counselor/ friend

Our knees touch under the blanket, the computer is loading The Little Princess, and we sit in silence enjoying each other’s company.

“Mary? What do you think of Ryan?”  I’m glad we’re sitting sideways so she can’t see me roll my eyes. Every time she asks me I tell her how awesome he is. I’ve told her at least five times that they are going to get married.

“I think you guys are really good together, it makes me jealous, I wish I had someone as special as Ryan.”

She looks down at the cup of hot chocolate in her hands. I can read her well enough to know that we need to talk.

“Why, what’s going on?”

I know her so well.

“Rachel is so negative, it’s so hard when everyday she tells me that it’s not going to work out, how she fixes relationships for her major,  and by the way we’re acting we aren’t going to last, and if we do get married then it will be a terrible relationship, and I don’t know what to do. We spend so much time at his apartment because I don’t feel that he is welcome here, with Rachel around. I don’t like having to argue with her.”

I’m getting fed up with Rachel. I haven’t seen her open hostility personally, but I don’t think Camille would exaggerate a point like this. Camille has trouble with dating and love. I was so happy when Ryan started to take interest, he treats her so well, leaving her notes, sneaking her snacks in class, making sack lunches, taking her on creative picnics and adventures. And she seems really happy.

 I met Ryan a few weeks ago; I was suspicious and doubtful at first. Who was this punk that was confusing my sister, who does he think he is. I couldn’t tell he was interested in her then; it was a very low key “let’s all decorate Halloween cookies together” sort of thing. But as the dry, autumn afternoons turned into wet, winter days, their relationship warmed up. She bursts with excitement to tell me the latest detail of their romance. The first time he held her hand, how he took her on a romantic carriage ride, and somehow their picture got put in the newspaper, their first kiss. She’s falling for him. She's already tentative about letting someone in, and Rachel seems determined to expose Camille’s doubts.

“She can’t say that,” I say to my worrying sister. “She can’t diagnose a problem this close to home.” I personally think she is jealous that Camille is so happy with a boy, heck, I’m jealous that anyone can be this happy with a boy.

After the last family wedding everyone started speculating who would get married next, somehow everyone skipped Camille and pointed to me. I think this kind of hurt her feelings. But the way Camille is acting she is going to beat me by a long shot.

“But do you think that we are going to end up unhappy, that we’re not good for each other?” She looks at me with puppy dog eyes. She needs reassurance; it’s hurting her to lose Rachel as a friend, even though Rachel is ruining her life. Camille doesn’t come by friends easily. Not good ones, Rachel being exhibit A.

 I’m her friend though.

Always.

“I think if you guys want to make this work, then you will. And I see that happening.”

My words are more powerful than Rachel’s and Camille is pacified, for the evening

crafty sister take 2

I work on my computer while sitting on the black leather couch in my apartment; Camille has a couch just like it. I had slept on it two nights ago. Ryan was out of town and Camille was lonely so I had slept over at her place. I made the coich my bed because I have been sick all this week and didn’t want my snuffling and coughing to wake her up. But, being a good sister, I shared my germs with Camille, so she is sick too.

And alone.

My poor sister. I imagine her in the night, if she is sick like I am sick she won’t be sleeping well. It will be worse that she is all alone, in the dark, sick, delirious to sleep.

I close my computer and take it from my lap to the table. My roommate Katie is working on her computer there.

“Can you drive me to Camille’s apartment?”

“Now?” she looks at the clock. It shows 1:45 a.m.

“Well, in 5 minutes, I need to grab my stuff.”

“Okay,” she says shrugging. I pack a backpack of clothes, makeup, toothbrush and toothpaste and we’re out the door, running through the cold to Katie’s green jeep. She drives the dark streets, the heater blasting.

“Thanks Katie,” I jump out.

