To New Beginnings...

How do you love some one like my sister, Colleen?
How do you not love them?
I've found that both are nearly impossible.
And yet, keeping my distance from her is always more of a struggle than putting up with whatever bullshit she's going to dish out. At any given moment. But, I'm prepared at this point. Or, so I think...

Where does our story begin? Which details trace the edges and fill the seams? How do I make the pieces fit? Where is the order in our long-standing and emotionally obvious disorder?

We were born 15 months apart. 2 girls with brown hair and big brown eyes. But, whereas I encountered very little illness or even social obstacles as a toddler and young child, my sister was dealt the real shit end of the stick. From at least the age of 2, but possibly even earlier, Colleen was repeatedly attacked by ear infections. And, I very well mean to use the word "attacked" -- the infections were vicious: throbbing pain, loss of sensation, loss of hearing, problems with equilibrium, problems sleeping, etc...and, you can only imagine how this effected her behavior. Many times, because she was in such discomfort, so tormented by the plagues of what seemed like constant ear infections, or medications, or inner-ear tube operations, Colleen acted out physically or vocally aggressively.  As a family we tried to compensate for this, tried to help her, tried to support her and not let her struggle alone. My mom, sister, and I spent hundreds of hours in doctor's offices -- talking, trying to joke, bickering, playing cards, planning and dreaming. And, Colleen would try to keep her spirits high, try to smile; inside she felt so bad, so guilty, so scared. You could see it in her eyes. Even to this day, she is one of the saddest-eyed kids I've even seen.

But, also inside of her is this incredibly beautiful, bountiful light. And, when it shines on you, it is PURE LOVE. She is a vessel for love, compassion, bright energy, goodness, altruistic deeds, and empathy. UGH. Empathy...this is where Colleen often finds herself lead down a very different path than she's intended...but, more on that, later. Back to L-O-V-E. While we fought often as children,  out of necessity and isolation we became each other's best friend. Growing up on 17 acres of rolling countryside was a blessing and a curse to us: it is both heartbreakingly beautiful, but can be incredibly lonely and distort your perspective when your only other playmate has just whipped a metal spoon at your exposed skin and locked you out of house...
Where was I?
Oh, that's right -- LOVE!
Colleen's love is one of the deepest, truest, warmest feelings I have ever known. When we were on good terms, nothing beat it, nothing could stop us, nothing could top us, and nothing could break us apart (Except us). What a gift to have her "look up to me" as the older sister, to have her trust, her thoughtfulness, and to see the hopes she had for both of us. She had more dreams of what we'd both become, thought about both of our futures more than I ever did. Most of the time I fooled myself into thinking I was teaching her, but she was the one leading me. And, her laugh. It's one of those laughs that you feel too. Infectious, and to the core. Hearty, silly, ringing...

