I ran away from home when I was eighteen with some books, some clothes, and about twenty dollars in my pocket. I moved in with Shaun and Scottie in Austin, Texas, and I promised my sister, Sam, that I would bring her here some day. And eventually I did. And then I sent her back.
My sister, Christionne Samantha, fifteen years old: talks like me, looks like me, has the same sine-cosine dna twirls inside of her hearty blood, I love her passionately. I have six younger siblings, and yet I love her best. Perhaps I saw my ghostly self inside of her, and perhaps I wanted to protect her from some sort of abstract, pubescent terror that hurts some young girls, sensitive ones, ones that write stupid poetry and paint pianos. Perhaps I wanted to give her proper, deserved circumstance. I missed the days when night would find us crouched under the covers together, whispering secrets, or wondering what would happen when we grew up. We both suspected that she would have twins someday, twins she claimed she would name Lemony-Verlon and Calliope. I feel like I failed with her, smothered her under my expectations, urged her too much, nagged her too hard. Here is an e-mail I received, today, from her.
Dear Christian, I don't know where to begin. I know you're mad. I heard about the stuff you found in my room. [ed: condoms and beer bottle caps] I am telling you the complete truth, I have no clue where that came from. You told me that if I was going to have sex I could come to you and I will when I am ready but I am anywhere from being ready for that. I only got my first kiss this year. I'm sorry I made the wrong friends, I just let my 'wanna be popular' side take over. I wanted to be cool. I don't drink, I'm too scared I'd get caught. You read that note I wrote to Amanda, she is popular and when I go to parties they had me drinks and I accept them but I don't drink them I mean if I don't they won't invite me to any more parties and I like being the popular girl that everyone likes and I know I sacrificed a lot but I know better now. I guess you just have to learn from your stupid mistakes. I hope you can forgive me for making the wrong friends, pretending to drink and wanting to be popular. Sorry for being a stupid moron and wanting to be something I'm not. I hope you can forgive me and just know that I have changed and I want to be that nice, sweet girl you used to know and I have made big efforts, like today I took the kids [ed: our siblings] to the pool with my friend and we watched movies and the other day we had a beauty party and I gave them makeovers and showed them how to fix their hair. I have become nicer and I've made good friends that never party and never stay out, we just chill and watch movies. I hope you can accept me again and let me come back and live with you. I hope you can forgive me, I'm sorry. I love you so much, I'm really sorry. Love, Sam
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