Monday, November 7th, 2016
For me, there’s nothing worse than feeling dependent on other’s helping me out. It’s not so much the fact I hate feeling dependent, because in all honesty, I am dependent on a lot of things I can’t control.
Let’s say I’m used to being dependent.
It’s the fact that when there’s any uncontrollable variable capable of messing with whoever I’m depending on, the rest of my day will depend on it too.
See, lot of dependence.
For instance, take today. My sister Pyper is ill, and she’s ill every so often. It’s one of those things I’m sort of used to.
But I depend on her putting out my outfit for the day on my bed while I’m in the shower. Mom already placed towels, underwear and whatnot on the rack in the bathroom the evening before. But today, I came out of the shower, to find my sister moving around my room as if she’s dying, coughing, whimpering, whining in discomfort.
“You’re getting germs all over my clothes.”
“I’m trying, Ne,” She whispers sadly. “Can you just give me a sec?”
“Uhm, no,” I mutter in response, jumpy in my spot as my skin starts to tingle.
Don’t you for a second think I’m spoiled or bratty, demanding them to do these things for me. Let’s just say that experience shows this makes all of our mornings a whole lot easier.
“I just have to get you a sweater. I heard there’s gonna be a thunderstorm and I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“I’ll catch a cold if I’ll stand here for another couple of seconds, without clothes to keep me warm.” It sounds snappy, but she’s already throwing me of my regular path of habits and I don’t want to blame her – she’s sick – but I can’t help but feeling a bit restless already.
I bet this is going to be a bad day.
“Grab the hoodie from The Cavern Club that you love so much.” She turns around, smiling unsurely. “It’ll fit with the shoes I picked.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.” She nods happily, ending up in another coughing fit. “I’m going back to bed. Just remember to ignore those shitheads. I’ll get back at them once my own lungs aren’t trying to drown me in their disgusting fluids.”
I can’t help but chuckle and nod back at her, moving to start dressing as soon as she left the room and closed the door.
I grab the hoodie she told me to grab, hoisting the backpack I prepared in the evening onto my left shoulder, putting on the shoes that she picked right before I head over to the door. “Please, don’t let Pyper’s timing be a bad omen for today.” I shortly look upwards to wish upon an invisible figure people worship, taking in a deep breath, tapping the light switch a couple of times, before flicking it off, all in the same upbeat tempo – we will, we will, rock you.
Don’t ask.
Let’s just be thankful I was able to execute it perfectly, casting a darkness over my room, before I open the door and head downstairs.
“Morning, sweety.” Mom greets me with a smile, waiting for me to enter the kitchen while skipping the first two tiles, sitting down in my regular spot at the table. “A good morning, I assume?”
“Could be better, could be worse. Pyper is ill.”
“I know, we’re heading over to the hospital today. They want to take x-rays to make sure she doesn’t need any further treatment.”
“When are you going?”
“Long after you’re out for school.” She takes in a controlled breath, before she moves, first placing my plate, then my drink and lastly, my lunch. “And if anything is wrong, you can always call me. Dad is joining us in hospital, so he’ll be able to stay with Pyper whenever I have to go and get you.”
“You are dropping me off, right?” I nearly panic at the thought of having to walk there, or worse, take the bus. I don’t think I’ll ever make it to school if I have to execute either of those forms of transportation.
Don’t even get me started on the possibility of riding a bike.
“Off course, honey.” She nods, shortly biting her lip.
“Then who’s watching Pyper?”
“Honey, you know you shouldn’t fuzz over those things. We take care of her, while we make sure your day will start off the right way.”
I want to protest, but I also know that it would be ungrateful to whine that she’s not explaining things to me. She’ll be the one who has to clean up the mess if she throws me off balance, not me.
“Just eat your breakfast.”
I nod, cutting my bread in four exact pieces before I take my first bite, resolving in silence while mom does the dishes that have been left by her and dad, who had breakfast while I was in the shower.
“Oh, honey?” mom addresses me right before she turns around to look at me. “School sent a letter to announce another field trip. Once you’re home after school, read into the details and let me know if you think you can go, or need a replacing activity at home or school.”
“Will do.” I nod, tapping my finger on the table in between every bite or sip of drink, three times, every time.
“Do you want me to let you know about Pyper’s treatment right away, or once you’re home again?”
“When I’m home.” I tell her after the last bite of bread. “I’m a teeny-tiny bit restless and I think it might send me over the edge if something is wrong. Best to let that happen when I’m in the safety of our home.”
“I can send you a text if it’s good.”
“No.” I shake my head fiercely. “If you’ll send a text when it’s good news, I’ll know it’s bad when I don’t get a text.”
“Right.” She chuckles. “How silly of me.” She returns to looking serious, observing me while I’m finishing my drink. “I know these days aren’t your best days. Just remember what doctor Pelham told you. “You don’t have…” –”
“– the power to change Pyper’s health,” I finish her sentence, and with that, doctor Pelham’s saying.
“Are you wearing your wristband?”
“No, it wasn’t really helping,” I mutter ashamed, keeping my head low because I feel like she might be disappointed I gave up on that already – after less than a week. “I only started another tic with it. Slapping it trice every time I thought the wrong things. My wrist got sore.”
She pulls a face, disapproving on one hand, but accepting my decision to no longer wear a rubber band around my wrist, to snap it whenever I think the wrong way. It only resulted in more habits, in more tics, and in a very painful wrist.
And even more for the rest of my classmates to laugh about.
“Are you finished with breakfast?”
“Yeah, just have to wash my hands and we can go.”
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