Blood is thicker than water

Blood is thicker than water

By

Jan Harrison-Brown

Did I ever tell you of the day my sister tried to kill me?

We have always had this&;#8230; understanding, She disliked me and I
despised her.

I remember, Mother explaining to family and friends, "It's just the age
difference." Embarrassed of our mutual feelings. "They love each other
really."
On the day I arrived, my sister peered into my crib and said,

"What's that?"

"Your baby sister isn't she beautiful?" Father cooed.
I had unknowingly entered her world and war was declared. She was
thirteen when I was born and by all accounts a spoilt brat.
I learnt very quickly not to get in her way. Never to be left alone
with her and never - ever to enter the pigsty she called her
room.

Some thought me to be a mardy child. . . Maybe I was! However, clinging
to mother's apron strings was a damn sight healthier, than what, she
planned for me.
My earliest memory was sitting at the dining table. I'd be around six.
Relatives were visiting and Father had briefed me. "Behave or else."
Children were seen and not heard in those days.
My sister wore her Sunday best, accompanied by her new fashionable
heals. Everyone settled down to enjoy the food, I felt her hooded eyes
boor into me as if waiting to pounce, she threw me a cutting half smile
across the table, I flinched as I felt a hot burning sensation, the
metal heeled stilettos scored down my legs, ripping and shredding my
bare skin.
"Sit still, girl," Father hissed in a whisper. . Father's word was law.
Mother smiled awkwardly at our visitors and fighting back the tears, I
did as I was told. Father's word was law, alright. My legs stung. The
cold - sticky - blood ran down my shins and caught the rim of my ankle
socks.
I chose to help Mum with the dishes, while Sis sat prettily, purring at
the foot of Dad's chair.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't all sugar canes and candy.

Revenge was sweet&;#8230;

She was now of an age, where boy's would call. She'd show off, by
barking orders and make me wait on them. I had to clean her room and
iron her clothes. She'd puff on cigarettes and read naughty
books.
"I'll give you 6d to sod off for an hour." She'd say.
"2/6d sounded better" I'd reply. Moving quickly to avoid the punch.
After all she was supposed to be baby-sitting me and I didn't come as
cheap as her.
I'd disappear for a while, in the days of being able to go out alone,
knowing you'd be safe. But I'd come back early with my bag of booty and
listen to them behind the closed door making horrid sounds. Sounds like
cats at night remind me of them still.
For days after she'd be artificially nice, much to the joy of
Mother.
"They seem to be getting on so much better these days, "She'd comment
to Father."
Reality was' she was frightened I'd drop her in it. I never did, of
course. However, I did enjoy the power of negotiation . . .
Finally, my demands, too much, she'd drag me to her room and give me a
right good thrashing.
"I wish you'd be a bit more lady like and not climb tree's," Mother
would say after seeing the bruises."

Then one day all my birthdays and Christmas's came at once. She was
twenty-three, getting married and emigrating to Australia,
She was so excited, she forgot all about me. It was Brill.
For the next two years my life was wonderful. I got her big bedroom and
I could do what I wanted, when I wanted and not have to tip toe
around.

Then, Mum received a letter . . .

Dear Ma n Pa,
"We are missing you both so much we've
decided to come home.

I sat numb for ages. Then in silence I went upstairs and moved my
things back into the box room.

God I hated her!

"It's only for a little while, till they get somewhere to live." Mum
comforted.

When they arrived, it was all hugs and kisses and in her arms she had
this tiny bungle. He was bald, ugly, but kind of cute. I decided there
and then, I was going to be the best Auntie in the world!

In my early teens now, my nephew was growing fast.
"I have to work," She would snarl through garlic breath, "I need you to
baby sit." I wasn't given the opportunity to say no. Even thought we
were older. Nothing had changed.

But I didn't mind.

"I like having him around." I told Mum, as I showed her the new toy I'd
bought with the last of my pocket money.
He'd sit on my knee, I'd read to him and we'd play for hours, Unt she
came home. . . With nostrils flaring and bad language.

She was jealous of me I see that now. She didn't know how to come into
our little world of imaginary friends. We had something she deprived
herself of from the day I was born.
Love and friendship.
I took him to the cinema. The witch frightened him and that night, he
crawled into bed with me.
"Mummy scares me like the witch," he said, as he fell asleep in my
arms. I loved my little nephew and he loved me.
Then, I discovered boys, as every young girl does. We'd kiss and do
things like I'd seen my sister do with her acquaintances, to the horror
of my parents.

I was 15 and pregnant.

