this is what today sounds like.
sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, sipping malbec, and snacking on ceviche and tortilla chips. chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. music low. lightening bugs flash outside the screen door. the wind blows the curtains back, holds them suspended, momentarily. falling softly back in place. catching up after a long day of arts and crafts and gardening.
this is what i sometimes dream my visits home would be like.
instead i find myself standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes my sister has let pile up, while she sits indian style on the couch across the 300 square foot space, channel surfing with my mom. the television blaring at high volumes to accommodate my mother's hard of hearing and my sister's proclivity to heavy breathing. hillary shouts commands and spills coffee in her lap. caffeinated. she'll be up all night. and she comments on my silhouette. i'm too skinny except for my thighs. and my butt. and my chubby cheeks. but i have good hair. so it's okay.
sometimes it's really hard to come home. i have to mentally prepare. relax. breathe. let things roll. when i get anxious my insecurities fly to the surface. food issues rally and i become self conscious and irritable. and it's hard to ignore my sister's pokes and prods and needling comments. but i do. or i try my best. and i bite my tongue when she taunts my mom with accusations of special treatment. always comparing herself to me. complaining that i am the favorite. that i am loved. more. and i roll my eyes when she isn't looking and choke down that lump. the one that rises when my little voice whispers in the back of my mind. "dad likes you best. so i guess we're even." sometimes i just want to shut her up. tell her to shut the fuck up. but it's no use. we aren't playing with the same rules. we aren't even playing the same game. and i feel ashamed and embarrassed that i would even try to compete.
the weather has finally cleared. and we were able to walk in the state park. five miles through the trees and along the creek. hillary complained the entire way. but i walked ahead. and tried to make light. it must be hard to be her. and be uncomfortable in her body. and be wary of other people. and have such a short attention span. so we retire to her living room. piled onto her futon watching movies that don't suck and snaking on humus and tortilla chips. and watching the sun cast shadows across the carpet. and feeling the breeze blow over our bare feet. planning the dinner we will prepare together. and getting excited about this evening's episode of glee.
well, i am getting excited. hillary and mom are skeptical. how can you question a show about random burst of music and synchronized dance? real life needs a little more music. when i was little hillary and i used to choreograph dances to michael jackson's thriller album and our favorite, madonna's like a prayer. this video brought back so many memories of fifth grade. hillary and my version wasn't quite the production but it one of my fondest memories of our time growing up together. family is good. even when they are hard.
No comments:
Post a Comment