A Letter To A Sister
It is in moments of great sadness that I turn to you, looking for that ray of light, hopeful for that ray of light. In moments of nightmarish horrors that I curl up next to you, and remember how to breathe. I could never tell you these things, they would be too personal, and I don’t do personal. At least not vocally. Built strong, built durable, I can be beaten down by the stabbing words thrown from your mouth and rise up unscathed to the naked eye. But you, you know where they have landed, certain with your aim of where to send them, deep into the flesh, down into the darkness, particular of which parts should be spared the hemorrhage of days old septic hurt. That is left for your final blow, that binds my arms to a holy figure instructing me silently to whisper my pain, fall on my time, out of sight from your torment.
And here at this age, I can’t find my way so easily to your door, and ask if I could sleep in your bed tonight because of the nightmares, and I won’t remember how to breathe without you there to tell me, and I will fade into the shadows of my fear and my anguish, praying that if sleep takes me I will remember to take in oxygen and exhale forgiveness, so I can wake up and know that I am still alive. See it’s your job to keep my aware of my existence, otherwise I lose my train of thought and lean towards a questionable mortality, questionable in whether I am truly living this life or just writing it in my head, to be read by a patron in a chain bookstore. And you didn’t ask for this job, and I never knew it would be so needed, but when do we ever really know what our place is, unless someone makes it for us; until someone makes it for us.
Your burden is me, to keep me in the rational and to encourage the art that fears me with failure. You’re to guide me in a direction that you too are going, because in all honestly you lead the pack and you always have, and I follow happily and without question, because you are my one true friend, my first friend. What will I do if I can never find your door, and make my place next to you, and you aren’t there to remind me that breathing is how we see tomorrow, and the day after, and the day following that day? Will I be strong enough to take that risk, risking self imposed insomnia out of fear that the blood we shared, that keeps us rosy, would run out; puddles pooling in sunken ground, no longer sturdy and capable of supporting the weight from us both. And we know how that plays out. I am after all the heavier of us two, but you do always say to take the weight off my shoulders.
So I take two steps to the left and you stand transfixed on the reflection in the puddle, looking deeper and deeper into the hole, and I take four more steps to the left as your face loses color, and I take six more steps to the left, as your mouth curls around the word as it sometimes does the world, and as my shape becomes more of a smear, you reach out your arm, and reach back towards my arm, and your neck turns to direct your eyes to where mine would be, and without thinking as you often do, you utter “We,” but me has to be for there to be a we, and in this moment, on that day you sent me away to a foreign soil that cuts between my toes with every step I take that sends me farther away from you. Without a map I get lost easily, and I’m getting quite scared with these new surroundings, but if I must I will adapt, but not by choice, by laws of science, that stipulate that only the fittest survive, and I may be cut, I may be bruised, and sore and tired, I may need time, but I will learn to remind myself to breathe and I will find my way and I won’t remember how I need you, and my hands will be empty, but they will be ready when a hand comes along, a familiar hand that fits perfectly into mine, and can squeeze me a “Hello” and will hold tight to “We.” I will remember, because if there is one job in this life I know how to do, it is to be your sister, and to be your sister is a privilege and an honor I still fear I will not measure up to, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take, after all I’m the only one who has this job and if mistakes happen along the way, we don’t decide if my job is terminated, that belongs to another, so for all we know I could be employee of the month.
Be patient with this human, imperfection runs through me, as does compassion and loyalty. Don’t lose faith. The night has proven to be much more strong willed than I, so I find my end, and I find my breath, and I lay my head towards the direction of your room, and I set out to banish my dark horrors alone, inhaling oxygen, exhaling…..
E.A. O'Connell
