"Hello! Where have you been hiding?"  Dawn wormed herself further under the bed, elongating her arm as far as it could go.  Long, elegant fingers barley brushed the soft fabric.  "Al-most…Got it!"
A knock on the door caused Dawn to pull out too fast.  She suppressed a cry of pain as her head slammed up against the bed frame.
"Just a sec!"
The visitor didn't bother to wait; she was already standing inside the room with her arms folded across her chest.
"Quit fooling around, Dawn."
"Look what I found!" said Dawn with a triumphant smile on her face.  She held up her baby blanket, undeterred by her sister's irritated mood.  Anne was never happy and Dawn had learned to not let it bother her.
Anne gave Dawn a small smile, knowing that was the reaction her younger sister was hoping for.  She admired her mother's handy work, the blanket had held up well.  Except for the silk trim that had fallen off, the balloon-covered blanket was virtually the same as it was on the day Dawn received it.
"It still smells like her," said Dawn holding it gingerly to her nose.  "Here, you smell!"  Dawn shoved the blanket in Anne's face.  Anne took a step back.
"I'm sure it's just the smell of sweat and all the nasty fumes that accumulate in your bedroom."
Dawn shook her head defiantly.  
"It smells like ginger.  Remember that bottle of perfume mom always kept above her dresser?  It was shaped like a teardrop.  You used to say it was because the terrible smell of it made people cry."
"I never said that!"
"You so did!" laughed Dawn, playfully shoving her sister.  "We would push mom's old trunk up against the dresser and climb up in heels five sizes too big for us, then douse ourselves in perfume.  You would pretend you were mom, parading around in her prom dress, which she kept in a box under her bed."
"How do you remember all that?  You only would have been six.  I don't even remember," remarked Anne, awe and jealousy clear in her voice.
"How can you not remember?  Those were some of my best memories!  It was when everyone got along.  Before dad found out mom was sick and left us, before mom died, before you stopped being my sister and became my mom.  Sometimes I'll lay in bed and wish myself back to those years.  How could you let yourself just forget all of those memories?  They were so pleasant."
Dawn was crushed.  All the best days of her life, all her favorite memories, were remembered only by her.  In addition, the person she had shared those moments with, had forgotten.  She felt betrayed by Anne.   These were things she was supposed to remember.  Those were the moments that meant the most to Dawn.
"I don't remember much from before mom died.  I made myself forget most of them."
"Why?"
"It made it easier to grow up and be the leader.  All those memories were just a reminder of all I had lost.  Who wants to be reminded every day they had a father who didn't love them enough to stay?  Who wants to be reminded of the mother they no longer have?  Who wants to be reminded of the life they could have had?"
"I do," whispered Dawn.  
"Well I'm not you!" snapped Anne.  She wanted to shout at Dawn, release all her anger and jealousy.  She had never been Dawn.  The six-year age gap seemed even larger than before.  Dawn didn't have to grow up so fast; she didn't have to experience the same struggles Anne did.  Now, more than ever, Anne wished she was Dawn.
After a long silence, Dawn finally spoke up.
"They were the best days of my life.  I've never experience such joy and innocence.  You should know, we were close back then.  We used to act like sisters."  Dawn was trying to help.  If Anne didn't remember all the great moments, she should at least know it had been a good time.  She thought she was doing the right thing, even though it had the complete opposite effect.
We used to act like sisters, thought Anne again to herself.
"Shut up!" shouted Anne aloud.  "Stop talking and just forget about the past already!  At least, stop reminding me about it.  I already feel guilty enough as it is about how events turned out, I don't need you making it worse."
Anne crossed the room to the door, her eyes pausing briefly at a family photo hanging on the wall.  She turned it around so she wouldn't have to look at their smiling faces.
"I'm sorry that I don't want to remember how our relationship used to be," said Anne, having seen Dawn's wide, hurt eyes.  She saw the tears that threatened to over flow.  
The door closed loudly, leaving Dawn staring at the door.  As the first tear fell down her cheek, her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed in a heap on the floor, her face buried in the blanket that smelt of ginger.