That’s just the way it is, I guess. I don’t have any brothers. Or
sisters too, for that matter. But then, you know that, don’t you? I
figure you know quite a bit about me. On the other hand, I thought
I knew a lot about you. I understand now that I don’t know as much
about you as I thought I did, once. I imagine you just think you know
me, actually.
I thought that was neat, you having two brothers.
Especially that they were so much older than you. You, their kid
sister, so they could do nice things for you. Take you places, buy you
things, help you out with your homework. Maybe there was a little bit
of envy there. I often thought how it might be if I had a brother or a
sister. Especially a sister. How maybe it would be really nice. I’d
have some company, kind of. It’s lonely, sometimes, being the only kid
in the house.
My grandmother told me that it doesn’t always work
that way. She said to me sometimes siblings get along well with one
another, and sometimes they don’t. She said take her, for example; she
took very little notice of her younger sister, and to this day they
aren’t all that close. As for her brothers, well, they were all years
younger than her, and they were just kind of there, she hardly noticed
them.
I don’t know how it would be if I had a brother or sister.
Either older than me, or younger. I’m not certain if I even have a
preference. I suppose someone older could be kind of a help, a guide,
someone to talk to when Mom gets pissed off with me for something. That
would mean I’d do an awful lot of talking to an older sibling, if they
allowed me to. If they were interested in hearing me. I don’t know if
that older brother or sister would be sympathetic, or whether they’d
just laugh at me.
See what I mean?
And then, too, if I
had an older sister would she even be interested in me ... or think of
me all the time like being a pest she couldn’t get rid of? I’ve got
friends who talk about their kid brothers or sisters like that. They
talk about what a nuisance it is, how they just can’t get away from
them, how they screw everything up, at home. I don’t think I’d be
interested in trying that one out.
But, say, if I had a sister
maybe a year older than me? A year isn’t all that much difference in
age, is it? So say there was her, and then I came along and we grew up
together, wouldn’t it make sense that we’d play together as kids, and
then got to like one another and spending time together, and confided in
each other, and were best friends?
I asked one of my friends if
that was what it was like with her and her older sister. She just
looked at me like she hadn’t exactly heard my question. Then she
laughed, and I understood that she had heard what I’d asked. Her laugh
was the answer.
So I guess I’m just day-dreaming about something ridiculous, anyway.
And
I guess, Erin, I’m trying my best to understand what’s happened to you.
I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. I mean here you
have a complete family, your Mom and Dad are there at home, even if
they’re both busy, working all the time. They’re there some of the
time. And then when everyone is together, you’re all there…together. I
know I’m not saying what I really mean, but it’s hard to put into
words.
So there’s you and your Mom and your Dad, and there’s also
your two big brothers. One’s married now, I know, and the other one’s
going to university. I know your family. We’ve been friends for years,
after all. I’ve slept over at your house, had dinner together with you
and your family. I’ve been around your family for years. I’ve even
gone to church with your family, even though I don’t believe in God.
Neither
does my mother. And she’s a single mother, left my father years ago.
She’s really busy all the time, since she’s got to earn a living for us.
She refused to take any money from my father. My grandmother said the
arrangement they made, even though she signed papers written up by my
father’s lawyer, was that he would have no visiting rights with me, in
return for not paying child support. I can’t understand that, actually.
Is
money that important, after all? You’ve got a father, a biological
father and he’s not interested in seeing you, ever? He doesn’t even
know what you look like, after all these years. He’s just kind of happy
not having to pay child support. That really, really bugs me.
There’s
no photos of him at home, but I know what he looks like. My grandma
has lots of family photographs in her house, and there are some photos
of him and my mother, in their frames, sitting on pieces of furniture
there. There are more pictures of him in some of the family albums, but
I’m not all that interested in looking for them actually. I don't
remember much about him, it was so long ago. But I don't believe I want
to remember anything about him. He's out of my life.
Anyway, this isn’t about me, is it? All right, it is about me, partially. I am involved, after all. Since I am - or was
your best friend. Erin, I loved being your best friend. I want to
continue being your best friend. You have no idea how hurt I feel that
you keep shoving me away. I’m … disconsolate … that’s what I am.
That’s what my grandma said, when I told her about all of this. She’s
upset for me. I can always count on her for that.
But you’ve got
family all over the place, even if they’re kind of distant in
relationship; they live close by. My only two uncles live in Toronto
and Vancouver, and I only get to see them maybe once or twice a year,
when they come visiting. And neither of them has any kids, so I don’t
even have any cousins.
Your family, even though they live close
by, kind of ignore one another. You’ve got two cousins, girls your age,
but you’ve always told me they’ve been mean to you, and you just don’t
like being around them. I could see where you were coming from, but I
found it puzzling, anyway. I’d have made an effort, I’m sure, to get my
cousins, if I had any, to like me. I think. But then, what do I know,
I don’t have any.
