lived close to the college my sister went to school at, asking them to go check on her. It was that night the police came and told us that my sister was found dead in her dorm room.

Closing my eyes tightly, I pushed the memory away before I messed up my makeup by crying. There was nothing I could do about it now. All I could do is take a deep breath and move on with my day.

After pulling myself together, I left my room and headed down the long hallway towards my father's favorite room in the house. It was his favorite because it was covered in his favorite color. Maybe that was why he liked cooking so much, because he was able to cook in a green kitchen. The room looked like a leprechaun threw up all over it.

The floors were a yellow green tile that matched the light spring green walls. The crown molding in the room was a dark forest green that matched the dark green cabinets. The counters were even a green quartz that my father just so happen to have found while turning the kitchen his. The only things that weren't green were the stove, sink, and fridge.

I remember asking my father why he had liked green so much. He only responded that his first love had loved the color green and that he started liking the color because of her. The color just stuck after he met my mother. The story wasn't as meaningful as I had hoped it would be. Wasn't very romantic either since my father never even talked to his first love. Just watched her from the distance like a complete creeper.

My father had noticed when I had walked into the room and placed a dark green plate full of scrambled eggs on the small dark green table. If I had a choice, I would eat in the dinning room and be away from the green. But once again I chose to suffer in silence just to please my father. His happiness was what was important since my mother ran off after the divorce.

"That dress does look very nice on you," he mentioned as he placed a glass of sweet tea next to my plate of eggs.

Sweet tea had become my weakness since I was in college. My roommate had made me try the stuff and even taught me how to make it. Good thing because I fell in love with the stuff within my first sip. Even if I was skeptical at first. After a sip of tea, a forkful of eggs went into my mouth. My father knew how to make his eggs to the point you didn't need salt added. The butteriness of them was enough to keep you happy.

My father sat down across from me, drinking out of his trusty sea green coffee mug. The sight just made me want to ask him about the color once again. Just to see if I would get a different answer, "So, are you going to tell me the real reason why you love the color green so much?"

Giving me a studious look, my father took a drink of coffee before responding, "I told you already. It's because my first love had a fascination with the color green."

"What was she like?" I pressed, "Your first love."

Knowing exactly what I was doing, he let out a sigh, "Even if I wanted to, I can't tell you much about her. I'm not allowed to talk about my college days."

This was new information for me. My metaphorical dog ears perked up with interest. What was my father hiding? "What does that mean?"

"It means that the conversation is over," he said with a serious tone. Making me end the conversation before it even started. I wanted to say something more, but the phone in the hall rang. My father got up to answer it while I ended up removing myself from my seat and took my dishes to the sink.

Deciding to make things easy on my father, I began to wash the dishes. The water needed time to warm up. So placing a hand under the running water to feel out the right temperature, I stared out of the window. Spacing out and looking at nothing. Until I saw a shadow standing next to the tree across the street. Not thinking much of it, I looked down and moved the running water over the dishes, adding soap in the process. While the sink filled up, I looked out the window again but the shadow was gone.

The whole thing made me freeze. It made me thing I was seeing things. But I was sure there was a shadow next to the tree. I wanted to study it more to figure out what it was. Instead there was nothing. No shadow by the tree. Just the early sunlight shining through the leaves. I ended up brushing the whole thing off as my mind playing tricks on me.

My father then came back into the kitchen. His jacket in hand, "Ready to go?"

Quickly I dried off my hands before I followed him out of the house. It was when I was locking the door behind us that I saw the shadow again at the corner of my eye. But it wasn't there when I looked for it. Shaking some sense into my head, I followed my father to his car and we were off to his business meeting.