For the most part, I was always pretty happy to be a sibling. It was awesome being 6 years older than my brother–wise enough and creative enough to think of new ways to torture him, but still young enough to appreciate having a younger sibling to carry around. (Read: dress up like a life-sized Barbie doll.)
Most afternoons, when I would get home from school, Adam would be patiently waiting for me, ready for after school fun to ensue. Most afternoons, I welcomed that play-time with open arms.
Except for one infamous afternoon in particular.
It’s the Halloween that will go down in infamy.
I’d had a particularly rotten day at school, despite having donned my festive “Happy Halloween” sweatshirt with over-sized acrylic scarecrow pin. All I wanted to do was change into my play clothes and soothe my 4th grade heart with a little New Kids on the Block dance party therapy.
I made it up to my room, turned on my tape deck, and was immediately soothed by Jordan Knight’s voice. Just as I whipped my sweatshirt over my head, I could hear the distinct sound of 3-year-old feet pounding up the stairs. With no time to turn my sweatshirt outside-in, and less than no time to finish changing, I did the only logical thing.
Thus, my brother found me standing in my room, wearing nothing but my acid-wash pleated jeans and my white turtleneck dickie.
|This left me less than pleased. Hence the Angry Birds eyebrows.|
The next five minutes went something like this:
Adam: Sissy, wanna play?
Abby: I do, Bubby, but I’m trying to change, ok?
Adam: I wanna play wif this ball, ok Sissy?
Abby: Ok, but I’d like to finish changing clothes first.
Adam: Let’s play wif this ball, Sissy. Catch! (*ball smacks Abby in the face)
Abby: Bubby! Don’t! I want to change clothes! Go wait for me downstairs!
Adam: No! Want to play NOW. Play NOW Sissy!!!!!
Let the record show that I did, in fact, ask him NICELY to leave my room.
Also, let the record show that I attempted to keep my cool in the beginning.
But a 9 year-old in New Kids withdrawal only has SO much patience people.
I lost my cool.
I JUST wanted to change. I JUST wanted dance around my room to “Cover Girl.” I JUST wanted to be alone for FIVE MINUTES.
And when Adam wouldn’t leave, no matter how many times I yelled at asked him, I took matters into my own hands.
I hit him with my orange Halloween sweatshirt.
He stood there, momentarily stunned, tears welling in his big blue eyes. And I immediately felt terrible. But before I could get the words “I’m sorry, Bubby,” out of my mouth, he squinched his eyes closed, opened his mouth, and went into the “silent wail” cry that kids do only in the worst of circumstances.
He pivoted on his chubby legs and sprinted for the door.
That’s when I saw the bleeding hole in the back of his head.
It’s also when I remembered the heavy acrylic scarecrow pin, still attached to my orange Halloween sweatshirt.
My festive sweater was now a murder weapon.
In a matter of nano-seconds, my heart sunk, my palms went sweaty, my mouth went dry, and I began mentally packing a bag. (New Kids tapes, a change of underwear, a tooth brush, my Sony tape player, and my favorite doll, Nancy. I wanted to take my New Kids dolls, too, but there just wasn’t enough room in my make-shift bandana knapsack.)
I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my mother was going to kick me out. Ship me to the gypsies. Throw me out with only a map to the nearest circus.
I was a GONER.
I could hear Adam wailing as he made his way down stairs. I heard my mother meet him at the bottom of the steps.
And I knew the only course of action was to throw myself on the mercy of the court.
I ditched the murder weapon and rushed downstairs, my white turtleneck dickie flapping in the wind.
To this day, Adam thinks I hit him with the scarecrow pin on purpose.
But I swear to you, on the sanctity of this blog, that I never, EVER intended to make him bleed.
PS: Is it creepy that I still have the pin?