“I’ll stay until I see that you get in, wave or something.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I shut the door. The leaves crunch under my feet and I ignore the stairs and drop onto Camille’s lowered landing. I fumble with my keys. Camille had placed these in my possession not more than a month ago. I had sworn on pain of death not to use the car key, but the house key was fair game. The door is stuck and I have to lean against it until it bursts open, creating a lot of noise in the process. I freeze until I realize that she is asleep in the back room and my loud entrance did not wake her up. I turn and wave to Katie, and enter the dark apartment.

She must be sleeping better than I thought if all my loud noises don’t wake her. I open the bathroom door to get ready for bed, the closet door to get blankets for the black, leather couch, and turn on several lights in the process. I debate if I should wake her up to let her know I am here. But I let the sleeping child sleep.  I settle into the couch, happy that I can be here for her, to help her if she needs me. To let her know that she’s not alone and that she is loved.

I roll over and realize that it is bright; I squint my eyes and see Camille in the kitchen making hot chocolate. She laughs.

“Good morning, Sister. It was quite a surprise to wake up and find you asleep on my couch. When did you get here?”

“Last night at 1:30, did I wake you up when I came in?” 

“No you didn’t, but it was nice to have you when I woke up.”

Thoughtful take 2

“You’re coming over? Right now?”

“Yep, are you going to be home?”

“Yes.” This is unexpected. Camille doesn’t usually visit me in the dorms, I go to her apartment or I meet her somewhere on campus. It’s  not like we can do a lot at my place. My roommate is out again, so it will just be me and my sister. I don’t know what she will want to do though, there aren’t many options in a 6 by 20 foot space crowded with two beds, empty refrigerator and sink.

A knock, I jump off my bed.

“Hey Camille- what are those for?”

“Hey sis.” She comes past me through the door carrying white plastic bags with the  SMITHS label. She drops them at the foot of my bed.

“These are for you.”

What?

She bought me groceries? This must be because of my bimonthly conversation with Mom. I felt a little knot in my stomach. I shouldn’t make Mom worry so much. I should eat better. And now Camille knows. It’s nice to be cared for, and the attention is always welcome, but I’m a little embarrassed.

Camille goes through each bag commenting on their contents.

“Milk,

Some cereal, I didn’t know what you liked so I got Resin Bran and Lucky Charms,

Some peanut butter,

Jam,

Pretzels.”  She stands up and her smile is replaced with a stern, eyebrow’s raised look.

“I want this to all be gone by next week.”

Don’t tell me what to do.

“Okay.” I say.

I have been living off cafeteria food with a two foot refrigerator for snacks. But lately I haven’t frequented the cafeteria and my refrigerator is empty.

“Camille, did you talk to Mom?” .

“Yes, and Mary you have to eat. It doesn’t have to be the cafeteria food, but you have to eat something, okay. Mom is really worried. Now promise me you will eat this, and if you’re hungry you will call me.”

“Okay.” She gives me a hug, and helps me put away the  food.  We talk about school and boys and she comments on how I can eat sandwiches in-between classes and cereal for sleep in days.

“It’s not healthy, Mary.” She says closing my refrigerator door.  “Please take better care of yourself.”

“I’ll do better,” I promise and give her a hug before she leaves.

Once I shut the door I take out the peanut butter and have a quality dinner for the first time in a while.

unfair take 2

It was a parallel activity. We watched the TV together but we weren’t engaged. We didn’t interact. Unless, we didn’t, until I stabbed her in the arm.

I sit staring at the screen with wide eyes that indicates concentration. Some unattached hand is drawing the face of Freddy Flintstone. The hand has a voice and it tells us how to draw Freddy Flintstone too, just like on the screen. I stare unblinking and do exactly as the voice and hand tell me to do. Except the hand’s circles are so round and the lines so straight. I look down at my picture; I look over to Sister’s picture.  I wrinkle my forehead; pucker my lower lip in a frown, and a mean feeling wiggles inside of me. Her picture is better; it looks a lot more like the hand’s picture than mine does. Her picture can’t be better than mine. Her pictures are always better than mine. Why is she better at everything? This is unfair! I lean over with my purple pencil and scratch a line right down the middle of her paper.

