Debbie Harpham
A Sibling’s Rival
By the time Sister woke, it was already too late. Snow up to her scrawny kneecaps, most likely knocking to beat the band. Coming to in the middle of all that white, her eyes wet against the sharp wind. “What am I doin’ out here?” she’d ask, in that little girl way a hers, like somebody is obligated by law to answer. “And how come I’m not dressed?” She’d clutch her nightie and free her foot (clad in nothing but a wool sock) from the bluish drift. Then, in the dead silence, the knowing. She’d cast her eyes hither and yon, and back again. Surely scared to death by now, Sister would spin, like she was trying desperately to turn all that snow into cotton candy.
At least that’s how I ‘magine it, been ‘magining it now for ten years. Some details change here and there. But usually, it’s the same ol’ picture show I can’t get out a my brain. Sleep’s been hit and miss for a long while. Now, it’s nearly always a miss. At this rate, I’ll be an old man ‘fore I see twenty. Might as well take my chances in the Great War. Do my part for the Wolverine state, and Uncle Sam. That way maybe I’ll have something else to fret about besides Sister.
I miss her, I do. Didn’t think I would. Not at first. When the news broke, I got sick. Heaved soon’s I cleared the porch and lunged past Sgt. Cal’s sled towards the outhouse. Through my pitching I could hear mother howling and my father denying. After a while, I felt. . .well, let’s just say it wasn’t right.
Now, you got to understand: The day my sister was born, I became second fiddle. Three years a just me and my parents, then the girl. Tell you what, she didn’t waste time taking center stage. Got the colic so bad, I’d hide out in the chicken coop, just to get away from the squalling. Sang to her once, out of sheer frustration. That did it. I could stop her cold in mid-squawk with a soothing ditty. Once she started to grow, she turned pretty as a doe with her tawny hair and those maple syrupy eyes. Bad enough father swooned over her, mother turned Sister into a miniature version of herself. I was the big brother while she, by the time she could stomp her foot, was Queen Bee.
But there’s more. Fellas, you know how annoying little sisters can be? Well, add to that a double whammy. At around the age of four, Sister took to a most peculiar behavior. She’d get up out of her bed, dead asleep, and walk straight through the door into the unknown. Happened so much we had to set locks. Doctors called it somnambulism. I called it the last straw.
Which is how she found herself in a middle of a snowdrift in the dang middle of the night. Her realizing she’s in deep trouble, alone, and suddenly freezing. What does she do? I ‘magine she calls out. For me. Because that’s what I did. Watched over her. When the grief-stricken wind is her only answer, she starts to cry. I want to fetch her then, and bring her back, like I’ve always done. But, of course, I can’t. In my mind’s eye she starts to run, zigzagging across the unbroken snow, a yearling abandoned. But all is not lost. She sees a light through the trees. Then, a sound that she knows will save her. The whistle of a train. She wipes her eyes and wills herself toward it. Just as she reaches the tracks, the train whizzes by, unaware of Sister, waving her spindly arms in the waning night. At dawn, a hunter finds her nestled in a ball, peaceful, and utterly still.
Mother and father, the neighbors, all, tell me not to blame myself. This one time, they say, you couldn’t keep her safe. But I know the truth. Which is why I want to fight in a war. Blast the story out of my head for good. The real story. It’s about a brother who heard his sister rustling out of bed, about to embark on one of her nightly vigils. About a brother so sick with jealously and worn out from care-taking, he finally broke. It was the smallest of things, yet the most deadly: He made sure the door to the outside was open.
Schedule your book club’s visit with Denise Heinze via staging.novelsandbox.com/our-authors/.