Four

Elsa describes her parents and sister.

FOUR

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. I imagine it’s my troublesome little sister, Claire. Claire and I don’t get along.
“Are you cutting yourself or something?” I should. She hates blood. I could make her faint. This may not be a good idea when I start to think of my personal well-being. I settle for sarcasm.
“Of course. What am I usually doing?” She bangs on the door more.
“Why are you such a b***h all the time?” I don’t think I was being a b***h. This makes me angry. I open the door and hit her with it. She’s wearing a short mini skirt and has her shirt stuffed with tissue. This makes me laugh.
“I think you’re too young for that.” She knows what I’m talking about. Her makeup is applied too heavily.
“No I’m not. I fourteen now.” As if being fourteen makes you eligible for being s**t of the year. I don’t say this, but I think it very loudly.
“Whatever. Ones smaller than the other.” She bursts into tears. I find adolescence quite amusing.
“I hate you.” I laugh. Someday I will kill her. I hope. I walk to the fridge and get some leftover pizza. Claire walks in and makes a comment about me being fat, which I’m not, so I tell her to go f**k herself. She rolls her eyes and mutters “B***h” under her breath. I call her a “Materialistic, snobby, shallow, automaton sheep.” She rolls her eyes again and says that I know too much to be pretty. She’s wearing a new shirt and going out on a date.

I feel compelled to throw my pizza at her new shirt. Part of me doesn’t want to do it, but f**k it. I throw it, and with my perfect aim, it lands right in her fake cleavage. She bursts into tears again and I start laughing. She says I’m evil. I guess I am.

Maybe she’ll go put on a shirt that actually fits her. She runs out of the room and I get another slice of pizza out of the fridge. I contemplate leaving the piece on the floor so Claire will get in trouble for making a mess, but I don’t feel like her getting revenge. She’d probably break all of my CDs.

I decide to go smoke a cigarette. I sit in our laundry room and watch the little television that we have in there. I wasn’t watching it; more I was staring at it wondering why the f**k is there a TV in here. By this time I’m pretty f*****g stoned and my mom is home. This could be potentially dangerous, but I don’t think she’ll notice.
“Elsa, Claire said you called her fat and called her a s**t. She also said something about you throwing pizza at her.” I turn around and my mom’s in the laundry room. “Honey, you look dreadful.” Thanks mom. You are such a self-esteem boost.
“I always look dreadful mom.” I usually think I look pretty good for someone who sleeps two hours a day and abuses various drugs. “I’m not feeling too good.” Diversionary tactic #1: Not feeling good makes mom forget that she was supposed to reprimand me for calling Claire names. She might also let me stay home from school. I contemplate this as she continues talking. She looks around. It is very smoky in the room. I should have opened the door.
“What’s all this smoke from?” Mom looks confused. I don’t think she’s ever smelled pot before in her life. My dear mother grew up on a farm in a very Christian household. Dad would know the smell, but he’s never home. I think he’s golfing right now.
“Oh, I was having a cigarette.” She is shaking her head. “Sorry mom. At least I went a week without one.” Only one more year until I can move out.

Author's Note

I had a brother sister dynamic kind of like this. Except she punched me in the face for fun. Good times.