Work Text:
September 14, 1968
Nellie Cernich awakened to gentle sunshine streaming through the white lace curtains. It was shaping up to be a warm Saturday morning. Nellie was looking forward to family dinner the next day, after church. It meant seeing two of her oldest siblings, Pete and Carol. Their father had insisted, after two of her brothers, Bobby and Tommy, had enlisted in the army, instead of waiting to be drafted for the Vietnam War. Nellie had never seen her father so angry. It led to a family photo of the eleven of them: their parents, Pete, Bobby, Carol, Tommy, Mary, Mark, Paul, Nellie, and little Agnes. Speaking of which, Nellie turned in the narrow twin bed she shared with her youngest sister, and gently nudged her awake.
“Nessie,” she whispered. “Come on, Nessie. It’s time to get up for breakfast.” She spoke in a very soft voice, knowing that Agnes, like the rest of the Cernich siblings, was a complete and total bear when awakened unexpectedly.
Agnes rolled over, groaning in her sleep, and pushed Nellie’s hands away from her.
Mary snorted from across the room. Nellie glared at her. “You want this responsibility? I’d gladly switch to sleeping in my own bed instead of sharing!”
“No thank you. I’m good,” Mary said, stretching herself out on the bed. She’d been quite happy when Carol went to college. It meant she no longer had to share a bed.
“Mmm, Mary?” Agnes asked, sleepily, turning her head slowly.
“No, it’s Nellie,” Nellie said. But her sister’s eyes went wide. She let out a tiny scream, and threw herself across the room, tackling Mary.
“Hey!” Mary snapped.
“What’s going on?” Agnes said, her voice frightened. “Mary? Why do you look so young?”
“Rude,” Mary said, trying to pull away from Agnes. “Agnes, stop.”
“Agnes? Who’s Agnes?” the little girl said.
“Agnes, stop playing games,” Nellie said wearily. “Come on, I’ll help you get dressed, and then we can have breakfast.”
Agnes shook her head. “I don’t know who you are! I don’t know where I am!”
“What on earth is going on here?” their mother demanded, as she stormed into the room.
“Mom?” Agnes said, in a whisper. “Mommy?” She ran over to their mother, and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Agnes, what on earth?” their mother asked. “Why are you crying? What did you two do?”
“Nothing!” Mary snapped. She rolled her eyes. “Neither of us did anything to her. She’s just too sensitive.” Doing her best to ignore the situation, Mary grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt out of the closet.
“Nellie?” their mother asked, while holding onto a hysterically crying Agnes.
“I just tried to wake her up,” she said, defensively.
“Mommy,” Agnes continued to cry.
“Agnes?” their father said, coming out of his bedroom. He’d been resting from having worked a double firefighter’s shift. “Why are you crying?”
“Daddy?” Agnes said, her voice barely a whisper. She ran towards him, and he wrapped his arms around her, much to both Mary and Nellie’s disgust. They shared a look. Everyone knew that Dad’s favorite was his youngest. Agnes had him wrapped around her baby fingers. But even being held by her father, Agnes didn’t calm down. She cried like her heart was broken.
“Agnes, please, stop,” their mother said impatiently. “Stop coddling her, John.”
“Is Agnes really crying like a baby?” Mark put his two cents in from the dining room. “You’re too old to be crying like that. Stop.”
“She’s just a kid, Mark,” Nellie snapped. While she didn’t believe in coddling Agnes, she also wasted no time in challenging her brother every time he tried to pick on her.
“She’s a crybaby is what she is,” Mary said, pushing her way past their mom and Nellie, and going into their only bathroom.
“Don’t take too long!” Nellie called. “Agnes and I still need to get in there.”
Their dad carried Agnes into the living room. Nellie closed the door, and got ready. Soon, Agnes was brought in by their mother. She was quiet, which was fairly normal for her, but subdued. Nellie could tell something was wrong with her. Every time Agnes looked at her, her green eyes showed no recognition. It was as though Agnes hadn’t known Nellie for the entirety of her ten years of life. She shrugged it off. Maybe Agnes just had a nightmare or something.
After their father finally got Agnes settled down, and their mother helped her get dressed, the remaining family members sat down for a big breakfast. Agnes didn’t say a single word throughout the meal, not even when Mary, Mark, or Paul tried to tease her for her outburst earlier. It was as though her mind was someplace else. Finally, after the meal was over, Agnes whispered something to their father, who nodded, and let her go. She disappeared into the backyard.
With a sigh, their mother walked over to Nellie. “Could you please find out what’s bothering her?” she asked.
Nellie really didn’t want to. But as the next youngest, she was considered the main confidante of Agnes. “All right,” she said.
“That’s not fair! It’s Nellie’s turn to help clean up!” Mary snapped.
“Mary Catherine, don’t talk to your mother like that,” their father said, making Mary subside. “Nellie, go ahead.”
Nellie walked through the living room to their back deck that her brothers had finished as a gift to their parents’ the summer before. Nellie’s shoes tapped pleasantly on the decorative stone slabs connecting the deck to the backyard proper. Nellie put a hand up to her forehead, and scanned the backyard. No Agnes. She sighed, shaking her head. With a rustle on the bright green grass, she shuffled over to the side of the shed, where she found her baby sister, with silent tears streaming down her face.
“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Nellie said, crouching down.
Agnes stared up at her with the frightened green eyes she always showed to strangers. “This is wrong,” she said.
“What’s wrong, Agnes?” Nellie said, indulging her.
“When I went to bed last night, I was sixty-five years old,” Agnes said, quietly, her voice sounding too mature for her years. “I had a husband. Two married children. Four grandchildren.”
“‘Uh-huh,” Nellie nodded, thinking her sister’s imagination must have gotten out of control. “Agnes, you must have had one doozy of a dream last night.”
“My name’s not Agnes!” she said.
“Then what is it?” Nellie said, indulgently
“Judy,” was the answer. “Judy Anne. Mom named me after the patron saint of impossible causes.”
“Why would mom do that?” Nellie asked.
Agnes put her head up, and finally stared Nellie in the eye. The absolute conviction in her eyes chilled Nellie to the bone. There was a lifetime of experience in those eyes, experience that had not been there the day before. Her words froze Nellie in place.
“Because you’re not supposed to be here,” Agnes said.
“Stop joking around,” Nellie said, frightened.
As though she hadn’t heard her, Agnes continued, “Mom prayed to St. Jude that I would be born healthy. And I was.” She paused. Then looked at Nellie again. “You died.”
“Stop,” Nellie said, scrambling to get up, and falling on the ground.
“You died, the same day you were born,” Agnes whispered, standing up with shaky legs.
“Stop it,” Nellie croaked, scooting away from her younger sister.
“Mom and Dad never named you,” Agnes continued, taking a step with every word.
“Stop it, Agnes!” Nellie screamed, putting her hands over her ears. Without another word, Nellie fled the backyard, as fast as she could scramble into a standing position. She tripped and fell on her way back, wanting to get away from her sister’s cruelty, and not wanting to face their parents’ with her sister’s insanity.