My Sister. My Enemy. My Friend

The Youngest

I was born in a home where there was nothing hanging on the walls. The walls had not been painted in decades. The furniture was older than I am now. It's still there. That home is still there. My sister and I have both moved out, but our mother and father are still there. Still married. Still arguing. Nothing is on the walls but the stains we made with cheese curl fingers or the blood of a fight. We weren't going to clean them and neither were they. My father is a writer. In a very small circle of scholars, he is famous. He writes about philosophy. He writes the history of philosophy. I don't know a thing about it because it's not something he ever spoke about at home. When would he have a chance to speak? My mother is not a philosopher. She is a gossip. She's a crow. In all the years that I've been alive, I don't think I've ever seen my mother stop talking for more than a minute. I know she speaks in her sleep. I've heard it. I pressed my ear to the wall, and I could hear her speaking. Giving advice to my sister. Warning my sister. Yelling at my sister.

My sister was the oldest, and she came out full of trouble. Apparently, she came out sideways. I don't know if that’s true, but that’s what my mother told anyone with ears. That's why my mother can't leave her alone. I think she's mad at her because her birth was painful. Me? I came out like she was squeezing a bar of soap. I shot out and the doctor barely caught me. My mother says I flew through the air. Again I don't know if that's true. It's just the mythology of me and my sister. There's a lot to it by the way. My father would never be able to write a book about it because I don't think he knows much about either one of us. He stopped listening to my mother years ago even though she is clearly the definitive authority on everything that is me or my sister. It's not so bad for me.

The story my mother tells about me is a very good story. I was a good child. I did a lot of things right. I had a lot of talent at a young age. I was recognized for my talent. I could have been one of my father's philosophers. I never stepped into the same river twice. I know that there's no exit in hell. And even though I wasn't a gadfly, I knew that my sister was. She made so much trouble. My pathway through childhood was so different from my sister’s. In some ways I think my parents were lucky. I lived a lot of lifetimes between the ages of three and 17.

I was an accomplished ballerina. I danced the nutcracker with the local school for the performing arts. I wasn't a student there but I was a hell of a good dancer. I can still stand on pointe without my shoes. My toes are made of steel to be honest. I wrote a novel when I was 15. It was published. I didn't even use my father's name. It got published all on its own. I became the student council president and was able to convince the principal that we should have multi-gender bathrooms. I don't even think there was a trans person at my school. I just did it because it was the right thing to do. And because I could. I probably could have convinced the principal to ban football. I thought about it. But I was dating a football player, and I thought that would probably ruin the relationship. He was a good kisser. I'm a good kisser, to be honest. I got all As. I took the hardest classes. I could have graduated a year early but I was asked to teach a class on Modern Art. It was a good opportunity even though I was only 17. I actually liked the class immensely. I taught the art teacher a thing or two. Actually I think I taught her more than a thing or two.

I designed several prom dresses. I wasn't going to charge money, but the parents insisted. And from there I found a buyer at Barney's in New York who fell in love with my designs. I have a line of prom dresses that are sold in New York in many different stores. “Teen to Teen.” It's a nice source of income. My parents don't make much money. They don't pay writers who write about philosophy a lot of money. My father never cared about money, but my mother did. She racked up an enormous debt. I offered to help, but she refused to let me. It's only for my sister that she will ask me for help, but I don't give any money for my sister. She hurt my mother when she was born and she pushed me down a lot when we were little.

Truthfully, I could have kicked her ass. I was much more agile and fit. But I didn't. She's my big sister, and that's what big sisters are supposed to do. I know. I wrote my book about that. My sister’s an addict, too. She had a drug habit. And she drank at school. She'd be blacked out by 7th period. We were actually in the same class. She was a senior and I was a freshman. It was Calculus. She always asked me what happened in class. I would always tell her the same thing: "nothing." So it's 20 years later and really it's all the same. My sister got sober, but she learned to love gambling. I don't really care. It's her life. It's just amazing how different we are.

