Putting Life on Hold

She was back.I didn’t know why or for how long, but as soon as I heard the familiar sounds of the bedsprings squeaking beneath her weight, I was without a doubt. My sister had a way of leaving at the most inconvenient times, although she might have thought them to be convenient for her. And maybe they were, considering she had no real obligations. She didn’t go to college, although her grades alone were good enough to get her into any place she saw fit, but she never seemed to find anything to her liking. Everything was too small, everything was too big, this place was too boring and she needed a change of scenery. She needed a change of scenery ever month and a half, but we never dwelled on it. When she showed up in the middle of the night and then sat down at the dining room table the next morning for breakfast, no one bothered to ask where she’d been, because after so many times of getting no answer, we didn’t have time to care anymore, just like she didn’t have time to contribute to the family.

She looked a mess. Her usual golden, almost yellow-colored waves were a deep, mud brown, cut in a pixie-like style and it looked scraggly, like she hadn’t had a shower in weeks. Her eyes were wide, like she couldn’t get them down to a normal size and they were bloodshot, lines of red squiggling out from the sea-blue color of her pupils.

I didn’t hate my sister, not in the least. I worried about her, where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. Of course, I didn’t know the answer to any of those things, where she was always seemed to be changing, what she was doing I wasn’t even sure I really wanted to know, and I could only begin to imagine what kind of people she surrounded herself with. I liked to think that underneath all of the mistakes and bad choices she had made there was still that small, innocent seventeen-year-old that would rather play volleyball by herself in the backyard then go to the biggest party taking place just down the street. I liked to think that she was just getting a taste of the real world, of the places and things beyond this sheltered life we had been forced to live before she would come back and do what had been expected of her. I liked to make myself believe that she was still Little Miss Perfect Natalie Hughes, the apple of my father’s eye and the beholder of all my affection and adoration.

And after countless hours of sitting in my room and forcing these thoughts into my head, I looked through my open door and across the hall, where I could just make out the outline of Natalie’s bedroom door in the darkness, and it would all come back to me: Natalie wasn’t seventeen anymore, I wasn’t fourteen anymore, and she wasn’t the apple of my father’s eye. The only affection I felt toward her was worry and the only form of adoration I felt for her was because she had the strength to break free of my father’s restraints, even if it wasn’t in the best way.

It’s not that I purposefully went out of my way to ignore her, not at all. The action was already set so firmly into my routine that it was done subconsciously, and she was hardly ever there to acknowledge, so noticing her presence wasn’t something I was accustomed to. She never talked to me and I never talked to her, neither of us really thought anything of it. At least, I didn’t.

It was like that for a while with us, that silent agreement, that invisible line placed between us that simply stated ‘I Won’t Bother You If You Won’t Bother Me,’ and now that I’m mature enough to look back on it and think reasonably, I almost wish that the line had never been crossed.

I was a nosy person, I could admit it. I liked to snoop around and make other people’s business my own, simply because I didn’t like not being included. I liked to know people’s secrets, things they really shouldn’t have let me in on, but I was a persuasive person. Sometimes I used the information against people, but it didn’t bother me much; I was raised to be the best and if that meant pushing people down on my climb to the top, then I would do it. Perfection came at a cost, after all.

And so when I heard a loud crash from my sister’s room across the hall, followed by a very audible ‘Fuck!’, it was like second nature for me to climb out of my bed, hissing as my feet hit the cold, hardwood floor. I walked the short distance from my bed to my door and opened it, peering out before making my way across the hall. I didn’t bother knocking on her door, and she didn’t bother saying anything to me as I entered.

In the process of trying to sneak out she had knocked over her bedside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. I didn’t know why she bothered climbing out the window; the front door worked just as well, if not better. Our parents didn’t care. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even have noticed.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Looking back, it was a stupid question. With one leg already out the window, it was blatantly obvious that she was trying to sneak out, and apparently my sister thought so too. Rolling her eyes she told me,

“I’m baking cookies, Monroe, want some?”

I rolled my eyes as well, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the doorframe. We had always been overly sarcastic toward each other; I shouldn’t have expected it to change over the period of time in which we didn’t speak.

“Has being gone so long made you forget we have a front door?” She smiled, her lips just barely twitching up, but just enough to make it visible to me across the room. She shook her head, her hair hitting her face as a small laugh escaped her lips. I couldn’t deny it; I had missed our playful banter.
Pulling her leg from the window, Natalie wiped down the front of her jeans before turning to me. She left the window open, the dark curtains blowing in the slight breeze. Walking right past me she started down the hall, apparently taking my advice and using the front door. And of course, being the kind of girl I was, I followed her, trying to keep up as I flew down the steps two at a time. It was when she was just reaching for the doorknob that I asked,

“Where are you even going?”

I knew she was rolling her eyes, even as her back was turned to me. I heard the sigh leave her lips and saw her shoulders slump.

“I’m going to a party, okay Monroe? So now that you know, can I leave? Or do you want to come with, too?” Her tone wasn’t harsh, more like annoyed, and, looking back on it, I knew somewhere in the back of my head that it wasn’t really an invitation, just more of the sarcasm I had come to know, yet had apparently forgotten about in that split second that I answered, “Sure.”

Turning to me with her eyebrows raised in what I could only guess was shock; she let a smirk pull itself across her lips before looking me up and down. I knew I was nowhere near ready to leave for a party, standing in the foyer in a pair of cotton shorts and a white tank, but I had gotten ready in less time. She wasn’t going to talk me out of this, although I kind of wish she had.

Sensing my determination, she shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the door and firmly grasping the handle.

“I’ll wait outside.”