But, it wasn't all peanut butter and jelly...
I can't sum it all up, I can't actually render our lives, our moments, our struggles into words. It lives out *there* now; in the past. And, I can access a painful, delightful, incredible flood of memories, of stories, of our intersections. How we shared. Everything. Good, bad, amazing, and horrible.
Let's not get bogged down in all the details of our school-aged years: the drifting, the fighting, the bickering, and the less frequent but still delightful, silly scheming.
Suffice to say we both struggled a lot psychologically during those years. And, while we were still mostly allies, we started to turn on each other more and more. We started to share less and compete more.
 We became two different sides of the same coin.
Again, all the details are somewhat irrelevant at this point.
But, here's a quick memory:
October, 2002: It is Pal-Mac High's homecoming weekend. Colleen and I have arrived at the bonfire and pep-rally together. I drove us in the red and rusted S10 pickup that we used to beat to shit on those no-posted-speed-limit roads. Immediately, Colleen jumps out of the truck and starts off to find her friends. I try to slow her down, get a plan when/where we'll meet back up, ask her who she'll be with, etc. I ask 20 questions. I try to keep her near me because I am nervous, worried, and pretty socially awkward. I maybe want to hangout with her and her friends...but I don't know how to ask. She's got an attitude. It seems like she's on the run. But, I don't understand from whom? And, why? She's snappy with me. She takes off without any clear agreement. On anything.
I go to find my friends before I miss the parade and our Senior float. Over the next few hours I occasionally look for my sister around the school grounds. I am getting increasingly nervous. But, not just about her. I am the Student Council President and I have to go help announce and lead the pep-rally soon.  It's heading towards twilight, almost to the point where the sun starts setting fast. I start repeatedly calling her phone. She doesn't answer. She doesn't answer. And, then it starts going to voicemail. My ego says: "She's fucking with me. That little bitch is doing this to piss me off, to make me worry about her, to chase her down. UGH, she's so selfish." Really, though she probably just wants a few hours away from her over-bearing, self-important, older sister.
Finally, right at dusk, as everyone starts heading in to the gym for the pep-rally, we encounter each other in front of the gym doors. We are both instantly hostile. I demand to know where she's been, who was she with, and what the fuck were they doing? She tells me she's been smoking weed and some cigs at a friend's house a few blocks away. My tone gets so cutting. I judge her, and I judge her, and I don't stop. She's not in the mood right now, and starts screaming back at me. I am not her parent, I can't tell her what to do, what the fuck am I going to do about it?
It keeps escalating. At this point, people have started gathering around us, as we circle each other, seething and slinging insults. Our voices keep rising as more people notice us. Some people even try to intercede, tell us to "cool it" and walk away from each other. But, neither one of these badass Emert bitches is backing down. After a few more verbal exchanges, I have had enough, the pressure is building, and OMG I should be inside, getting ready to announce the pep-rally. I shove her. And, when she comes back at me, her fists are swinging. She tears my sweater so that part of my bra is showing, and then somehow rips my left contact out of my eye. Mrs. Lester, the politics and government teacher, finally steps hurriedly in and pulls us apart. We are both red-faced, sobbing, and screaming ourselves hoarse.
It is immediately determined that Colleen is not allowed to enter the school and be a part of the pep-rally. But, I have to go take center stage.
With part of my bra showing.
I pretty much blacked-out at this point. All the faces in the bleachers were blurry, everything was too loud, and the glow of the gym's lights gave me a headache. I somehow don't stumble over my announcements. But, I forget the cheer at the end. No big deal, there are 300+ Pal-Mac kids who know it by heart. Feel it with their hearts.
At the bonfire, a blaze that illumines the entire wall of the gymnasium/pool complex, the parking lot, and practice soccer field to the east, my sister is nowhere to be found. Many people are laughing, chatting, chanting, whooping, giggling, and telling stories. A few people stare at me and whisper. An hour later, Colleen appears and we exchange curt, bitchy, but mutually -accepting -of -the- fact- that -we- have- to- ride- home -together growls.
On the car ride home, I have to ask her for some help watching for deer and other animals -- a very real danger on those roads -- because I am missing the contact in my left eye...the contact that she somehow tore from my eye. She complies. For once, in the truck together, we don't listen to blasting loud music; we talk and we cry.
We promise to stop physically fighting with each other. We're too old for this shit, and we don't mean to hurt each other like this. But, we both have so little self control, are so stubborn, and when one of us loses that last scrap of control, the other one just automatically over re-acts. We know this. We HATE this about our selves. She pleads with me not to pull her hair anymore. Tells me it hurts her to the core. It's not just hair I'm pulling, it's her. Her heart. I will, but she has to stop punching me in the arm, shoulders, and back. She has to stop calling me a fat bitch. She doesn't really mean it, though. She actually thinks I'm really pretty. We pinky-swear, and seal it with the thumbs. And, we cry the whole way home...
__________________________________________________________________________________

Everything changes when I leave for Fredonia in August, 2003.
I disappear from my family's life for months. I don't come and visit. I call a couple of times a week. But, I don't call my sister. I don't visit her.
I just leave that life
and those people, my people
behind me.
I am the one running now...
It hurts more and more to look back
I ache for green hills and my sister's laugh and my dog's dirty paws and my mom's blue eyed smile and my dad's flannel shirts and the smells and sounds of my grandpa cooking, tending. To us.
My sleep is erratic. I wake up in so many different people's beds.
I smoke hundreds of dollars worth of pot in a couple of weeks.
I drink 4 nights a week.
I stop studying, I fall asleep when I am reading.
I fall asleep in class.
I can't shit in the dorms, I have to go to Dod's hall, the 2nd floor women's locker-room.
My friends are starting to get uncomfortable with my sleeping around because it is causing problems for them: mostly because I am an emotional train-wreck.
Even though I always use condoms and am on birth control,
I take a pregnancy test every month.
Kelly, my roommate, tries to "mother me," to help me. She has wisdom, she is a stoic Nefertiti -- beautiful, strong, trying to lead by example.
I am a fucking horny, somewhat out-of-control toddler.
Kelly already has a toddler in her life, one she dutifully, lovingly goes home to visit on the weekends.
Leaving this toddler
All alone...
But, and this is SO like me -- I'm taking the spot light from her. I'm making this about me, when it is meant to be about HER. We are supposed to share, and I'm always treading the line of taking too much; more than my fair portion.
__________________________________________________________________________________

2003-2005

Colleen, I later found out, was also spinning out -- from ecstasy, to crack, to heroin --
leaving her life, leaving us -- her people --
so helplessly tormented and heart-wrenchingly
behind.
She was a demon and a ghost and a sad little girl. She couldn't stop.
This girl, she couldn't stop crying. 
But, Colleen's story isn't mine to tell.
It's hers.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Now That We're Strangers:

I can't even remember what it
was really like when we were sisters.
When I knew you and you knew me.
Did I pull your hair too often?
Didn't I encourage you?
Were we best friends and worst enemies?

We kept most of each other's secrets
We united against even the smallest
Of  Mom and Dad's tyrannies
We were strong and scared
Young but clever
We had dreams and "doggie jail"

But, all that seems like it happened
To a very different version of you
And a much different version of me.

When the waves
Broke unceasingly,
It was too choppy
For us to swim,
I grabbed your hand, and
We fought like hell
To both make it back,
Safe on the shore.
Why, then, am I
The only one
Who made it
Back to land?


What is it like for you,
Now that we're strangers?
And, how did we get here?

Some times things
That are broken into 
Pieces can be used 
More fully. 
Some times 
Broken pieces 
Are the means 
To new beginnings.