The day Mother and I went to the Doctors, my world, as I knew it fell
apart. The whole house was quiet and still, like when someone had just
died.
My Father couldn't sit in the same room as me. I'd enter and he'd
neatly fold up his paper and leave. I'd bought disgrace to the family
home and his name . . .
The doctor never spoke to me that Monday morning. I was filth,
something the cat had dragged in. He had known me all my life. Bought
me into the world. Visited me when I'd had the mumps. Known four
generations of our family.

But it was like I was a stranger to him.

Mother and the Doctor discussed the options of what was to become of
me. My life arranged as if I were deaf, dumb and disabled. Never once
was I asked what I wanted. They assumed I didn't have feelings or
needs. I'd done enough damaged&;#8230;
After an examination, I was told of my destiny. He gave me various
papers and appointment cards. My Mother signed some legal stuff, as I
was underage. When we returned home, I was still in a daze I went
straight to my little hidey-hole, box room and flopped onto the bed
sobbing.

What had I done?

My boyfriend, he would stand by me, I thought. Surely he'd want the
child? I rubbed my hands over my tummy and the tiny form growing inside
me. He said he loved me. Really, he did. We could get somewhere when we
were old enough. I loved him. We could live happily ever
after&;#8230;

I heard a rumbling of stairs - the bedroom door flew open, clanking
against the radiator, shattering my dreams. My sister's enraged shape
was dark, menacing. I saw what my nephew meant. She was like the
witch.
"You Slag."
She backhanded me so hard; I smashed the side of my head against the
wall. Then, she lunged forward. I felt her full body weight as my
headshot backwards and
bounced onto the adjoining wall, then thudded onto the corner of the
drawers. Blood spurted across the bedding and window. Somehow she was
on top of me. I was

defenceless. Pinned to the mattress. I took one punch to the face then
another. She kept repeating herself. "I hate you. FUCKING BITCH. I hate
you," she screamed.
Grabbing my jewellery box, she crashed it down into my stomach. Then up
smashing my jaw. The glass lid broke and severed my chin and eye. I
tried to defend my self from this enraged monster. An ogre of the worst
kind. But she was too strong. She was always too strong.
"You stupid little shit," She snarled, her breath as evil as ever. She
placed both thumbs over my windpipe. At first, I didn't realise what
she was doing.
"I can't breath." I croaked. The words were stuck. She was hurting me.
The room was going dark, my head was fuzzy, her voice distant, my limbs
limp.
Then some thing snapped.
Come on you can handle this bitch&;#8230; Who does she think she is?
Coming into your room? Taking her frustrations out on you! It was going
to be the last&;#8230; I thought.
The very last time&;#8230;

I wriggled and struggled. I reached out and caught hold of the flex to
my bedside lamp. I took hold and walloped her over her head. She lost
her grip for a second. I slithered to the floor. I fought for breath,
my throat crushed. My lungs deprived of the very soul of the earth.
Every thing was black. I couldn't move.
The second attack more fierce than the last, my nephew's screams raised
the alarm. "Daddy! Daddy! Mummy's killing auntie." Father came to my
aid, dragging her off me. But it was too late, I couldn't move.

Next thing I knew the paramedics had arrived and were whisking me off
in the ambulance&;#8230;

The baby died.
I was kept at the hospital for a while, until as Mum called it, "My big
day."
"Possible brain damage," the specialist had said.
"She's resting now," Dad did his best to comfort Mum, as my life of
bullying and fear came to an end.

My sister - she moved away&;#8230; banished&;#8230;you might say,
taking my precious nephew with her. I wanted to write, but none of my
words would reach him.

My bedroom door is kept closed now. It's been redecorated and smells of
new paint and emptiness. Mum dusts my photograph and sits for a while,
I sit along side, we don't talk. It's not from the lack of
trying.

Family life will never be the same.

The boyfriend? Well - lets say&;#8230; the less said, the
better&;#8230; He didn't hang around. Moved on. Apparently, did the
same thing to his next girlfriend.

Jealousy is a funny thing and can affect everyone, during his or her
lifetime.

Me&;#8230; the whole experience changed my very existence.

Even though I carry the guilt and scars. I think of her
sometimes.

It's funny, but if anyone had asked, what I'd always wanted. I'd have
said,

"I'd have loved a Big Sister,"

Some one to look up too and confide in. I can't help, but hope. That
one day soon, she'll forgive me for being born and as my spirit lives
on in this tiny, tiny box room, maybe, just maybe, she will regret not
wanting me, like I always wanted her&;#8230;

Words 1800