Feet First

I sat on the gravel with my back against the van.

I was done crying and now I was just sitting and wishing I could talk what I told him back.

But at the same time I didn’t. Because he had contributed to some of the shit in my life. But that was in the past and I couldn’t make him feel like shit now. That wasn’t fair.

But what he did to Annie wasn’t fair either.

But neither was what Annie did to me.

Or better yet what she didn’t do.

My mind drifted back to one day when I was a sophomore.

She was leaving to go somewhere and I was sitting in my room reading a book.

She opened the door.

“Can I use your mirror?” She asked.

I nodded and she stood infront of my full-length mirror on the other side of the door.

I didn’t know why she bothered to look in the mirror, she always looked perfect. Always.

I remembered looking at her, wearing her tiny tight jean shorts, and her tucked in low cut tank top, and thinking that she was, without a doubt, the hot sister. She was beautiful, she was tan, everything she wore fit her perfectly, and everyone, and I mean everyone, loved her.

I’d always been jealous. And in a moment where I wasn’t, my parents would say something like, Annie’s perfect, Annie’s flawless, you should learn something from your sister.

And yes, they’d pay me compliments, like that I was a good student, or told me I looked nice, or that I was a great kid, but I never got the doting adoration that she did.

But Annie was flawed. She drank, and stayed out late, and partied, and was having sex and skipped class, and did everything a normal teenager would do.

But somehow my parents always let it slide. They thought her social life was healthy. They told me to go out more, but I never did.

I liked quiet, and being alone and writing and reading and playing my guitar. But they’d always found something wrong with that.

But what they didn’t see was that Annie wasn’t a good sister to me.

“What are you playing?” She asked.

“Nothing, I’m writing something.”

She sat down next to me and looked at my book.

“I can’t read music so I don’t know if it’s good or not, but I hear you play and it’s kind of beautiful.”

This was the first compliment she’d paid me in a while.

“Thank you.” I said, smiling.

She looked at my guitar, and I followed her gaze as she looked up towards my hands, and then
my wrists.

Her eyes grew wide.

“Why do you have all those band-aids?” She asked.

I tugged my sleeve over my arm.

“Oh, I fell. I’m fine.” I lied.

She nodded and walked out.

I knew she knew that I hadn’t fallen, and what was under the bandages.

She had to.

So why didn’t she say anything?

Even days after, I was expecting someone to confront me, but nobody ever did.

Maybe she didn’t know what to do, or say to me to make it better.

But doing nothing did exactly that. Nothing.

Maybe she could’ve changed something.

But she never took the opportunity, to help me, her younger sister.

But, I couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t her fault I was fucked up.

But a part of me wishes she would have reached out to me, just that once, and maybe things
would’ve been different.

I was so completely involved in my thoughts, that I hadn’t noticed I’d begun to cry again.

The tears streamed down my face, and I let the sadness in, and cried.

I wasn't much of a cryer. I didn't like crying.

Between my sobs, I heard someone running towards the van, I saw Andrew through the haze of
my tears.

I wiped my face and closed my eyes.

“Liv, hey, are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said.

He sat down next to me.

“You’re a bad liar Liv. And why didn’t you tell me Alex was the one who dated Annie? Now I
know why you’ve been so hesitant about everything here. And us, how could you not say anything after we’ve been talking about him and his band for all these years?”

“Because I didn’t want to say anything. I want to forget high school and that time in my life all together. And I couldn’t take it away from you. Looking up to them, I just couldn’t.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to go hang out with them anymore. We can keep our distance.”

“No, it’s fine. And I want you guys to be around them. They’re your heroes. And they’ve all changed a lot. And I can’t blame him. It’s just, I hate being reminded, of that time in my life. And with them, especially Alex the memories come to often. And they bring pain with them. But, it’s not his fault. I can’t hold it against him and neither can you.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurting Liv.” He said.

“I know, but seeing you guys with them, it makes me happy. And you can’t stop because of me. And you can’t tell the other guys about this. I can’t do that to them.”

“I won’t.” he said, and he hugged me. “I’m gonna go get them. Our set’s early tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

We both got up, and he opened the back of the van for me, and walked off.

This reminded me of why Andrew was my best friend.

Because I knew he cared so much, and would leave his heroes to find me and make sure I was
okay.

And I didn’t normally talk much, usually kept everything to myself, but I always had talked to
Andrew. Always.

He had a huge heart, and I told him everything, and he listened.

And he didn’t pity me, or try to give me advice, or say I’m sorry.

He just listened, and told me it’ll get better.

I crawled into the van, and found my sleeping bag and took the back row, and curled up.

I didn’t want to think about tonight, or high school, or anything really.

So I let myself sink into a sleep where I didn’t dream of anything.

It was just sleep.

It was just blackness.