10 Things I hate About Her (10 Things #1)

10. Sister's Quarrel

On the forefront of my mind laid the pressing demands of an upcoming music recital. My fingers raced over ivory keys and I glanced at the score sheet attached to the stand atop the piano. My sister sat on the sofa in front of the television, watching some annoying comedy.

White wallpaper adorned with black roses wrapped around the room. Family photographs were scattered about. The one above the piano was my grandfather. He was young in the photo, about thirty, standing shoulder to shoulder alongside his Canadian troop mates. He was a powerful Iranian man, tawny skinned and had a rugged appearance. His beard grew in uneven patches along a strong jaw. I pictured him to be the type of guy that body slammed whoever did him wrong. The narrowing of his eyes showed his determination to overcome the prejudice against aliens- foreign immigrants back in the early 1900s. 

Now people from the east were still mocked and treated like dirt; their tormentors egged their homes and spray-painted filthy words onto the doors and windows. But back then, my grandfather had been active during the cold war, struggling against discrimination to become a top army colonel. Unfortunately, after he turned sixty, a heart attack claimed him before he could achieve anything more. We kept his medals in a safe, but it served little purpose for me who had never met the guy. Dad told us stories, but that was all they were. Stories. Grandfather passed away before my parents had me, but my father said that granddad watched over us and gave us the strength we needed to carry on.

Then why did I feel so alone? And if he were watching, what would he think of the things I had done?

It probably disgusted him to a great degree.

I closed my eyes and muttered a silent prayer to get me through whatever hardships I might face in the future. I wasn't very religious, but I believed that God did care about me, and if I asked him something, he would listen. I needed to do a good job at this recital, my parents put a lot of money into my piano lessons. I couldn't betray their expectations. The laughter on the television droned on, breaking my concentration.

"Can you turn that bloody thing down?" I yelled at Juliana.

She shrugged and threw a popcorn into her mouth. "Nope."

"I need to practice."

"Should have done it earlier," she said indifferently. She turned up the volume instead.

"I will kill you," I warned, pushing the piano bench back.

"I'll kill you," she mimicked.

The bench overturned, and I crossed the room in seconds. I jumped on top of her, and the bowl of popcorn was knocked to the ground in the scuffle. The fluffy white particles scattered across the grey tiles. My sister kneed me in the stomach, but I picked up a cushion and brought it down on her head over and over.

"Mom!" she shrieked. "Your daughter is acting up again."

"Mom!" I yelled, "she's killing me."

"What?" said Juliana, outraged. "You attacked me, you asshole."

I stuck out my tongue and she grabbed my ear and started to wring it. I grabbed hers and did the same. "Mom!" we shouted in unison.

My mom wandered into the basement in a purple robe, a charcoal mask painted her face black. Juliana and I froze. My mother sighed, shook her head and said, "Why do I bother? My daughters are animals." She threw her hands up. "Animals. I give up, I'm too old for this. What's the problem now?"

Juliana screamed her case at mother at the same time as me, both of us giving our own versions as to how the fight started and who was in the wrong. "She wouldn't let me practice," I told mom.