Daisy

I saw her in front of the kitchen window. She was crying again as she was washing the dishes in the sink.

It happens a lot. I’ve never seen Daisy not cry on weekends and summers when we didn’t have school.

It wasn’t that her family was dysfunctional. Mr. and Mrs. Medina are among the kindest people I have ever met. They have two other sons, Donald and Dean. Dean is in my grade and I know him a little. He’s a great kid. You could tell he’s nice not just because his family has money, but that his parents brought him up well.

Daisy is the eldest. She doesn’t attend regular school nowadays. Sometimes I would see her with her mother in their garden going over books. Or a tutor would give her exams at the country club periodically.

I asked Dean about Daisy but he doesn’t like talking about his sister. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

I’ve seen it happen not less than five times. Sometimes Daisy would start throwing things around the house and she’d yell at her parents. Then a closed van would pull up and take her someplace I didn’t know.

When she comes back, she’s a different person. She’d stare into space and be all quiet.

One day I was riding my bike home from school and I saw Daisy lying on the lawn. She was listening to her iPod, earphones in her ears, her eyes closed. What was wrong with this picture? She was frothing at the mouth.

Alarmed, I called out to my Mom. She called the hospital.

Daisy ingested insecticide that day. I never saw her again after that.