Excuse

May 17th, 2014

 

Please be aware that this story contains harsh language.

 

I opened my mouth to speak, but to my utter horror and complete shock, it wasn’t my words that left my mouth, but my thoughts. Like my brain had let them slide down the wrong pipe, out of my mind and out into the world. My sister Katie looked at me with almost as much horror as I felt.

“What did you just say!?”

“Uh… nothing. I didn’t-“

“Did you really just say that?

“Um, no, I meant… Uh, well, I was joking, gosh.”

This was going the wrong direction at a rapidly accelerating pace, and I had no idea how to stop it, other than ignore it.

“You weren’t joking, you seriously just said that you wished he was dead-“

“I was joking, okay? Gosh.”

I took out a cigarette and tried to act like I wasn’t frantically searching for a mental undo button. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to find it.

“What is wrong with you? Why would you say that about dad?”

We stopped at a red light; I lit my cigarette and took a quick pull. Little sisters are annoying as shit.

“If you were me, you’d say the same thing. He treats you a hell of a lot differently than he treats me.”

“That’s a shitty excuse for being a terrible older sister.”

I took another pull and turned into her friend’s cul-de-sac. The low, dull bass of party music thumped across the yard and reached the street. I slammed on the brakes.

“Get out.”

She grabbed her purse, stormed out, and slammed the door.

I drove back home in a quiet rage, finishing my cigarette and starting another. I parked the car, went upstairs, went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and cried.

I cried because I wished I didn’t have to hide my thoughts. I wished I didn’t have the kinds of thoughts that I should hide. I wished I could have said the opposite, and meant it.

I wished that I wasn’t the older sister, because I was a pretty shitty one. I wished I was somebody that Katie could look up to.

But I wasn’t.

I wished I could have told her to “Be safe.” before she got out of the car and stormed into the party.

But I didn’t.

I wished I hadn’t been too proud, and jealous, and angry to go with her to that party and make sure that she didn’t get into trouble.

But I didn’t.

I’d like to think I didn’t do that because no one did that for me.

But that’s a shitty excuse.
 

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