My gowns are still out there, but that experience made me hungry to keep creating. And that's what I do now. I design people's interiors. Their insides. I can't do a thing about the outside though. Sometimes I get hired to work on a home that is a mess from the outside. The clients will ask me about it, and I always tell them the same thing. “I don't know anything about that. Got the keys?” But once I get inside I can do miracles. I feel like a therapist. I feel like I can design a living room or a bedroom or a kitchen so that the people who live there will feel better about themselves. If they hate, they won't hate so much anymore. If they suffer, their suffering won't seem so bad. It's a talent I have. I have so many talents.

The one thing I don't have is a family. I didn't want one. It seemed awkward. A waste of time, to be honest. My family wasn't so wonderful. Why would I think that I could make anything better? Besides, it terrifies me that maybe the baby will come out of me sideways. Maybe that's a genetic thing. I'm smart enough to know that it's not possible, but I still cling to these childish notions. In fact I cling to a lot of childish notions. It could be argued that I'm still a child. I'm still the same kid I was between 3 and 17. Maybe. I stopped growing at the age of 14, and I still have a lot of the same clothes that I had back then. I had good taste. When I show up for a meeting with a potential client, they're always surprised that a “teenager” is going to be their new designer. I do look young. And short. Not like my sister. My sister looks like something that's been chewed up and spit out because it's not edible. She's not very good looking. I'm cute. She tells me I’d make a great jockey. She would know. I think I'm pretty. I'm certainly not hurting for suitors. Men are always interested in me. I date a lot.

My sister has a boyfriend. They've been together for a while. He's the father of their three children. Three boys. Her boyfriend is a truck driver. He's been a truck driver the entire time I've known him. Truck driving might not be an admirable career but it's admirable when somebody does the same job for a long time. I can't say that I've done that. I've switched jobs. Many times. I was once a state senator. A hand model. And a choreographer for The Knicks City Dancers. I didn't have that job long. Those girls can't dance. Drove me crazy. But my brother-in-law / not brother-in-law drives his truck from one part of the country all the way across to the other. And then he comes back. He does it all the time. Sometimes all five of them go on the road. He's got one of those cabins that has a bed in it. When the kids were little they would all sleep in that cabin. But now that they're older they stop and stay at hotels. Waste of money if you ask me. I mean what they're spending on the hotels she could be keeping to take to the track.

I didn't mention it yet, but she's actually a very good handicapper. In fact she's turned it into a career. She works for one of those TV stations that is connected to the track. Saratoga. And she stands there and gives her picks before each race. I went to the track with her one time and she won a lot of money for me. She told me how to bet. I didn't pay attention to her at first, but then I started to notice the pattern of winning and I thought I'd like to be a part of that. I don't need the money but I don't mind winning. And on that day when I was with her I actually won $12,432.56. I started with 100. She did it. She turned it into all of that money. When there's a big race she gets dressed up. She'll wear a fancy hat. I've offered to make her a hat, but she never takes advantage of me. Every time she wears one of those fancy hats, I think how much better she would look if I made it for her. But she doesn't want my hat. I hate her. I always did.

Every time she pushed me down I would tell mom. I was that kind of sister. And she was always in trouble because of it. I used to think about what it would have been had I just let her push me down. Or maybe if I stood up and pushed back. It's hard to say. If you asked her it would be easy to say. She would tell you that she pushed me because she wanted me to push back. She didn't want me to be weak. I don't think I was weak. I didn't do drugs. I have other ways to stay skinny. She was torn apart by drugs. Her whole life was a mess. I don't know why, but I have my suspicions. I keep them to myself. I like being the most important person in our family. If I let myself think about what probably happened to my sister, she would become the most important child. Because she would be the victim. And the victims are always the most important. At least in "all the books" (one) I have ever written.