Erin, I do so very much miss you. I realize
now that this isn’t new, this distancing from me, this hostility I feel
and see from you. It’s been happening for a while, and it disturbed me
and perplexed me and I didn’t know what to do about it. For a while I
thought I’d just drop you as casually as you seemed to be doing to me.
It
didn’t work for me, Erin. There’s a dark little worm inside me,
squirming around, making me miserable, and that worm is the disquietude
I’ve felt about our relationship, about its having suddenly seemed to
dissolve, and I couldn’t figure out why. It’s worse now, your hostility
toward me is more aggressive, more overt. You’ve progressed from
speaking nasty things about me to the other girls when I haven’t been
around to actually doing it in my very presence; I can hear you
whispering about me and when I turn around, I can see that odd smile on
your face.
What, exactly, does it mean? You can’t possibly have
decided, after all these years, that our friendship was meaningless. We
both invested a lot of time and emotion in our friendship. We’ve done
things together, helping one another, that most people would never
credit. You’ve told me things you told no one else. I confided to you
things that I would never even speak about to my mother.
And yet,
you said not one word to me, gave me no hint of what was really
happening with you. To you. Instead, you told some of the girls at
school we’ve always liked and hung out with. But not me. I had to
learn from someone else. I couldn’t believe it. I felt horribly for
you, and felt sad for me, too. I tried to let you know that I now knew,
so it was all right. I was determined to do what I could to help you
overcome this dreadful thing that happened to you.
And I tried,
and I kept trying, but you kept slamming my words right back at me.
That really devastated me. I didn’t want to say anything to my Mom,
because I knew she would tell me that I was doing something wrong. She
would defend you, saying that you had been traumatized, that your psyche
had been damaged, that you needed understanding and patience from your
best friend. That this was no time to abandon you, that I had to stand
by you and do whatever I could to extend my friendship, to help you
heal.
She just won’t hear what I want to tell her, she doesn’t
actually hear what I’m saying. She’s so fixated on what you’ve gone
through that she sticks to that, and won’t hear about my pain. To her,
I’m just being selfish and self-absorbed.
I’m not!
My mother says she knows me better. She says I am being selfish. That I’m concerned with the way I feel, not the way you
feel. That I’m missing the connections. That I’m taking offence
because I feel you’re not responding to me the way you should, the way a
best friend should. She says I’m expecting too much of you under the
circumstances, because of the trauma you’ve suffered.
I’m trying
to understand that, Erin. I’m trying to get my head around the fact
that you’ve had six years of your life to tell someone what was
happening to you, and you just never got around to it. My mother said
that I couldn’t begin to imagine such a thing because I’ve never lived
it. I guess she’s right there. But I still don’t understand, anyway,
Erin, why you never, ever said anything to your mother. Or your father.
Right, I forgot, you aren’t into telling your father all that much.
I’m
trying to get it through my thick head, that same head that hears you
calling me stupid all the time now, how it could possibly be that for
all the years we’ve known one another, you’ve lived with this. There
was never any hint that there was anything wrong with your life at home.
I thought that your family was normal, in the sense that mine isn’t,
since you’re all together, father, mother, kids.
Well, there’s nothing normal, obviously, about what happened with you. Migod, since you were seven years old! How could you stand
it? I know you love your brothers because they’re your brothers. They
seem nice enough; they were always nice to me. But your brothers …
doing that kind of thing …
Remember when we were in grade six and
they began that sex education course with all of us? I was so mad,
remember? I really, really resented that they were taking us kids, just
in grade six - we were only ten and eleven, after all - and making us
learn all that stuff. Who wants to know about it? Won’t there be
enough time to tell us about stuff like that when we’re older? I
thought, back then, that maybe when we were in grade eight, or beginning
high school, that would be a more appropriate time.
You never
really responded when I spoke about that. You just shrugged your
shoulders. And told me to just forget about it. I remember that. I
remember how kind of distasteful it was to me to hear about that stuff.
I hated it. I tried to talk to you about how I felt, but you weren’t
interested in discussing it, you said. No wonder. Now I know why.
There
wasn’t too much they could teach you, after all. I don’t mean that in a
hurtful way. It’s not your fault. You were only a kid, and you were
kind of trapped, weren’t you?
I mean your brothers are a whole
lot older than you, you looked up to them, you trusted them. Your
parents trusted them too, to kind of keep an eye on you when they
weren’t around. And they weren’t around a lot of the time.
And
me, I envied you, having big brothers who were around so you weren’t
lonely or anything. Guys you could kid around with sometimes, that kind
of thing. Because you’d be relaxed around them, you knew them so well….