individual. Also, if I were a betting man,” he held one finger in the air, “I’d say there were more pregnancies even after you were born, but perhaps they didn’t materialize. Breeding when one is already at full capacity is selfish as fuck. Sick sister. Hungry and neglected children. Disabilities out the fucking wazoo but it’s your responsibility to care for her. They told you that you had such a way with her, right? That you were a blessing… but soon they expected you to always do it and would race out the door reminding you to give her this and that medicine, with no regard of your mental health. You were a damn kid! Not a nurse! Did you even get a fucking thank you? Oh, I know, you were told God chose you for this, right?”
“Shut up!” People started to gawk at them as her voice rose. She gripped the white linen on the table, her eyes glossed over with hurt.
“I will say it because you aren’t strong enough to say it. I’m your muscle.”
“I am strong enough to say it!” Silence stretched between them then. Admission of trauma sometimes came packaged in the oddest giftwrapping, but it wasn’t easy to acknowledge.
“Are you? Just in case, I am taking that burden on for you. Do I believe everything I just said to you?” He shrugged. “Definitely not all of it. But you did. That’s what makes me such a damn good attorney. I can get into another person’s mind like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I am quite convincing. You don’t want to say the truth. You honor and respect your parents, and justifiably so. That journal entry had little to do with Tamia – she was a symbol, a representation of you. She was swimming around, even in her own head. She wasn’t actually confined to a wheelchair or her bed. She was free. You were the one who was trapped. It was you in the wheelchair, ringing that dinner bell, swimming in that fish tank. Oh, how the tables had turned…”
The tension became palpable. In that instant, he felt her hatred for him.
“My sister suffered. Not me.”
“Did she? She couldn’t miss what she never had, Yasmine. Like riding a bike, kissing a boy for the first time, cheerleading practice, debate club, you name it. You had all of that. But you were the overachiever, wishing to prove your love to your sister, your family, and your parents. Look at me, Mom! I’ve got it! I’ll take care of it! WATCH ME EXCEL! WATCH ME GO! They probably never even put that pressure on you. Sure, they wanted you to be successful, but all of that was self-imposed because you didn’t feel good enough. You’d lose your own damn identity to help everyone else keep their own. You’re a sacrificial lamb of your own making. Being perfect costs way too much. And that’s why you’re broken. That’s why you want to relinquish control behind closed doors… That’s why broken people gravitate towards other broken people. We’ve got a story to tell. Tell me I’m lying…”
The woman was shaking now, eyes like gleaming sable oceans. Her beautiful walnut skin contrasted strikingly with the blue dress. Her chest rose and fell in harsh movements, her collarbones shifting, twisting under her flesh.
“No. You’re not lying.” She exhaled. Her shoulders drooped and she lowered her gaze, remaining so for a long time. Meanwhile, he drank his wine and studied her. He liked her a little bit more with each moment. Unpacking damaged goods was a difficult task, but breaking a woman who had the potential to steal your entire fucking heart was a job within itself. She finally looked up at him. Picking up her glass of wine, she tasted it, and smiled. A tear streamed down her face.
“This is delicious.”
He nodded. “So, how did she pass away?”
She shook her head, not even bothering to ask how he’d figured out the truth. Just accepting that he knew.
“Tamia died when I was twenty-one. One week before my birthday. I was slated to finish undergrad at the University of Chicago, then go on to start my law degree program there. I’d wanted to move out at nineteen but stayed for Tamia. Most of my siblings, except for Zonnell, my brother, had left already and gotten their own place. Tamia… Tamia was still quite dependent on me, even though she had more of our parents’ attention and had learned more life skills by then.