Meg

When I got to my room I threw the packet on my unmade bed. Mom insisted we make our beds every morning. She recited, "Happy people make their beds."

I yelled at the ceiling, "Well I'm not happy Mom! I can make my bed 1000 times and it won't make me happy." Then I heard the voice, "Make your bed Meg."

This voice isn't like my Mom's or my guilty conscience. It's different. It's insisting. Again, "Make your bed Meg."

I knew I had to. I didn't have a choice. So I stripped my bed and that's when I saw it. Mom's opal necklace. She wore it everyday. Dad gave it to her on their first Christmas together. He told her you really shouldn't wear it to the beach or in the shower but she ignored him. She said, "It makes me happy so why shouldn't I wear it until I wear it out?" She wore it for 25 years and the fire opal only got brighter and more beautiful with age--like my mom.

I grabbed a hold of the necklace, clung to it and let myself cry. Mom said she'd give it to me when she died because I loved it the most. When daddy was making funeral plans he looked high and low for it. He thought Mary would want to be buried in it. He was so confused, "She never takes that necklace off. Where could she have put it?"

"Now I know she knew she was gonna die. She placed it here for me to find and now this voice told me where to find it."

Make your bed Meg.

I shouted at the inner voice. "I found the necklace! Wasn't that the point?"

Make your bed Meg.

"Fine." I got busy straightening my top sheet then pulling up my fluffy white comforter.

A note shaped like a folded triangle fell out. I unfolded the origami football. "Hey Meg! It's not like you to have an unmade bed. Aren't you happier now that your bed is made?" Actually I felt intrigued. " I want you to have this necklace. I knew I wouldn't be back from the hospital. Sorry I couldn't give it to you in a more meaningful way."

I shouted, "This is pretty meaningful Mom!"

"I know you have a gift like mine. Listen to the still small voice. Pay close attention to your dreams and visions. Others may laugh or think you're crazy but the voice is never wrong. PS: Keep this note but don't show it to your father or your sister's right away. They might not believe you. They believe IN you--just like I do but sometimes people may not believe you. Faith is a gift and you've been given a double portion. Love always, Momma."

I shook my head and started speaking to myself. I've heard that those who talk to themselves are either crazy or highly intelligent. Perhaps the two go hand in hand.

"Uh.... Mom, in case you haven't been paying attention my faith has been shaken terribly since you've died? Our family is falling apart. Dad is running away and Jo--our fearless leader--is off somehow. She's pissed off even more than usual.

Jo popped her head into my doorway. "Did you call me Meg?"

Now I had to cover or come clean. I wish I could ask Mom which one. She stopped talking to me via letter and after I made my bed the voice had gone silent.

Jo stepped into my room and said, "Oh I see you've made your bed. I thought it was weird how you didn't. Wanna make mine next?." Jo teased, "It'll make you happy!"

Sliding the note and necklace under my pillow I blurted, "Jo, what's wrong with you?" I sat with my back against the pillows and faced her.

Jo lied, "Nothing... I could ask you the same question. Right?"

Immediately I started shaking. I forced myself to calm down. "No, nothing... The thing with the money from Mom and the letters..." I asked Jo, "Have you read yours yet?"

Jo slowly shook her head, "I'm afraid to. It's like once I read her final letter to me--she'll be really gone." Jo did an unusual thing. She jumped into bed with me and laid her head on my shoulder. She had this shampoo that smelled like the beach. It put me into a happier place.

"Meg..."

She looked up at me.

"You can tell me anything you know. I won't judge." I really wouldn't. Us humans may be fearfully and wonderfully made but we're as flawed as shnit.

Then Jo quickly changed the subject. She stood up and headed for the door and said, "I'm gonna go read my letter. Maybe we can talk later?" Wow, Jo is being uncharacteristically nice today.

I thought, "Yep she's definitely hiding something." The fact is so am I. Then I remembered something! I jumped out of bed. "Jo! Mom's journals! She's been writing them for years!"

Jo gasped. "You're right Meg! What if dad throws them away?"

Jo ordered, "Meg, get Amy and Beth and meet me in the Attic. We're gonna find those journals. Mom's been trying to tell us something for years and now we're finally gonna listen!"