In Freshman English we had an assignment to write something that evoked emotion in the reader but fit on one page. I chose to write about the death of one of my sisters.

She was born six days before my birthday. I didn't really mind that mother wouldn't be home in time. Being the oldest child with a younger brother and two sisters already, I was used to the big commotion caused, so I wasn't jealous. In about two weeks, mother and Becky came home; Becky, that was short for Rebecca. My best friend's sister was named Rebecca.

Everything went fine for about two weeks. People were always coming to admire Becky and I even got to feed her once. Everyone was happy, as they generally are around a new born child. Then, Becky started coughing.

My family thought Becky was sick. Even something like a cold can be fatal to a baby. Becky had to go to the doctor. She wasn't sick, but there was a problem. Instead of two arteries attached to the heart, there was only one.

Why did the baby cough? Becky was drowning in her own blood as it seeped from her faulty heart into her lungs.

I stayed at my best friend's house for three months. Any time longer than that was unnecessary. Four months and two days after being born, Becky died.

Ice cream cones and paper airplanes, a chance not to go to school. What do the young know about death anyway?

Small body in a small black coffin, I didn't cry, Big boys don't cry; everyone has told me so. Big, black Cadillac with dual air conditioners and seats facing both ways, quite an impressive ride when you have just turned thirteen. They buried the black box that day.

I go home, the big day is over; now I can understand. Tonight I cry for a stranger that never said hello. She never even learned to talk. Did she even know her name?