Dear Journal:
Sissy didn’t play in her soccer game on Friday night. Not one second.
At first, I thought it was some sort of coordinated punishment between Dad and the coach, but he seemed as confused as I was.
“Maybe they’re saving her for the playoffs?” Dad speculated when the first period was nearly over, and she still hadn’t made an appearance. “I don’t think Liberty has a very good team.”
That may or may not be true, but the game was tied at halftime and still tied halfway through the second period. Don’t you have to play your best players at some point to win the game?
But as the minutes ticked away, Michelle remained on the bench…and it eventually became clear that was where she would stay. I squinted at her through the stadium lights from the bleachers across the field. Had she not been my sister, and had I not known how good a player she was, I would’ve assumed the sad, slightly chunky girl sulking on the sideline was a benchwarmer.
With just a few minutes left, sissy’s team finally took the lead and held on for a 2-1 W. The crowd cheered, and the players hugged. The only people who didn’t seem very happy (besides the fans in the visiting team’s section) were my parents, who clapped politely, and Michelle, who gave perfunctory high-fives to teammates as they ran past her on their way to the locker room.
After a LONG postgame meeting, sissy collapsed into the back of the minivan. Despite not playing, she looked tired and defeated.
“What was that all about?” Dad asked. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about sissy’s lack of playing time or the obscenely long team meeting, but sissy wasn't willing to discuss either.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she huffed, staring out the window. “Can we just go home?”
I could tell Dad wanted to ask more questions, but Mom put a hand on his arm in a way that told him it wasn’t the time. So, he put the van in drive, and we headed home in silence.
Halfway there, I leaned over to my sister, grateful she wasn’t her usual sweaty, stinky postgame self, and whispered, “What happened?”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it, piggy!”
So much for that sisterly bond Dr. Chen said we were forming.
Michelle hadn’t called me 'piggy' in over a week…and it hit me like a punch to the face. I had grown numb to it. It was like a speech affectation that was repeated so often, it had become easy to ignore. But on Friday night, I wanted to hit her back.
“Don’t call me that,” I seethed. Without realizing what I was doing, I plunged my finger into sissy’s side, where it sank into her nascent pudge. “Fatty.”
“Girls!” our father shouted from the front seat. I don’t think he heard what was said, only that we were squabbling.
Sissy did, though.
Her head whipped around faster than any move she’s made on the soccer field recently. And I won’t forget the look in her pretty blue eyes as they flickered in the headlights of oncoming traffic. There was anger, of course, but also other emotions. Shame. Doubt. Maybe even a touch of fear.
Stung by my blow, sissy folded her arms and faced the window.
Stung by hers, I did the same.
My mind was racing so fast that I didn’t notice our course home had changed until we were pulling into the Burger World drive-through.
“What does everybody want?” Dad asked jovially, grinning at us in the rearview mirror. I’m sure he thought he was a hero, but neither of us was in the mood.
“I’m not hungry,” sissy muttered under her breath.
“Neither am I,” I muttered beneath mine.
“Fine. More for your mom and me.”
Dad ordered four combo meals anyway and, as the smell from the bags drifted to the backseat, my stomach began to growl. I folded my arms over my belly to mute the sound. Truthfully, I was starving, but I certainly wasn’t going to give my sister the satisfaction.
When we got home, Mom and Dad put our meals in the fridge and went to the table with their own. Sissy raced upstairs (again, faster than on the soccer field) and, after hearing the bathroom door slam, I proceeded up to my room…where I immediately regretted having gotten rid of the food stash beneath my bed.
With nothing to do and nowhere to go, I collapsed into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. With sissy clogging the bathroom, I couldn’t even brush my teeth.
It was 3 AM when I awoke. All was quiet…except for my stomach, which was staging an angry revolt. I couldn’t hold off the hunger any longer, so I crept downstairs. I know nothing's worse for you than scarfing down fast food at 3 AM, but I couldn’t help it. At least no one else was awake to see it.
However, when I opened the fridge, both meals were gone!
Maybe dad meant what he said—that our refusal of dinner really did mean more food for him and mom. Sure. And maybe pigs can fly.
All I know is, if things keep going as they have been, the one upstairs certainly won't be flying around soccer fields much longer.
--Jessie