I finally ducked into a coffee shop, exhausted. I
pulled out my phone, which had been on silent.
Dozens of missed calls, hundreds of texts. Dad,
Mom, Sarah, probably all my aunts and uncles,
too. The phone buzzed again. Dad.
I answered. “Ashley,” he said, “what was that
about? Talking back to your mother on her
birthday, then storming out. That’s no way to
<
behave.”
“Like being ‘well–behaved‘ ever got me
anywhere,” I replied. “I made the cake, cooked
the food, gave her a gift that cost more than Sarah’s bracelet. Did she say one nice thing to
me?”
He was silent. Then, the same old line. “You’re
the older sister. You should be more
responsible, not keep score with your mom and
Sarah.”
Tears finally spilled down my cheeks. “Did I ask
to be the older sister? Did anyone ask me if I
wanted this?”
“You’re the older sister, you should look after your younger sister.” I’d heard that my whole
life.
Sarah was constantly sick. Colds, fevers, ear
infections. I was in preschool, and I’d sit there
alone until the very end, waiting for someone to
pick me up. A kind neighbor usually took me
home. The house would be empty. I’d wait,
hungry, for them to come back. All my favorite
snacks, the chocolates and cookies, were gone.
<
Sarah wasn’t allowed to have them because of
her asthma, so Mom got rid of them altogether. It was easier than dealing with Sarah’s
tantrums.
By the time Mom got back with Sarah, they’d already eaten. She was too tired to cook. By the time Dad got home and made dinner, I was starving. I always envied Sarah. She got to eat out with Mom and never went hungry. But I’d
learned not to complain. Mom wouldn’t comfort
- me.
When I finished kindergarten, Dad got a job out
of state. Mom couldn’t handle two kids on her
own, especially with Sarah always sick. So, I
went to live with my grandma. I was shy and
cried easily. My grandma’s family were
practically strangers. I remember clinging to
Mom’s hand as she left. “Mom, please, let me
stay home. I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll help with
Sarah.”
She frowned, pulling my hand away. “Don’t be
silly. Sarah’s waiting for me at the neighbor’s.
No one’s going to mistreat you at Grandma’s.
<
Stop being dramatic.”
She didn’t understand. Or maybe she did, but
she didn’t care. A six–year–old, ripped from her
home, sent to live with strangers. The fear, the
loneliness.
Grandma’s house was a three–story affair, packed with people. Grandparents, my uncle, his wife, and their son, my unmarried uncle, my older cousin who’d always lived there, and my recently divorced aunt and her daughter. No
one was mean to me. Everyone was nice enough. But I wasn’t happy. No one loved me the way they loved each other. My cousin was Grandma’s favorite. My uncle’s son was the apple of everyone’s eye. My other cousin had
her mom. And me? I was alone. I’d hide on the staircase, crying silently. Then I’d wipe my tears and put on a brave face.
At first, Mom came to visit every week. I’d
excitedly tell her about school, but she’d barely listen, complaining to Grandma about how hard it was to take care of Sarah. Her visits became less frequent. Sometimes, weeks would pass.
く
She’d always say the same thing: “Sarah’s been sick again. Be good at Grandma’s, don’t cause
any trouble, study hard. I don’t have time to deal with you.”
I’d nod obediently. I didn’t dare misbehave. I
was afraid if I did, she wouldn’t come back at all. I lived with my grandma for six years, rarely going home, even for holidays. Mom said it was
too much trouble. We only saw each other for
big family gatherings.
Before I started middle school, Dad finally got
transferred back. He picked me up and brought
me home. It was familiar, yet strange.
Sarah was much healthier now, a fourth–grader.
When I walked in, she was throwing a fit. “I
don’t want to share a room with Ashley! I want
my own room!”
Mom was trying to soothe her. “Be a good girl,
Sarah. Ashley can help you with your homework,
and she can look after you.”
It stung. Was I brought back just to be Sarah’s
babysitter? Mom continued, “How about I take
you to McDonald’s?”
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<
Sarah pouted. “Just me. Not Ashley.” Mom agreed instantly. I wanted McDonald’s too! Why couldn’t I go? They never took me anywhere anymore. I looked at Dad pleadingly. He cleared his throat. “Take Ashley too.”
Mom glared at him. “I finally got her calmed down. Don’t start.” She looked at me
impatiently. “I’ll bring you something back. Go unpack.”
I nodded. I waited. And waited. Even after Dad finished lunch, they hadn’t returned. My
stomach was growling. I pictured the feast I
was about to have. Finally, I heard the door. I
ran to meet them.
Mom handed me a box. “Here’s your burger.”
Just a burger? I was disappointed. I opened the
box. The burger was cold, and it had a bite
taken out of it. I froze. She brought me
leftovers? Dad noticed my expression and came
over. I showed him the burger, tears welling up.
“Honey, why’s this burger half–eaten?”
Mom shrugged. “Sarah said she wasn’t full, so
she took a bite.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at me. “So? If you
don’t want it, give it back. I’ll eat it.”
I lost it. I shoved her. “Why do you get your own
room? Why didn’t Mom take me? And why did
you bite my burger?!”