The Oldest

I wouldn't say that I pushed her down a lot. I didn't let her get away with anything. What she didn't tell you was that she did horrible things. That's why I pushed her. She said terrible things. I wasn't quick with my words. I didn't always know what to say to her, so I would just push her. But it didn't stop her. She’s still mean. I don't think she's ever been anything else. I used to think that it was her cruelty that allowed her to be so talented. She hated everyone because it was like they were all from a different race. She landed on this planet alone. And that pissed her off. So she got mad at everybody because they all smiled and hugged and loved, but for some reason the planet where she came from - those aliens didn't believe in these things. It wasn't a planet of love. It wasn't a planet of hugging.

My mother is a hugger. She hugged both of us, but my sister didn’t want anything to do with her. She likes to talk about how I was born. Supposedly I was born sideways. My mother won't talk about it. But since I was born, I've always felt connected to my mother and maybe that's why. Maybe it's because I was so difficult to bring to life that she values my life so much. I've always known my mother was on my side. She did the same thing to me that I did to my sister. She was tough on me.

When I went the wrong way, she tried to push me in the right direction. Unlike my sister, this didn't leave me full of hate. I would usually get upset and cry because I knew she was right. And I hated letting her down. There were certain things that really weren't my choice. I didn't ask for the problems that came to me when I was young, and I didn't ask for them to stay with me. But they're still with me. They're like squatters in an abandoned apartment building. They just won't leave. They don't pay rent. They live in my head because they have nowhere else to go.

Drinking and drugging will leave you with nothing if you let it. And that's what happened to me. But my mom didn't give up on me. She pushed me right into a rehab center. That made a big difference. I had a counselor there who understood me pretty well. I think maybe he had a child not unlike me. Before I told him my story he seemed to know it. And that made it easier to tell. He became my sponsor, and I leaned on him quite often. He brought me into his family for holiday celebrations because I didn't feel comfortable going to my home. My sister goes all the time. Nobody cares when she's there to be honest. My father doesn't talk to anyone, and my mother will talk to anyone. Even my sister. Their conversations are awkward. Usually, it's just my sister giving her CV which she updates every time she speaks.

My sponsor was warm and honest. I went to his house for Thanksgiving. That's when I met his brother, the man who would later become my partner. It was funny because they were so similar. Kind. Generous. Open. I never married this man, but I might as well have. We have three children. They're beautiful. They are as pretty as my sister is to be honest. This was the confirmation that my sister and I probably actually are related. I don't look like my sister, but I do clean up well for TV. I know she told you that I work for Saratoga Springs, but I have a bigger job than that.

I work for NBC Sports. I'm there for all three of the Triple Crown races and I never miss The Breeders’ Cup. I'm very good at my job. With every stage of the triple crown, we get to wear a beautiful hat. It's not quite like going to Ascot, but it is dreamy. She has offered to make me a hat every year for all the years that I've been doing this job, and I've always turned her down. She thinks it's because I don't like her hats or I don't like her, but I don't let her make me a hat because I don't want to owe her a damn thing. She's never made a hat for our mother. She never made anything for our mother. She's never done anything to help her when she could have. I'm not quite sure why that is. Maybe she's mad at my mother because my mother didn't stop the things from happening to me. But I don't blame my mother. Who could have known that was happening? Who could have seen it? What were the odds?

I know all about odds. I'm a hell of a good handicapper, but what I don't understand and I will never be able to handicap is exactly why my sister is such an asshole. Maybe that's the balance. You get talent, but you have to be a shithead. Well, she's got both wrapped up in a bow that she could put around the crown of a hat that she wishes I would wear. But I won't. I once read a quote by a man named Charles Russell. He's not a philosopher, but he said "a fine hat fits like a good friend." The last time I turned down my sister's offer I told her that quote. She then reminded me of how drunk I used to be during Calculus class. And I then reminded her that I don’t give a shit about Calculus. That's when I took my love for her and pirouetted away. Of course, the thing about spinning is that you keep coming back to the same spot. She was the dancer. She does the spinning. And she hasn’t moved an inch off her spot. Not yet.