Family issues.

My family has been going through a lot of shit lately. Most of that drama has been caused my by sisters chemical imbalances which causes her to do stupid things all of the time. I spend my days watching as my mother and father try to deal with her inexcusable behavior. This is a look into what my family has been going through. It is true. There are a few things i know i need to work on and i will eventually but this is the rough draft.

Ashley

There are some things in this world that brothers, older brothers, are never supposed to go through. There is a whole list as long as my arm of experiences that older brothers don’t want to know about, let alone see. I remember being thirteen and walking into my house, opening the door and being met by strange words.

“I got my period today.”

My eyes rolled and my body heaved.

“Uhhh… that’s nice.” That was that, and I assumed that would be as bad as it got for my entire life. I assumed that the next time me and my little sister’s vagina would have anything to do with each other would be when I was holding her new born baby.

This was my mistake.

Now I’m twenty-one and coming home from school. I have a little brother who’s older than my sister was on the dreaded P-DAY.

“Cara’s boyfriend is over” he says. I look over to her room and see that the door is closed.

What is amazing about children my brother’s age is that they can be in situations like this, but are blinded by their innocence. What is amazing about people my age is our ability to deny the obvious. A sixteen year old girl with her boyfriend in a closed room is not a room you barge into, unless of course the very idea of that person as an actual person with sexual feelings is impossible.

There are things a brother should never see. At the top of that list is walking in on your sister while she enjoys the less romantic moments of sex. The rest is a flash of images, skin everywhere, clothes everywhere, a brief pause, and then comprehension. The words “WHAT THE FUCK” fill the room from a voice that sounds like me but I’m not sure.

Cara is my adopted sister. Needless to say we’ve always had our problems. I have this memory of me sitting in the back of my mom’s car. And her telling me that we are going to be adopting a girl. I was young and remember my thought being…

“Aren’t I enough for you”

Apparently I wasn’t and we adopted her a year later. She was eight months old when I first held her in my arms. No bigger than a loaf of bread. Her name was Ashley then. But as I held her in my arms in that small purple room, another name passed through my head.

“Cara, her name should be Cara” and it was. My mom allowed me to name my sister; I suppose hoping that it would connect me to her. That using the name I gave her would make me care for her, the way parents let their kids name dogs.

I won’t lie- I never wanted a sister. Sharing isn’t something I’ve been good at until just recently, and the idea of sharing my parents was not very appealing.

Once, when she was two, I was holding her and she looked at me with those deep brown eyes and then stuck her finger up my nose and tore away the skin inside. My blood shot out covering her hands and my shirt, the blood red like candy. And covered in my blood, she laughed. As my mother stuffed my nose with toilet paper I stared at her through the mirror in our bathroom and tried to convince her of what I knew to be true.

“She did it on purpose” I cried. She laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s only two.”

I stared at myself covered in blood like John McClane.

“She meant to do it” I said. “She’s the devil.”

“You can leave my house” I say to the male figure. “Get dressed and get the fuck out.” I leave the room and pace around my little brother thinking about everything.

Should have named her Ashley is what I think. Cara was cursed. If she was an Ashley she wouldn’t have anger problems, would do better in school, wouldn’t keep running away, wouldn’t be such a slut.

I give them five minutes to get dressed. Try and forget the fact that I’ve seen so much of my sister I know what she’s insecure about. When I head back their clothes are on and oh my God he’s that guy: Baggy pants, Timberlands, XL T-shirt and a band aid under his left eye. This is the guy I’ve been making sure I’m not my whole life. I can’t help it but the N-word flies into my head. He steps up to me like he’s going to tell me something. He’s big- arms are bigger than mine, hands like monkeys. This sixteen year old boy looks like a man and he wants to “talk.”

The first time Cara left. She sat us down and told us she didn’t love us that we weren’t her family and she wanted to leave. My mom took her keys and opened the door. My dad cried. I tried to talk to her- walked into her room, her white walls turned gray from all the drawing she’d done on the wall in pencil.

“You won’t make it out there.” She ignores me and keeps packing her clothes into a duffel bag.

“You’re not smart enough, you’re not tough enough.” She’s still ignoring me, stuffing all her sweaters into the bag.

I step closer.

“You’re not pretty enough, this world will tear you apart; you’ll end up pregnant and trapped. Just stay here.” She finally looks at me.

“Fuck you.”

“Using grown up words doesn’t make you grown, Cara.” I can see she’s going inside herself, she’s about to have another one of her episodes, who knows what she’ll say now.

“Fuck you, you think you’re so fucking smart always running your mouth like you run the place.” Ever since she started hanging out with those Hispanic girls at school I can’t understand a word she says. “Your all full of shit, I don’t fucking love you guys, so just go.”

“Think of where you’d be without mom.”

“Mom’s a bitch.” I moved closer, fast. I think I just wanted to shake some sense into her. As I stepped in she raised her fist and landed a hard punch across my face. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared her down. She looked at me with no sign of love or recognition. She meant to do it. And at that moment we were dead to each other.

Now with this punk in my face I think of our paths.

“You get out of my house.” Cara starts swearing at me, the guy looks at her and then back to me.

“Fuck you man.” Before I can control it I’ve already balled my fist. He takes the first shot like a champ; right to the nose but the second, the fourth, the tenth, the twentieth. Soon he’s on the ground and I can feel his skin go tender under my blows. Cara is screaming when I’m finished. My fists clenched, standing over a boy balled up and crying. There’s blood on my hands now, deep breaths, and sweat. I look at Cara her eyes filled with water. Behind their wetness is fear. There are some things in life, a brother should never see.