I love my sister, really I do, but she hasn’t always been the easiest person to love. I mean, I was here for three years before she showed up and I know I may have asked for her but is it too late to ask for a refund? She was always lil Ms. Perfect and I just didn’t know how to compete with that. She was the baby while I held the title of first born. She had hair that grew down her back while mine seemed to stay at a modest shoulder length. She tended to cling to mom’s skirt 24-7 while I enjoyed independence. She liked to keep to herself while I enjoyed taking center stage. It’s not like I intended to struggle with my feelings for her. We are just different and while growing up it seemed like we were just too different to get along. If we were to ever compete for the title of worst child I would win hand’s down and that’s just the way it was. Somewhere along the way I grew to just accept our differences and move on, like most siblings do. Eventually I came to realize that maybe she wasn’t so bad afterall. I soon learned that she just wanted to be just like me. She copied me in almost everything I did. Even if it was dangerous. As a matter of fact, I’m the reason she broke her arm so many years ago. It was the first time I began feeling depressed about being alive and started having suicidal thoughts. I remember feeling invisible. It was as if the only time I could get my parents attention was when I was misbehaving. As I toyed with the idea of hurting myself I began playing on the stairwell in our house on a daily basis. Whenever I was sure no one could see me I would straddle the rail and walk up the stairs or climb over the rail and comtemplate jumping. Maybe I would break an arm or a leg or maybe I’m not high up enough to do any real damage at all. I soon concluded that if I did jump I would only hurt myself and my parents weren’t worth the drama. Well no sooner had I stopped playing on the stairs when my sister decided to start copying me. I told her to stop but she wouldn’t listen and then one day it happened. I was in the kitchen washing dishes while my mom was trying to explain my homework to me.
“Mom”, she yelled.
“Wait a minute, I coming.”, mom replied.
This would be a normal exchange on any other day except at that very moment my sister was hanging from the stairwell for dear life. I don’t know why she never demanded mom’s attention. Maybe she thought she could pull herself back up over the rail before mom came to see what was wrong. Maybe, although she was scared to death she thought she could make everything alright if she just stayed calm and focused. A loud thud could be heard moments later as mom and I rushed to see what had happened. There on the floor lay my sister with her arm broke in three places. All because she was trying to be like me. I love my sister.