Sister, Sister

A fifth-grade girl with a short, shaggy boy’s haircut that she didn’t ask for. Teeth so horribly crooked she never spoke or smiled, but if she did, she covered her mouth so nobody could see the atrocity that lived there.

She wore cheap clothes that always smelled like smoke, which seemed to follow her into every classroom. She pictured herself as that Peanuts character with a cloud of dirt always around him.

She dreamed of having clothes that smelled nice, wearing designer brands, having straight teeth, and making friends.

A lonely, lonely fucking girl.

By now, you probably realize that girl was me.

I’ll never forget one rainy fall day, riding home on the bus. At that time, my sister was living in Indiana again, but only for a short while before she moved on to Texas, Arizona, Oklahoma, and wherever the fuck else she went to escape the fraud she committed and the many lives she ruined.

As the bus approached my apartment building, I tightly clutched the seat in front of me, eager to leave the school day behind and reach the only place I felt safe. Home, with my mom, dad, and brother.

But when the bus stopped, I saw my sister waiting at the corner across from our humble brown brick building. I immediately knew she was there to embarrass me. She wore old baggy gray sweatpants covered in paint stains and a worn-out gray sweatshirt with some words on it that I can’t remember. Her thick, black-blue hair was pulled up in a high, messy bun. Intentionally messy.

Like a bird’s nest, one that a larger, meaner flock of birds has ravaged. My heart sank.

I saw the bus driver out of the corner of my eye, watching with a bit of concern. I walked slowly down the stairs of the bus, not knowing what was coming at me but knowing that it was gonna be bad. Really bad.

That’s when I saw the fly swatter in her hands. She stood with her hands on her hips, looking angry. I had no choice but to get off the bus. I stepped onto the sidewalk with my head down, trying to disappear inside myself.

My sister started screaming, saying things like, “I told you to clean your room!” “I’m going to beat your ass until you bleed!” “You do what I say you’re going to do!”

My God, it was loud. So horribly loud.

Her voice was vicious as she grabbed my arm and hit me repeatedly over the head and body with the fly swatter. She kept yelling and tried to spin me around, but I just stood there, numb, and let it happen.

I knew everyone on the bus was watching, pointing, and staring. No doubt they thought my sister was my mom, and that they were watching her brutally beat me over not cleaning my room in my poor, bricked home with graffiti on the side of the building where our kitchen was. Where in reality, my mom made a loving but modest dinner for her family every night. And never once put a hand on her children.

As soon as the bus turned the corner and drove away, my sister burst out laughing. Hysterical, evil laughter.
This was her idea of a joke. This was how she thought being funny looked.

I crossed the street with my face and ears burning, went inside, and headed straight to my bedroom. I didn’t cry. All I could think about was how I was already a weird kid, and now it was even worse.

I worried that someone might call child services, and they would come to our home, see that my parents smoked and that we were poor, and then take me away from the only comfort I knew. That tiny apartment was truly my only escape.

Thinking about getting back on the bus the next morning made me feel sick to my stomach.

I can’t remember if I ate that night, if I slept, or if I told my parents what happened.

But I do know that this already shy, scared girl added more years to her self-hatred that day. It gave me another reason to hang my head, feel ugly and unimportant, and spend many more years feeling like an outcast.

I was only twelve years old.

Some of you know that I eventually escaped her control, but I’m still healing.

My sister has hurt me in so many ways since then, but God, this one sticks out the most. It still hurts. I can still feel the sting of the fly swatter, and it’s still deeply embarrassing.

Recovering from the shame has been so hard.

I almost never share this story because it’s so goddamn humiliating. Even now, my skin flushes and my heart sinks as I write it. If you’ve heard it before today, you’re one of the very few.

But today, as I sit here looking out my window at the cloudy, rainy weather, all I can think about is that day and how much I wish I could erase it from my mind.

Hopefully writing it out will help me let it go, even if just a little.

1. I will never know myself until I do this on my own
   And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed
   I will never be anything 'til I break away from me
   I will break away, I'll find myself today

🖤—

GC

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