Forever & Always, Even if My Forever is Limited

F&A...Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The door flew open at seven thirty. My mother had Megan and I arranged side by side, sitting just so. We sat straight and stiff with fake smiles plastered on our faces. Megan looked beautiful when she smiled and it was sad to know that smile was not real. I could see that she wasn't alright, the way that sisters sometimes can. I could see the pain behind her deadened eyes. Her skin stretched tightly across the bones; her fingers were long and thin-witch-like. Megan was emancipated. She was like a neglected puppy.

I reached over and patted her hand-a sisterly gesture. "You'll be fine." I whispered. That is when the door opened.

"Hey, Sara?" A gruff voice called from the stairs. "Why is there a car in the driveway?"

My mom did not answer. He slowly ascended the stairs. Tension rose in the room as he did so. When his head finally cleared the stairway his blue eyes met Meg's gray ones. "Hello, Dad." She greeted, quietly.

"Meg?" Dad was astonished. He blinked feverishly as if she were a mirage.

"Hi." She forced a smile.

"Don't you look..." he struggled for words. "Lovely."

Her smile wavered for only a moment, until she politely recited back, "Thank you. You are looking well, too."

"I am well. We are well."

He stressed the 'we'' it was more of an 'us'. Our family-we-did not include her any longer. Megan picked it up, and nodded silently. A part of me was thankful that she did not try and pick a fight with him for disrespecting her. The other half was even more hurt. Where was her old fighting spirit? Where was the strong-willed girl I had come to know as a sister? My father marched into the kitchen and whispered loudly, on purpose, no doubt, to my mother. Things about Meg. "Why is she here?" "Get her out!" "I don't want her here!"

Megan's smile was still stuck onto her face, but she was long gone. She looked like a mannequin: dead, emotionless, still. "I should go." She said while she examined our stained white carpet.

"But you just got here." I reminded her.

"They don't want me here, Vera." Meg turned her face on me. Her expression showed true sadness and pain that it would break even the hardest person's heart in an instant. Her gray eyes brimmed with tears. "I do not belong here anymore. I never did."

Without warning Megan leapt off the sofa and power walked to her old bedroom. I want after her. It was just like we were younger again. I remember how I used to comfort her while she cried over the boy-of-the-month. I learned from her that men can be complete jerks. She taught me all that I know now about boys.

I ducked into her room, which was still covered in posters and pictures. Meg sat on her stool in front of her mirror. She glared at her reflection, "Make it stop."

It was a plea for help. "What?" I quickly corrected myself when I saw her glare. "Why did you come back?"

"I can't live like that anymore." She cried.

"Like what?" I was never told the dirty details of Megan's life in Vegas, and I was honestly curious to know about it. I always had had a taste for the macabre.

"I don't have a real job. I've supported myself my prostituting and dealing. I lost my apartment. I lived with random men who I didn't care about; they gave me drugs, I gave them whatever they required. On days I couldn't pick up a stranger, I sleep behind bars." She turned to look at me. "I'm done with that. I want to go to school, and have a real life: a normal life."

I could not wrap my head around the idea of my sister being a prostitute. My older sister, the one who I looked up to for years; the one who braided my hair when mom was too busy; the one who taught me all about relationships and sex. I never would have guessed. It made me proud that she wanted a new life though.

Dinner was tense. There was no sound other than Meg engulfing nearly half the giant pizza and the occasional cough. "Mom?" she asked while she wiped the sauce off her lips.

My mother answered distantly, "Yes, dear?"

"Can you make some fudge for me later?" It was just like we were children again; we constantly badgered our mother to cook us her famous fudge. I could gain five hundred pounds easily from eating it.

"Sure thing." She wasn't listening at all.

"Sara?" My dad asked her.

"Hmm?"

"Can you be a doll and fetch me a beer?"

Silence. No one moved. Forks stopped halfway to our mouths. "Sara?" He sighed. "Fine, I'll get it myself." I swear my heart stopped. Everything did. My dad shuffled over to the fridge, his short gasp, and angry growl. "Very funny. Give it all back now." He chuckled.

"I think you should give it a rest. Both our daughters are here and healthy. Not tonight, please." My mother said calmly, but I could hear her begging.

He growled in a low voice, "Here and healthy? Look at them!" He pointed feverishly at us. "Veronica may be healthy, but look at her-she isn't here. Her eyes are as glazed at a donut."

I blinked a few times. Were my eyes really glazed over? Huh. Dad ranted on, "Meg is anything but healthy. She's thinner than ever. She's shaking-which insinuates drug withdrawal. What are you on now? I think any man who has two defective children should be able to have his nightly drink! I'm leaving."

With that he stormed out of the kitchen and out of the house, slamming the door when he left. I heard his tires squealing down the road. His words echoed in my head. I may be fixed now, but I'll always be defective in some way with him. I can never be perfect. The bar will always be too high for Megan and me to reach.

My mother was silence. I could hardly hear her breath. "Vee, maybe it's time we have you checked out again...just to be safe!"

"Mom!" I shrieked. My voice came out harsher than I intended. "No, I'm fine."

Mother reeled back. My words were a slap in the face to her. Meg slammed her fork down hard. "Don't' talk to her like that! She doesn't need that shit from you, too!"

Normally, my mom would have scolded Meg for her language and yelled at us for fighting at the dinner table. But now, she just stood and turned to go. In the doorway she turned back, with tears in her eyes, and said, "I'm sorry I even asked. I just don't want to lose another child."

This time, her words slapped me. When I was a baby, seven months maybe, I had an older brother. His name was Will and he was eight years old; Megan was five. One day, he cut himself while playing with friends, as a lot of boys do. He did not tell mother; it was deep and soon became infected-he died from an infection. He is the reason why my mother is so obsessive about doctor's appointments. She does not want another child to die because she did not pay enough attention.

"Great job!" Megan called after me as I left the table.

I hid in the despair of my room. It was a Wednesday night-no one to see, nowhere to go. I allowed a single tear to run down my face, and then I opened up the bottle of whisky and began to drink my cares away.