Sorry, K
“Don’t steal my friend from me.”
The moment I heard those words, I resented you. How the Hell could YOU say that to ME? A year goes by and all is past, all wrongs forgiven and suddenly you and your once best friend who you completely gave up on are now free to frolic in pleasant, memorable moments, whilst I sit home and brood. How is it that my “best friend” spent more time with you than I that first weekend she returned home? Why, why, why was her screaming reception better than my own reserved one? How the fuck did I let that happen? Am I that boring? Or is my access to drugs and alcohol not strong enough, the tripped up dimension of reality squeezed between acid and mushrooms nonexistent? But that’s another story.
My sister and I used to hate each other. The middle sibling with the out of control hair and constant cries always gets shit on by the eldest, also known as myself. Then we matured a bit and started to find common ground on a lot of points. High school, artistic passions, bouts with depression, friends, music, etc. Then we hated each other again for a significant spell two years ago. Water got in the way. We know a lot about each other. I like to think we are proud of how far we have both come in our respective passions. Sometimes our lives overlap and we find ourselves passing around the same joint or beer. It’s the way a…what do you call it….it’s the way two siblings of similar age should interact and coexist.
But lately I can’t stand you, sister. Ever since you uttered those words. Ever since you came home. You’re different. There’s a lack of concern or care, a nonchalance that I should admire, towards life and where it goes. But knowing you, that is just an exterior persona. Deep down you’re scared to death your dream won’t come true. Or maybe you’re not.
A decent dose of it is jealousy. That you smoke more than me or drink more than me or have a better best friend than me. Or maybe I’m just pissed we haven’t spent any time together, that water is getting in the way again. Drives through our sleepy home town, afternoons with LEGOs, nights smoking out the window, ice cream in the back seat, moments long forgotten. We just don’t hang out anymore and it sucks. You’re loud and it pisses me off. Our interests are polar opposites. I’m incredibly impatient and you’re ADD is overwhelming. But God damn it, we’re sisters aren’t we? Were supposed to get in fights and kick ass. We are supposed to respect each other, supposed to convey conflict and indulge in the benefit of unconditional “you’re stuck for life so deal with it” tough love.
But since you said that, I’ve resented you because it made no sense to me. How the fuck dare she say such a thing to me, after all the shit I’ve been through, after everything she knows about me and her. At the core, that’s the primary black eye against you. I’m trying to look past it but no amount of contemplation can squeeze reasoning into the statement. It was shot out of a cannon, through my midsection and destroyed buildings in its wake. The entire West Coast was wiped out from the recoil, New York is in shambles, rubble, debris, dust and dirt, dead bodies abound. And here I am, with a gaping hole in my stomach still turning the mental gears in a vain attempt to make sense of the ludicrous statement that tripped out past your lips and landed into the chilled air in our SUV that night in Boston.
How can I move past this? I’m not sure. An apology is conceited, self-centered and rude but part of me demands it. The other half wants us to be close again but water will always be in the way. I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I’m not. I care, but I don’t.
The overweight lady in front of me has no neck.