“Uh! Mary!” she takes her blue pencil and scribbles down my Freddy’s face.

“Ahhhhhh! Camille!” I scratch her paper again, now there is an x over the face of her perfect picture of Freddy. Then she does the unthinkable. She grabs my paper and tares it down the middle. That’s it! Does she know how hard I worked on that, how carefully I had drawn my raisin circles. I don’t even think, I’m so mad I do whatever I can to hurt her. I take my purple pencil and bring it down, stabbing her arm. The lead brakes off and she begins to bleed. She screams and starts to cry. Mommy came in once she heard Sister scream and picks her up to clean her wound.  She doesn’t even see my ruined picture, she doesn’t even care what Sister has done. Mommy has some harsh words for me. Scorn from Mommy is the worst, worse than spankings. I am left with two ruined pictures and a wet face.

heartbreaker

I am always acted upon, I rarely act. This always leads to confusion and hurt. More pain on my part because I over think it, I think. I ridicule myself for letting anyone get that close, because all they’ll find is a wall with no ladder, no long braid, no way through. Some make more progress than others, but they all end walking away  in the end. And I’m left will a bunch of broken pieces. Heartbreaker.   My lab partner called it in eighth grade, he was dead on.  I’ve left more destruction in my wake than a rampant lion. One potential wall climber asked why, why I couldn’t let anyone get close. I didn’t know how to respond because I don’t know why, probably because I have always looked down on relationships. Because I am afraid. He could tell I was closed, and I didn’t know how to open,  I still don’t. Someone will get close, take my hand or put an arm around me, and I allow it for the moment, because I don’t want to hurt them, but I end up hurting them anyways -- when I run. I run when I’m scared, when I feel that someone is getting too close. When I feel my wall being breached. I distance myself; keep going until I feel safe. Until I can’t see the pain I caused them, but I feel it, because I can only imagine the hurt they feel. They laid down their feelings, put their heart on the line and I smile, and take for the hills.

playmate

I pick up my blue eyed, curly blond dolly from the play bin. I wrap her in one of the blankets made for our dollys. Camille wraps her dolly in white shawl. She sets up the scene as we prepare.

“So the evil king is coming to get us, he wants our babies so we run away from him.”

“Yes, we’re running away… where to?”

“We’ll find out when we get there.” She rocks her baby back and forth, singing the song from the Prince of Eypt,

                        “Sleep now my baby, my last lullaby.”

I join in at the end.

“No Mary, this is my song, you have to find your own.” I frown, why can’t we have the same song? I take a few steps away from her and try to think of a new lullaby. The song from Tarzan comes to my head and I sing,

                        “Come, stop your crying it will be all right.”

“Listen, Mary, the guards!” We both gasp, and run for the basement rafters. Both of see the same setting, two young girls draped in darkness carrying there sleeping babies through he forest. We ran in bare feet on the cement basement floor, weaving in and out of wall studs and daring to venture back into the dark end of the basement.

We giggle and are content to play for hours.  Camille would add details, and then I would add details. No other girls could have shared such a connected imagination.

Thoughtful

“You’re coming over right now?”

“Yep, are you going to be home?”

“Yes.” This is unexpected. Camille doesn’t usually visit me in the dorms, I will go to her apartment or I will meet her somewhere on campus. My roommate is out again, so it will just be me and my sister. I don’t know what she will want to do though, there arn’t many options in a 6 by 20 foot space crowed with two beds, and empty refrigerator and sink.

A knock, I jump off my bed.

“Hey Camille- what are those for?”

“Hey sis.” She comes past me through the door carrying white plastic bags with SMITHS label. She drops them at the foot of my bed.

“These are for you.” She goes through each bag commenting on their contents.

“Milk,

Some ceral, I didn’t know what you liked so  I got resin bran and lucky charms,

Some peanut butter,

Jam,

Pretzels.”

