Annick (my 28 year old sister) came down to NYC, from Boston, for a day visit. It was one of those warm, cerulean days between Christmas and New Years. Annick’s in a surgical residence, in a pandemic, but still somehow, she got away.

We’re dining on a shaded, outdoor, sundeck - I arrived first, by a moment but then the elevator opened and Annick emerged, looking like a model - familiar but I don’t know - more completely adult - more than ever like my mom. It was all I could do not to weep for happiness when we hugged.

After that long hug, Annick gave my clothes a slow, censorious looking-over. When my mom and I shopped for “school clothes” last year, in Paris, I bought some stunning designer (Anna Molinari) clothes - only to find out they were completely out of place at Yale. Now they’re sentenced to a trunk under my bed and my replacement clothes are from FatFace and Patagonia. Ordinary clothes, bought for their ordinariness.

I’ve been dressing to disappear but I wanted her to see a “new me.” How I’ve survived in a rough, academic country - not just survived - but thrived. I also wanted her to think her sister was beautiful and hoped I didn’t seem too strange. She cupped my chin - just like my mom does - “You look wonderful,” she said.

Annick mentioned we’d have company for lunch but she was alone - then this tall, fair-haired, man was with us. He slipped his arm around Annick’s waist and they smiled, together. I’d never met one of Annick's boyfriends before so this was a little disconcerting - part of me wanted to pull her away and say, “MINE!”

Annick made the introductions, “Anais, this is Gerard - Gerard, Anais.”  Gerard leaned into la bise then half hugged me, patting me bearishly on the back. I decided he was too tall and too handsome and began to examine him for flaws.

He wore a dark-charcoal-gray cashmere suit with a light-gray oxford-cloth shirt. “Are you always so dapper?” I asked? “I wanted to look substantial,” he said, with a very slight French accent. He held me at arm’s length. “You’re definitely sisters,” he said, smiling.

We settled in. At first we were a little stilted with each other, uncertain how to best introduce ourselves. Annick said that Gerard is a “Child Neurologist.” “Funny,” I said, “you look older.” and he laughed. I was warming to him.

“How’s school going?” Annick asked later, moving some of my fly-away hair out of my face - a trace of the maternal in her solicitous fussing - but I liked it.
“Easy peasy,” I said, the lie warming me like an ember or black magic.

There’s no real sibling rivalry between us. Imagine you’re Beyoncé’s sister, what are the odds that you’ll eclipse Beyoncé? Yeah, it’s ZERO.

“Ha!” she laughs, “you are such a little fibber.”
“I am NOT,” I hotly say, but my defense is ruined by my laugh. “I’m doing ok - but it’s a lot,” I say, to erase the fib.

They’re ENGAGED!
I tried not to act stunned but I doubt I was very convincing. The news thumped me like a gust of wind. Suddenly, I knew. Our yesterdays were no more substantial than a story we’d read together growing up, that you can mourn and rejoice at the same time.

Otherwise it was a family lunch, although at first I was a bit nervous around Gerard. At one point Annick says, “What are you doing?” as the table gently quivered.
I smiled wincingly, “Making circles with my ankles,” I said.
Annick smiled knowingly.

I remember nothing of my childhood.
I just remember red. I
remember mum crying in my arms when i was 8.
I remember you- not a lot.
I only remember those last moments.
The ***** running down your legs. I remember the knot on the bed but not your face.
I remember becoming the family therapist after that. I remember all the times I had to grow up before I was 10.
I remember what was suppose to be my childhood.
But I never got to have one.
Once our sister was old enough to remember I wanted to save her but now when i look at her and what she does I'm sure I failed her too. But someone who is 10 should not be raising her sister.
She grew up never knowing you.
I grew up even faster after losing you.
It's selfish i know to want you here to take some of the responsibility away from me. So that I don't have to deal with mums stress seizures alone. Or raising our sister. Because if you were here we would have a childhood.
And i could lean on you, just like you could have always leaned on me. I wish you were still alive.
you are the only other person has has gone through loosing her too. But you instead saw what she did as a lesson to learn not something to avoid, I hate you for killing yourself when I needed you the most. I hate you for not ******* talking to me and leaning on me. but we were kids. you never got to grow up. So I did it for both of us and started early.
I can't really remember my childhood.
And could really use the memory of ours right about now.
Even if it never happened.

When I was twelve, my older sister, Annick, was in med school.
She was dedicated and incorruptible - always studying, always.

