Bloodlines

"Kristen, you have one job. Watch your sister."

Sixteen years ago, my mother handed me the most monumental task any four-year-old would ever encounter. Sure, you would think watching a little kid would be easy. However, if you have met my sister, you know this has never been a simple mission. Let's just start with a little rewind of my sister's most memorable "WTF?" moments.

First, one that I adore telling people, is why I may occasionally call my sister "Buckethead." No, it's not because her head is in the shape of a bucket; it's because she went through a phase of wandering around with a blue, Winnie the Pooh bucket on her head. Why is this such a remarkable memory? It may be because she didn't tip it back to where she could see from underneath. Instead, my toddler of a sibling would amble around, completely blind to the world around her. She would run into coffee tables and couches, but nothing every really deterred her. She would stumble and fall, but would get up and peek from underneath the lid of the bucket, flashing a three-toothed grin.

Fast forward a couple years. My parents were always big on books, whether it was my mother reading Beezus and Ramona to me while I was tucked into my Barbie comforter, or when she switched to reading Junie B. Jones to my sister. My sister listened intently, especially when Junie B. Jones Is a Beauty Shop Guy crept into my mother's literary repertoire. Much like the Junie B., my sister thought she could easily take scissors to her and create a wonderful hairstyle. Of course, maybe things would have went better if she hadn't done it while hiding in her closet and using safety scissors. There's nothing quite like seeing your mom's face flush a dangerous, angry red while repressing a smile after picking up chunks of dark brown hair from the carpet.

There are plenty of other classic hits that I could replay, like the time she took the stuffing out of one of those huge bears you win at a fair and proceeded to strut into my parent's bedroom wearing the now stuffing-less bear suit, causing my father to set down his book and roll with laughter. These are wonderful memories, full of laughter and amazement at my sister's uncanny knack for doing something just a smidgin' out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, while keeping a watchful eye, I have had to observe some moments that my sister would probably not put on her highlight reel.

For instance, her occasional bouts with high fevers, causing her to shiver and shake, covered in sweat while all my family and I watched on. Other times included when she walk around the house, awake in fear but still asleep, begging for my mother while she hid from foes only she could see. As we got older, she started dealing with evils she could see. The most recent being boys.

Now, my sister has never had trouble making the boys jump when she says to. However, in the short amount of time my sister has been "dating," she has certainly dealt with her fair share of crap with the worst case being about six months ago. You know the saying "Wolf in sheep's clothing?" Well, this was a skinny wolf sporting a singlet. My sister, playing the role of the sheep, was completely enamored by the wolf. In fact, we all were. He was good to her, a student-athlete. What could be better for a high-school couple?

Needless to say, the wolf eventually shed his sheep's clothing and flaunted his true colors to everyone. And I, having the job of being my sister's watcher, viewed an emotional downward spiral. People who were once my sister's greatest friends since pre-school turned a blind-eye, leaving her to her own devices. She suffered, turning her pain into a Berlin Wall of disdain. She armed herself with lies and hateful comments to battle the incoming missiles targeted at her from classmates. She hid within herself, casting out the light and letting in the dark.

Being the big sister, I thought I knew everything, offering words of wisdom and encouragement. However, this encouragement slowly grew into my own form of anger, especially when she refused to listen. It seemed like nothing worked and in the end, all I could do was be a silent viewer. Then, like a cat watching a laser-pointer, she finally grasped what she had been searching for. Inch by inch, she began to dig her nails into the dirt and drag herself out of the collapsed tunnel she had been living in. And there I stood at the top, waving her on and watching as she clawed and slipped her way up. Every so often, I see her glancing back into the pit, thinking about surveying the grounds again. Then I see her step away, kicking a rock into the hole.

For sixteen years, I've seen this kid do some stupid stuff. I've heard her cry, felt her punches, and shared in her laughter. In this mere blip of time, I've tasted her terrible food during her chef phase and witnessed her brick of a shot during basketball games. But, while maintaining my time as my sister's sentinel, I've managed to pick up a couple perks.

I've never been without a friend. I have someone who wears a similar shoe size. I have someone to brag about and yell at. She's given me stories to tell and jokes to share. My sister has made me responsible. She's taught me that it's OK to rarely take horrible selfies and actually send them to people. She's shown me how to grit my teeth and power through when things kinda suck. My sister has read me the riot act when I've needed it and offered me love when I never asked for it. She's been my protector and insipration. She's been a thorn in my side and a pain in my neck.

She's been the best job I've ever had.

Love,

Heldie