There was a contest a while back, about writing a story about love between two siblings or friends or something. I decided to try and write something first before entering to see if I had any ideas. I wrote this, but never ended up finishing it or joining the contest, so here it is!
(also, I just figured out how to put the fancy Penana line in)
We shared a room when we were younger. I must’ve been four or so, and you were seven.
“Mum! I’m not sharing with him! He’s a boy!” You complained as we moved into to our new house.
“Mum! I can’t sleep alone!” You complained a year later, as we moved again to a house with an extra bedroom.
Turns out you could sleep alone, and you were so good at it that you wanted to be alone in the day, too; you didn’t want to play with me anymore, and that’s okay because you were getting older. We grew apart. It’s just, it felt a little like you were leaving me in the past, like you were getting older but I was getting younger and you didn’t need me anymore. But that was about the time I started going to school, and I suppose I stopped needing you then too as I had other playmates.
We no longer needed one another, and I think that’s where our problems started.
“You’re a brat, James!” You’d yell and slam your door. I’d call you stupid under my breath, too young to know any curses.
“Get OUT!” You’d snarl at me if I went into your room without asking.
“Get out!” I’d shout at you if you came into mine, which you rarely ever did. With every word we built a barrier between us, and it stood strong and growing in height for years, until yesterday.
Yesterday was the day of the storm. Rain fell for hours, charging towards the grounds like an army blindly awaiting it’s next instruction; grey sky was barely visible past black clouds that grinned angrily at the day it planned to destroy. However, it did not succeed in destroying our day, it strengthened it in fact by destroying our barrier instead; the wall between us crumbled yesterday.
“Neither of you are going anywhere, not in this weather!” Shouted our mum, interrupting our bickering after a painful family reunion. Both me and you wanted to leave with our pride still mostly intact, both of us wanted to be the first to storm out. I had almost succeeded in this, my hand on the front door’s handle when I realised mum was right – I can’t drive in this weather, it wouldn’t be safe. You seemed to come to the same realisation for you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs instead.
Hours passed, and we were trapped in our childhood home.
Various relations grinned down at me through picture frames hung on the walls on the each room; Uncle Paul was in the kitchen, Great-Aunt Lillian was in the living room, our old school photos were hung side by side in the hallway. It was meant to be a sibling photo, but you refused to sit still next to me. It’s been so long since then… We’re adults now, with jobs and responsibilities.
After four or so hours, when the rain hadn’t ceased, I agreed to stay the night. Mum started to climb the stairs to ask you if you wanted to stay too, but I stopped her. I surprised myself, I told her I would ask you.
“You better not be mean, James Paul.” Mum muttered as I passed her on the staircase,
I plod up the carpeted stairs, a family portrait staring at me from the landing above. Shadows were cast upon it’s glass frame, blotting out our faces; it was eerie, so once I reached the top of the stairs I flicked on the light. At once, our fake-smiles were restored – or was our true darkness still there, simply hidden?
I reached to open the door of your childhood bedroom, but I hesitated. There were still painted letters on the white door, spelling out your name, and traces of ancient tape that once held a ‘KEEP OUT JAMES’ sign. I was staring at what had kept us apart all these years, the foundation of the barrier between us. I raised my hand, and knocked.
“Come in!” I heard you say, but your voice was muffled. Gently, I pushed open the door, and stuck my head inside. I opened my mouth to ask you if you wanted to stay, when I noticed you were crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked you. You shook your head in response.
“Nothing is wrong?” I guessed. You nodded. Now, another thing that kept us apart was that we found it difficult to understand each other, and I was having difficulty at that very moment; if nothing is wrong, why are you crying?
“Is something… right?”
You shrugged, and I went to sit on your bed beside you, perplexed. You cradled something carefully in your hands, and I leaned over to see it.
You were pregnant.
Over the next eight months, we grow closer. I take you shopping for baby clothes, we even pick out the cot together. When you found out you were pregnant, I was there for you. When you needed help, I was there for you. As a result, you were there for me too, you helped me through a rough break-up and came to one of my football matches. We lost, but it doesn’t matter, because you were there, and for the first time in so long, I have a sister.
When you go into labour, I drive you to the hospital, and hold your hand until our parents arrived. I am the first person, minus the nurses, to hold him. He is perfect, just like you.
You name him ‘James’.
Six years later, James has a sister (Lillian) who is four. You’re married, to a man also named James. I laughed so hard when I found out, I told you ‘Good luck keeping track of that!’. James (your son) preferred Jamie anyway, and I agreed to be rechristened ‘Jimmy’ after being bribed with some fancy chocolates at a family Christmas.
Love doesn’t have to be purely romantic. Love doesn’t have to be perfect a hundred percent of the time; sometimes, I feel as if I hate you, but I don’t really.
I love you. You are my sister, and you always will be.298Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2559WddPOo