I wanted her to spend time with me, I craved her engagement.
I was jealous and mean to her, thinking her uncaring - uninterested in me.

Now, I get it. Now days, I seem to behave like a machine,
I’m busy and unapproachable - forgetting myself in function
and I’m just a lowly undergraduate.

When I think about how hard she must of been working,
I tear up, like someone hearing a sad song on the radio.

Alissa had mentioned that Leonardo invited the cheerleaders to a private after-party at club Erehwon (“Nowhere” backwards). Leigh had an idea. It might be crazy but why should her sister have all the fun? She looked in Alissa’s closet and found some clean cheerleader uniforms. She called an Uber, then slipped into one of the white uniforms.

The Uber dropped her off in front of club Erehwon and the bouncer-sized doorman, noting the uniform, let her in, saying, “Take the second stairs on the left.” At the stairs, another large man unhitched a velvet rope and said, “First turn on the right.” She climbed the stairs to booming music and a pounding heart.

The door was closed - disappointment stirred in her. She’d expected the door to be open - all she wanted was a peek. Her curiosity immobilized her - she’d never seen someone as famous as Leonardo in person. She noticed the little camera above the door then there was a metallic clack as the door was pulled open - she could only gape at Leonardo in the flesh.

What did he see? A young creature caught in the spill of light. Pale blue eyes, a fragile neck, an ill fitting white cheerleader uniform, bagging slightly where there wasn’t enough breast or hip to fill it, white sneakers like hooves below narrow ankles. A gleaming yellow crown of hair wrapped an upturned face. Slender wrists, long fingers. He saw her startle. He saw fear and then something in her gaze flared like bared teeth. Defiance. He didn’t recognize her as a child. He wouldn’t expect to see a child here. He’d been expecting Alissa and radiated a perceptible and impatient hunger.

What did Leigh see? A surprisingly tall man, in dark gray slacks, a black t-shirt and a matching dark gray jacket. A fine gold chain hung from his neck and there was a diamond earring in one ear - blonde hair barbered precisely and a slight stubble of beard framed that familiar face pin-pricked with freckles up close. His complexion was tan but fair and his eyes were deep pools of turquoise. He was flat-out beautiful but looked older than on screen and right now his eye lids seemed heavy and his posture made her think of an alert animal.

She saw him see her, sensing how the sight of her arrested him. “Who are you?” he said. Then Alissa was coming up the stairs, she had on a crimson cheerleader uniform which fit her like her own skin. Leigh slid away, along the wall, and Leonardo followed, getting slightly ahead.

There was laughter and music coming from the room “Where’s Leo?” someone shouted.

She’d been foolish to think she could just observe the party. A silly child, all dressed up.

“Who are you?” he asked again. Helplessly, she looked at Alissa, who appeared to be both angry and trying to squelch the giggles. She couldn’t admit her name - say who she was and why she was here, not when she was dressed up like this and he was looking at her that way. There was no answer.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said, taking Leonardo’s arm. “She’s not supposed to be here.” she said, as she glanced at Leigh and twisted her head to signal “GO.” He didn’t shake her off, but he didn’t respond to her touch, either. He was still looking at Leigh. Alissa was looking at her, too, he couldn’t see that Alissa was biting her lip, eyes full of mirth.

Their faces cornered her like hounds surrounding a fox. “Shall we?” Alissa said, after a moment, her voice was rising. He yielded, and started to follow. Leigh pressed back against the wall and turned her face away as he passed, she caught the smell of his cologne and some other fragrance, slightly bitter. She wasn’t used to strange men examining her and her skin seemed to prickle. As he moved away, his step slowed. She knew he was willing her to look up into his face, but she wouldn’t.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said again. “Leigh, go home.”
“Leigh,” he repeated.

Still she didn’t look up, not until Leonardo and Alissa had finally closed the door. Leigh darted down the stairs and out of the club. There was a crowd now and what looked like paparazzi - but no one took notice of her as she moved partway down the block and began to pace, and chew a fingernail, while waiting for her Uber.

