This morning, I had the most awkward conversation with my sister in the shower at the gym. She and I had taken showers at opposite sides of the aisle and, for whatever reason, began a conversation.
“So, did you work out your shoulder today?” she asked me, over the din of the water.
“Some, but I think I need to move the weights up five extra pounds, I just can’t figure out how to turn that knob thingy,” I responded, explaining how I could only adjust the weights by ten pounds.
“Just ask one of the trainers,” she suggested, “That’s what they’re there for, dork.”
“Well, I probably won’t be here much longer, anyway,” I stated.
“Yeah, what is going on with you, anyway?”
“Well, I have been trying to reach Uncle B to ask if I can come there for the holidays,” I spoke loudly, as I could hear more showers come on.
“You don’t have to do that,” her voice started to crack; “You can stay here with us.”
“No I can’t,” I answered, “Things are starting to get weird here. You guys need your time alone; and, besides, R’s boys will be here soon and there really isn’t enough room.”
“R just needs to chill,” she said, “He stresses too much. If we need to be alone, we can always leave. Just stay, don’t go. What are you going to do at Uncle B’s house? There is nothing there for you.”
“It’s fine,” I shampooed my hair as I spoke, “And, you shouldn’t have to leave your house if you want to be alone, it’s your house.”
“I don’t want you to be alone for Christmas,” she was fully starting to cry now, “You’re my sister and I love you. Don’t go. I want you to stay, it’s fine.”
“I really don’t think I should,” more showers coming on, a few turning off, people coming and going as we talked, “You guys seem really stressed. I’m clearly in the way, it is so awkward. Besides, last year I stayed alone in a hotel for Christmas, so this really is no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she was sobbing, “I don’t want you to be alone. And, after the holidays, what are you going to do then?”
“I really don’t know,” I was being completely honest with her, “I guess maybe kill myself.”
“Please, don’t say that,” still crying.
“I’m finished showering,” I stated flatly, “I’m going to go get dressed.”
The Flat Girl 