Dear Journal:
I decided to wait up for sissy. Around 1:30, I began regretting it. Ostensibly, Michelle’s curfew is midnight, the same as mine, but at some point, she stopped abiding by it, and mom and dad stopped enforcing it. That certainly wasn’t going to change on prom night. Sissy probably wouldn’t show up until after lunch.
But it was more than just sleep deprivation that made me regret my decision. How sad was my life that this was the most exciting thing I was going to do all weekend? I may bash on my sister, but at least she was out there doing things. She was making memories (and teenage boys) while I was sitting in the dark watching infomercials.
That’s when I baked some brownies. I want to say it was to get out of my head and make constructive use of my time, but my intentions weren’t constructive. They were destructive. I planned to eat the entire tin.
As they were cooling, I heard scratching at the front door. Considering the time of the night morning, I probably should’ve checked the Ring camera or the peephole before I opened it, but fortunately, it wasn’t a burglar or an escaped mental patient.
It was just the chunky little rat that lived with us.
“Hi sis.”
Michelle was on the porch, rummaging through her handbag for her house keys. I’m not sure why she was having so much trouble. The tiny thing didn’t hold much.
“Jessie!” she blurted out. Then she held her index finger to her lips, reminding us to be quiet, before giving me a big hug. “You’re a sore for sight eyes.”
I’ve never been in a nightclub, but I imagine they all smell like sissy did--a bouquet of pot, perfume, BO, and alcohol.
No wonder she was having trouble locating her keys.
“Did you have a good time?” I asked.
“Oh, my God,” she said, letting her drunken inflection answer the question, before suddenly seeming to sober up. “Wait, you’re not telling mom and dad, are you?”
“No,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she meant about how late she’d arrived home, or juicy details to come, but I decided to ease her mind either way.
As we entered the bright light of the kitchen, I got a good look at her. Her dress looked like it had been taken off and put back on by a drunken blind man. The V-neck was shifted so far to the side that it looked more like a J-neck, and the back of her skirt was bunched above her butt like a bustle. Additionally, one of its shoulder straps dangled beneath her armpit like an unshaven hair.
Sissy was even more disheveled from the shoulders up. Her hair had come out of its bun and hung in her face like a curtain. Between the gaps in the frosted-tipped drape, I could see angry blemishes where her makeup had smeared away.
Dad occasionally spouts these crass colloquialisms. I hate them. They always make me cringe. But one of them immediately popped into my head.
If anyone ever looked ‘ridden hard and put away wet,’ it was sissy.
“Oh, my God,” she said, her button nose twitching behind her folic curtain. “You made brownies?”
I pointed to the tin cooling on the stove. “Help yourself.”
Sissy gave a manic grin as she yanked a carving knife from the butcher’s block. She looked unhinged. Isn't there a horror movie called Prom Night? She could’ve played the killer. (Of course, in heels and at her current weight, she would’ve been pretty easy to escape from, but I digress….)
As she stabbed the blade into the dense dessert, however, I didn’t feel fear. I felt pride. Dr. Chen was right. I had come a long way. Not long ago, I would’ve tattled on sissy and used the same knife to keep her away from my food.
At least that’s what I thought at the time. In retrospect, the pride I felt had less to do with my newfound benevolence and more to do with the sweets-crazed monster I had created.
“Mmmm, these are SO good,” sissy moaned.
“Have some more,” I said.
Sissy didn’t argue. We spent the next twenty minutes standing by the stove as she shoveled brownie after brownie into her mouth. In between bites, and sometimes in the middle of them, she told me about her night. Prom was great. It was disco themed, and Chip knew all the dances. It wasn’t The Hustle that caused her backside bustle, however. Apparently, Chip smuggled in a flask and some herbal accoutrements, and they spent most of the evening enjoying them, as well as each other’s company, in a locker room shower stall.
The only complaint she had, which caused her to eat even faster, was that her name had been removed from the prom queen ballot. She was told it was because of her last-minute break-up with Sean. Couples were nominated, not individuals, and Chip had subbed in too late to be considered. Anyway, she thought it was bullshit.
It was the most we’ve talked in years (even though I mostly just laughed and nodded along). I was sorry to see it end.
Next time, I’ll bake more brownies.
“Oops,” sissy gave an embarrassed giggle when she saw the tin was empty. “I ate all your brownies.”
I’m no dietician, but there had to have been at least 2,000 calories-worth. I wondered how many more she would’ve eaten if given the chance.
“No biggie,” I said. “I can make more.”
For a brief second, there was a twinkle in sissy’s blue eyes that seemed to say, “Do it,” but then the weight of the chocolate boulder in her belly hit her.
“I’d better get to bed,” she said.
“Me, too,” I agreed. The clock on the microwave read 2:45. “Go ahead. I’ll clean up.”
Sissy gave me another hug. To get one hug from her was extremely rare. Two in one night was unheard of. The only thing rarer was what she whispered in my ear…
“I love you, Jessie.”
“I love you, too.”
I knew she probably wouldn’t remember saying it in the morning, nor my saying it back, but it was still nice.
When our embrace ended, I noticed a chunk of brownie caught in sissy’s cleavage. I plucked it out and popped it in my mouth. “Hey, I got a brownie after all.”
Sissy laughed and searched the seemingly endless cavern for more crumbs. “My tits have been out of control ever since I got pregnant.”
I stopped chewing. Time seemed to freeze. “Wait,” I said after a hard swallow. “You’re pregnant?”
Sissy lifted her head from her cleavage and smiled through chocolate-stained teeth. “Not anymore.”
Then she held her index finger to her lips and doddered off toward the stairs, leaving me in stunned silence.
--Jessie