I lived off cafeteria food with a two foot refrigerator for snacks.

“Camille, did you talk to Mom?” She turns on me.

“Yes, and Mary you have to eat. It doesn’t have to be the cafeteria food, but you have to eat something, okay. Mom is really worried. Now promise me you will eat this, and if you’re hungry you will call me.”

“Okay.” She gives me a hug, helps me put the food away and leaves. I take out the peanut butter and have a quality dinner for the first time in a  while.

storyteller

“No!”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“I don’t believe it.”I look back to the mirror, brushing my hair with the little pink brush Santa had brought me for Christmas. I brush my dolly’s  hair between brushing mine. Camille was dressing her blue eyed dolly in play clothes.

“that’s why we have different colored hair,” said Camille. I look at the hair in my brush. It’s yellow. I look at Camille’s hair, it’s brown.

“That doesn’t mean you’re an alien,” I say, I’m not as sure as before, she is kind of weird.

“There are other things,” she says matter of factly. “How come I’m so much smarter than you, and how come I have freckles and you don’t.”

“Where did you come from then?”

“I don’t know, but I know that my real parents are coming back to get me soon. And then I’ll go back into outerspace.

“You’re not an alien.” I put my dolly down, I was uncomfortable.

“Am so, just ask Mom. Besides, can you do this?” be grabs two fistfuls of air and pulls back and forth. Her scalp moves back and forth.  Oh my gosh she’s wearing a wig, she is an alien.

“Mommy!” I run from the room, leaving Camille laughing by herself.

Crafty sister

I sat on the black leather couch in my apartment; Camille had one just like it. I had slept on it two nights ago. Ryan was out of town and Camille was lonely so I stayed with her. I  have been sick all this week and but am getting better, but being a good sister I shared  my germs with  Camille, so she is sick too. And alone. I close my computer and take it from my lap to the table. Katie is working on her computer there.

“Can you drive me to Camille’s apartment?”

“Now?” she looks at the clock. It shows 1:45, a.m.

“Well, in 5 minutes, I need to grab my stuff.”

“Okay,” she said shrugging. I pack a backpack and we run through the cold to Katie’s green jeep. She drives the dark streets, the heater blasting.

“Thanks Katie,” I jump out.

“I’ll stay until I see that you get in, wave or something.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I shut the door. The leaves crunch under my feet and I ignore the stairs and drop onto Camille’s lowered landing. I fumble with my keys. Camille had placed these in my possession not more than a month ago. I had sworn on pain of death not to use the car key, but the house key was fair game. The door is stuck and I have to lean against it until it bursts open, creating a lot of noise in the process. I turn and wave to Katie, and enter the dark apartment.

I roll over on the couch and realize that it is bright; I squint my eyes and see Camille in the kitchen. She laughs.

“Good morning, Sister. It was quite a surprise to wake up and find you asleep on my couch. When did you get here?”

“Last night at 1:30 ,did I wake you up when I came in?”

“No you didn’t, but it was nice to have you when I woke up.”

Sister: Counselor part 1

                “Okay what do you want to do?

Our knees touch under the blanket, the computer is loading The Little Princess, and we sit in silence enjoying each other’s company.

“Mary?” she breaks the silence. “What do you think of Ryan?”  I’m glad we’re sitting sideways so she can’t see me roll my eyes. Every time she asks me I tell her how awesome he is, I even bet that they are going to get married.

“I think you guys are really good together, it makes me jealous, I wish I had someone as special as Ryan.”

She looks down at the cup of hot chocolate in her hands. I can tell she needs to get something off her chest.

“Why, what’s going on?”

All she needs is the invitation and she’s off.

“Rachel is so negative, it’s so hard when everyday she tells me that it’s not going to work out, how she does this for her major that she’s a psychology major and by the way we’re acting we aren’t going to last, and if we do get married then it will be a terrible relationship, and I don’t know what to do. We spend so much time at his apartment because I don’t feel that he is welcome here, with Rachel around.”