Hurricane Lori

© Daniel Verastiqui

The thing I’ll remember most about Heather were her eyes. Her vacant, empty eyes. Staring at me like nothing in the world was wrong, like my questions were devoid of meaning and of answers. Hers was a face of impassivity and betrayal, the kind of face that a mother should never have to see on her daughter.

But this is not about her. This is about her baby sister, Lori.

This is about how I loved her. And lost her.

It was morning on the second day in the new house. I had been sleeping quite peacefully, content in the familiar folds of my transplanted bed. But then, just like that, I realized I wasn’t asleep anymore. Instead, I was staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand, just watching the little red dots blink on and off at a steady pace. The numbers that flanked them were tall and bright from my vantage point and seemed to have lost all their meaning. All that really mattered were those dots. They stood for something, ...