literature

Maddy.

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8-13-05
Being the hardest to deal with of my immediate family, I felt somewhat obligated to spending the day with her. I knew I should, I knew she and I both needed some alone time, and that it was a perfect opportunity, but I still felt indolent toward the whole idea of entertaining a person who was so different from me.
I entered the room to a surprisingly shining face. I could feel the eagerness and excitement that she held close to her strong heart, as if she was trying not to let it out. It was starting to dawn on me that she was aware of my impatience for her hyper tendencies and invasions of my space. I always knew she was smart, but she had always seemed so over emotional, so out of tune with reality, and yet here she was, willing to hold in her strong emotions so that she could start the day off right.
I turned on some music and noticed that instead of her usual off key, forcefully loud singing voice, she was humming. I tilted my head, staring at her, looking for some sort of reassurance that certainly I wasn’t as intolerant as she seemed to think I was.
Again, as she caught my eye, she showed me once again of how much she and I were different.
“What?” she asked, inquisitively.
“Huh?”
“You were looking at me funny.”
I would have never acted this confrontational. If I would have caught someone staring at me, I would’ve turned my head and avoided eye contact.
“I’m sorry. You’re just pretty.” It was the only response I could think of. For some reason I found myself trying my best not to hurt her or make her feel like she was annoying me.
She seemed satisfied with the answer, responding with a “so are you” or something of the nature.
I started to sing the song aloud. I found her searching my eyes for permission. I tried my best to grant it; she then sang freely.
“Mel, I’m having a problem.”
This was odd; the only times she ever approached me for help was when she was crying or upset over the weather or extreme tension between our parents.
“I have this project I am supposed to do for school. It’s like- well its like a poster. It says ‘about me’, and I’m supposed to fill out a bunch of stuff. Like, my favorite book, the most important moment of my life. Stuff like that.”
“You have to do a project? School doesn’t even start until next week! That’s crazy!”
“Yeah,” she laughed uncomfortably. What had I done to make her uncomfortable? “Well, we’re supposed to pick a hero. And well, I wanted to pick Steven since he saved my life when I was four, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings like, if I don’t pick them.”
This was hard for me to respond to. The incident in which Steven saved her life was a hard memory to come crashing into my mind without warning. She had almost drowned, and it was under my watch. I was too busy holding a conversation with my cousin to even notice my little brother running toward my four year old sister who had been under the water without floaties for close to a minute. Imagining her little feet bouncing off the bottom of the pool reaching for the edge of the water, just to grasp some oxygen made me want to cry all over again. I saw my moms look of fury as she ran toward her baby who was lying next to the pool choking, trying to ring the water out of her lungs.
And it was my fault. She had almost died. How different would my life had been now?
Back to reality, I remembered her question. Well, it was more of a request for permission, once again, rather than a question. So I answered the only way I could.
“Steven would love that, and we wouldn’t mind. We know you look up to all of us. And a hero is someone you admire; someone you wish you could be like, someone you look up to. So that’s perfect.”
“Hey,” smirking, “stand up.”
“What? Why?”
“Oh just do it”
I did as she commanded. I stood, waiting to see what she would do. She tilted her head back, wrapped her arms around me, and started laughing.
“What?
“Haha! I look up to you!”
I’m sure I had a completely stunned look on my face. My eight year old sister had just made a pretty witty pun. I had to tell someone!
I instant messaged one of my friends who had a particular dislike for Madison, seeing as how she broke his toe for no noteworthy reason. She peered over my shoulder, and that made me nervous; I was afraid that he’d make a cruel remark about her. As if on cue, the remark was made. For some reason, on this day, I was feeling reasonably protective toward my sister, more than usual. I responded with my usual “Madison has gotten better. I promise, I just wish you could understand.”
I knew she was reading over my shoulder- she’d been reading history text books since she was 5- but she made no visible reaction. I hoped I had redeemed myself and maybe even cured the little wound my friend had made in her heart. Maybe that was too much to hope, but I decided to take her mind off of it despite.
“Let’s go work on that project.”
We started filling out answers on the poster. Every once in a while, when I would make a suggestion, she would get a funny look on her face. When I would persistently wait for an explanation, she would answer with an incredibly specific, fact filled correction to whatever I had just mentioned. After she would make the statement, shame would fall over her face. It seemed as though she was worried that I wouldn’t believe her, or that her explanation wouldn’t be worth my wait.
I made sure to reply with a cheesy, “Oh wow! I didn’t know that. Wow, you have a great memory. How’d you get so smart?”
I noticed that for the next ten minutes or so, after the instant message incident, she was being noticeably quiet. Deep in thought, I unconsciously silenced myself as well.
“”Hey Mel? Um, do you really think I’ve gotten better?”
For some unknown reason this struck me hard. I felt a sudden urge to tell her she was perfect. I wanted to hold her like the baby I used to rock to sleep every night, waiting for my mother to return from third shift. I wanted to rock to her and sing to her, and most of all, I wanted her to know that I loved her, and admired her bravery and intelligence and ability to feel the strongest of emotions, abilities that I so miserably lack. That her perfect strengths outweigh all of her faults and emotional issues. Instead, I replied with, “Yeah, I really do.”
And though that wasn’t a good enough answer for me, she looked as though she had just achieved her life goal. I couldn’t believe that she wanted to be accepted by me this badly. I’m just an older sister. I’m supposed to be bossy and mean and ignorant of my younger siblings. But at that moment, everything, every little mean comment I had ever made to her tore into my heat like a razor.
Why hadn’t I realized this before? Madison wasn’t like my other two younger siblings. She wouldn’t just shake it off like a bad play. She had taken every little comment I had ever made to her to her heart. Is that why she’d always annoyed me before? Because she would cry or feel the need to defend herself over everything? Maybe I had started it all. I hoped with everything that I could fix this. I dedicated myself to filling up the hole I had dug in her heart.
“Hey Madison?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you….”
“I love you too, Mel”
I bet none of you knew I started out as a writer. I have had writers block for about a year now. I promise I am a really great writer, even if this doesnt dispell the emotion I felt today. I just had to write it down, more for myself than for an audience. But please, tell me what you think.
© 2005 - 2024 crazyinsomniac
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Pfalz's avatar
A really interesting story, although I think it can be altered a bit. Did you think of putting the whole 'almost drowned flashback' at the beginning of the story? Because right now it seems sort of "oh yeah, and this happened" when it's just in the middle of the story. Plus, I think it'll help draw out the akwardness between the narrator and Madison if the reader knows this happened earlier in the story.

I also think Madison's character can be fleshed out a little more. She is a little kid and she is constantly surprising the narrator, so I think you can make her actions a little more random. Like when she peers over the narrator's shoulder, you could give it a little more character by mentioning if she slowly... sneaks... a peek... or if she's cunningly switching from one shoulder to the other.

But, those are just suggestions. Very touching story.