Things sometimes fall apart
Among sisters and brothers,
No matter what they once were.
Childhood picnics and dreamy games,
Memories of trips with Dad,
Since Mom was tired of us.
We would climb Appalachian peaks
Or drive to look at the Mayflower.
Every summer there was a golden week
A lakeside cottage and all-day swims
In crystal water, becoming mermaids.
But time passes and bitterness accrues.
Imagined slights grow like slow tumors,
Never excised but nurtured by some.
I go to college and am freed
From the poison of ignorant rage,
From the creeping depression left
Like diesel fog on an endless floor.
Four or five years of delight pass
With only hints here or there
Of a sibling’s misery at home.
Of a once close sister, Maggie,
Who is ignored and never loved
By any man she pursues.
She blames me for it, for reasons
I have yet to fathom.
Of a brother, Francis, deluded, drugged,
Steals the family car in a rage
And drives to New York City.
Of Deirdre, the middle sister,
Whose friend who knows men who feed
On her ignorance and rebellion.
Only Susannah tries to rise above
The maelstrom of misery.
I send her to a school far away
And she sheds despair, at least.
Decades drawl, children are born to us,
While the bridge between us, obscured,
Sags and frays under weight of rancor.
Christmas dinners and birthday parties
Turn into chores, invitations kept as scores.
Petty grudges, like acid, sever the bridge
At last, all ties are abandoned.
When we are all grown and scattered,
No one speaking to anyone else,
Unaware, uncaring about the others.
Only Susannah visits me and smiles,
With no ulterior plan for insane revenge,
Or accusations for errant slights.
Her once dark hair is grizzled and wild
And her girlish skin now creased.
But her treacle eyes, “black aggies”,
I used to call them, still shine.
Only Susannah writes a letter,
Wishing us well and
Healing scars made by others,
Returning the word “family”.
To my basket of small treasures,
I carry with me
Into the twilight.

The phone ringing,
Your name appear,
I didn't expect for you to called that night,
Pick up the phone without talking you back,
You asked, how are you ?
And I didn't said anything back,

You keep on talk even though you know I won't said anything,
Each time you ask me, I silently answer you back but it will never reach you.

One thing that I deeply want to hear from you is not love but asking for my forgiveness.

Said that you are sorry for leaving me,
Said that you are sorry for hurting me,
Said that you are sorry for breaking our promises,
Said that you are sorry for everything….

You leaving me when I was young,
You leaving me when I need someone to relying this hardship,
You leaving me when I was they target for their argument,
You leaving me faced the broken heart, pained and the ****** road,
You leaving me with this broken household and broken family,
You are leaving us to save your own self.

Run and run…
While you left me behind,
Scream your name and reach your hand, so you won't leave me.

But,
You just left just to find your own happiness without caring your little sister.

My sister Annick fixed me, locked me in, with cold, blue eyes as she sat down slowly next to me at the table. “I’m a surgeon,” she said, not quite casually, “a board certified surgeon.”

I give her a questioning look.

“I could take your steak knife,” she says, eyeing it, “plunge it into your neck - and oh, sure, there’d be a question or two but in the end - I’d walk away clean.”

“I don’t think,” I start saying…

Tears well to near overflowing in her turquoise eyes. “I came in - officer” she says, sounding stunned and surreal. “She was having a convulsion, she exhibited severe cyanosis, I couldn’t clear her airway, it was a classic tonic-clonic seizure.” she goes on, her voice rising to near panic with the diagnosis.

“You’d never…” I start to interrupt but she gently covers my mouth with her left hand while gathering the handle of the serrated silver steak knife, expertly, into her right hand.

“I attempted to perform a tracheostomy,” she continues in a traumatized but professional voice. “but as I began a transverse incision above the sternal notch,” a tear rolls down her cheek, “Anais suffered a severe generalized-onset seizure and convulsed, forcefully into the knife”

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” I confess suddenly, as if under oath, in court.

There’s a moment of still silence.

“And WHEN,” she asked, wiping away the tear and turning the knife for a downward ******. “Were you going to MENTION IT?!”

“NOW! - before dinner!” I look around the empty room - for help - for a sympathetic jury. “It was an ACCIDENT! - I’m SORRRRYYYY!” I plead.

My sister slowly sets down the knife and says deliberately, purposefully - like a death sentence: “My Valentino sheer floral-lace top is STAINED.”

”I can FIX it!” I insist in a rush.

“Keep OUT of my room - and my stuff.” she grumbles, “And REMEMBER what I said,” she adds as she pats the knife before getting up and leaving the room.

“I WILL’” I promise to her back.

A second later, my mom sweeps in from the opposite direction.
“What’s up” she asks.

“Nothing” I almost whisper, head down.