Lily
Lily Evans was ten the first time she witnessed a person overdose.
She’d been swinging lazily on the tire swing -one that was meant to have another pushing but her sister was busy inside, getting ready for her first ‘proper house party’- hidden behind her house (if you could even call it that- shack often felt more appropriate) thinking of things that she felt that other children her age weren’t even aware of, when she’d heard the first scream, frantic and loud. She’d carried on swinging- when looking back at this particular moment, she’d realise that to carry on swinging was, in fact, not the normal reaction and it really shouldn’t have taken multiple more screams for her to sit up and follow the sound of the terrified screams to find Tuney, finely dressed in a short pink dress and prettily painted lips, violently sobbing and her head in her hands so not to see the horrible scene in front of her.
Her mother’s head was hanging over the back of her dressing table chair, mouth hanging open, and her green eyes, that always seemed to hold magic and wonder, were glazed over and yellowing. Her whole body was vibrating and shaking in such a way that ten year old Lily almost thought it was a joke, but of course she wasn’t that lucky. Across the table, which was usually decorated with an array of wonderful creams and prettily arranged makeup, was rows upon rows of white powder which also seemed to have clustered on her mother’s nose. It was a truly horrifying sight. And yet the sight of her sister, usually so sure and confident, overcome with panic and tears frightened her much much more. Hands shaking, and the room still filled with Tuney’s fear stricken sobs, she stupidly repeatedly attempted calling 991, until realising that she lived in Britain and she was not in an American film -a mistake she would constantly ponder on, calculating how much closer it could have brought her mother to death.
The noise of her sisters sobs became overcome with the sound of sirens and her mothers face was reflected with red and blue and she got carried onto a stretcher, surrounded by passive faced men and women. Her older sister, who had thankfully temporarily recovered from the trauma of finding the women who gave birth to her passed out and unresponsive, which later she would be forced to hide in the back of her mind, quickly followed the stretcher into the ambulance, telling her to stay behind in hope of hiding her from any further terrifying scenes. Lily watched as the ambulance raced away, leaving her with a silent house and the used white powder strewn across the floor whilst the rest still lay in their orderly rows. It lay untouched for several days.
Petunia never did go to her first party.
Fortunately, her mother had survived, and awoke with a large smile despite tired eyes and never spoke of what had happened, feigning ignorance when questioned by the multiple policemen and doctors. The only time the Evans sisters did hear of the incident again was through the gap of hospital room 2175’s door as a Doctor quietly explained to their father what had happened (he said he’d been away working), that his wife “had a seizure due to a cocaine overdose”, and that “rehabilitation was advisable”. Lily had looked at her sister then, her beautiful, pragmatic older sister, who she relied on for comfort and to cradle her in her arms for her mothers arms never were available, instead preoccupied with pills and booze. But in that moment, Petunia did not look like her Tuney at all; she looked too worn down and dejected to be a girl of only twelve years of age. Her soft brown eyes, so different from her own, were wet and determinedly staring down at the depressingly grey floor- in Lily’s mind she would always view that moment as the second time, and a confirmation of the first, she realised that her sister was not only her older sister at all, made to reassure and hide Lily from the terrors of the world, but just a girl carrying a responsibility meant for someone much older than herself. She quickly averted her eyes, letting her sister grieve the child she’d been forced to grow out of.
After that incident, Lily and Petunia both opted to follow their mother’s road of action, matching her forced enthusiasm with tight lipped smiles and a lack of questions. However, all their mother’s bravado really hadn’t mattered in the end. She died a year later.
Her eleven year old self had allowed her to grieve for a single month before forcing herself to get up and move on. She ended her grievance with a single promise: she would never allow herself to succumb to a single drug.
The foreshadowing was almost funny.