My sister is four years younger than me. When
people find out how close we are in years they say things like, "How nice.
You and your sister must be so close." Growing up, I would
Before this day occurred, my sister and I would
fight often. She knew how to push my buttons and I knew how to push hers back.
But more often than anything, I would lose my temper, and begin yelling at her.
In the same manner, there were good days between us. Nearly every winter evening,
we would dress up and dance to music in what we called "The Back
Room" of our single-wide mobile home. In the summer, we would create
elaborate stories and act out these stories for days. But because of her mental
disorder, I never knew what mood she would be in. We could be playing happily
one moment, and she could be throwing toys and yelling the next moment. We
could be peacefully role-playing one moment, and in the next she could be
purposely trying to annoy me or break my belongings. She was night and day, yin
and yang, friend and foe.
Nevertheless, that life-changing day began as a
clear afternoon. Liezel and I climbed the tree house stairs, practically
hand-in-hand, birds chirping at our backs. We were brainstorming again,
creating a new story. But as we reached the top, it was becoming as clear as
that spring day that our stories were not lining up with each other. We began
acting it out, as usual, not fully sure as to where exactly it would lead, both
of us hoping it would take our own personally suggested twist. Still, it was
not the case. I began to play house. I was not in the mood for complications or
the beginning of an elaborate, three-day adventure. I set the plastic Fisher
Price table. I arranged the designated pots over the yellow, Fisher
Price stove. I hummed a song while I worked. Liezel watched me.
Then, cracking through my little song, like any
wrong note might, she struck. Liezel began moving the dishes off of the table
and tossing them into the plastic Fisher Price fridge, slamming the door
shut. Then, as I was retrieving and restoring my precious plastic table
display, she grabbed the pots and pans off of the stove and threw them into the
oven with a vengeance in which I was certain I did not deserve. Immediately,
this retrieving, restoring, tossing, and slamming game continued. In fact, it
repeated as I tried to talk things through with her and as she continued to
ignore me. She knew that ignoring me was the perfect button to push if she
wanted to make me angry. And she was right. I lost control. Red screening
reality, I was standing over my little sister shouting about how rude she was
and how I was certain that her goal in life was to ruin everything possible.
She was a ruiner.
That’s when my mother’s voice cut across the
yard, calling my first and middle name. Uh-oh, I thought, she heard
all of that. I’m in trouble. I walked stiffly, down the treehouse
steps and towards my mother who was sitting in a lawn chair, reading a book.
For a second, I thought that maybe she hadn’t heard after all because she kept
reading. “Yes?” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“Someday, you are going to grow up," she
said, "and you’re going to move away, and have your own life, and your
sister isn’t going to be able to. She is always going to be here. But whether
it is when you are children or when you are twenty-five, she is going to
remember what you said to her. She is going to remember how you treated her.
She will never forget your words, Nakita.” My mother looked at me, book in lap,
the spring sun highlighting her hair. I was waiting for my punishment. Any
minute, I thought. Yet nothing happened. Instead, she told me to go play.
I stared at my mother, dumbfounded. Tears filled
my eyes until I couldn’t see anything. Then they fell and I was a blubbering,
apologizing mess. She told me not to apologize to her, but to apologize to my
sister. Then she returned to her book.
I did apologize to Liezel that day. I don’t think
she fully understood what I meant when I explained to her how she’d remember the words I said to her even when we are twenty-five, but I
understood. I understood the impact that my words would have throughout my entire
life not only with my sister, but also with everyone else I encountered. But
something else changed that day. It was my relationship with my little sister.
Yes, she still pushed my buttons, and, yes, I still pushed hers, and I even
yelled at her many more times. But the change was there, it was a seed that was
growing in my heart, a seed that would, over time, teach me how to cherish and
respect my sister despite the mood swings caused by her mental setbacks. Now
that I am twenty-three, and about to move out of my family’s house for the
final time, I am aware that she will most likely remember everything that I
tell her, and I am confident in the good memories that my words are making.
