A sister’s lifelong devotion is rewarded.
Enjoy..
***************
She’s sitting in that way again – with her legs tucked under her, leaning against the arm of the sofa, hair trailing down over her shoulder. She’s humming to herself; sheet music scattered around her. Wide French doors let what little sunlight March gives us into our lounge, giving us a view of the garden which still has the occasional patch of snow. It makes her hair flame like a golden halo.
The couch is Lexi’s favourite place to study her music. She’s gifted, and if she dedicated herself to it she could be great. But that’s not Lexi’s way. Lexi loves to have lots of interests, all going on at once. She says it makes her feel alive and that she gets bored without distractions.
Of course I’m biased. She’s my sister. But she’s really that good.
Myself, on the other hand? Not much to tell. Three years younger, neither as musical nor as pretty, and always a wallflower. I love my books and my Mac. People always give me crap about it – a girl who codes. Technical aptitude always falls behind the fact that I have breasts.
Doesn’t matter, I used school and university as a conduit to what I wanted, which was a career tinkering with gadgets. Jeans and tee-shirts for me – I was the one who was always in trouble for tracking mud through the house; Lexi dreamed of castles and princesses.
Lexi gives me grief for it; tells me I’ve got to take more care of my appearance. Sometimes I do, but mostly it’s hair back in a ponytail and that’s good enough. Anything more would be a waste, anyway. I don’t socialise much outside of a few close friends.
My back’s sore – bad posture. Sitting at the table is a silly thing to do; the height is wrong for the laptop and I always get kinks in the neck from it. But it’s warm in this part of the house, and there’s always the chance Lexi will start to play something.
That’s my favourite thing, hearing her play. It makes the shadows around the edges of things go away for a while.
Mum and Dad died in a car crash when I was fifteen. Lexi had just turned eighteen and was about to head off to University, but she stayed to make sure I was ok and ended up studying her undergraduate degree via correspondence instead. It’s been the two of us since then, bar visits from relatives and the McKintoshes down the road who helped out immediately after and became a kind of extended family to us in the weeks and months after…
Mum had always been a wise bird and had made sure that there were enough endowments to pay off the house and send both of us to higher education. Lexi had waitressed for extra spending money and I’d done some small websites for local businesses once I was studying. We’d been ok, bar the scars. Lexi struggles more with it, she’s got the soul of an artist.
Me, I just pack it away and try not to open the box it’s in. It still hurts too much to open it up, so I try to leave it alone.
Sometimes I can almost forget it’s there at all.
—
‘You want some tea, Lex?’ I call out.
No answer – she’s clearly deep in whatever she’s humming. I pull down a cup for both of us, make myself some coffee and a chamomile for her. Lexi loves her herbal teas and I try to keep the cupboard stocked. One of the little things I do for her to say thanks.
Mum loved chamomile too. The smell always reminds me of her.
Waiting for it to brew gives me (in some ways unwelcome) time to think. Our house is large and we haven’t changed much since Mum and Dad passed. I took over Dad’s study (mainly because of his lovely antique desk and leather chair) and have turned it into my quiet room. But we still sleep in our old rooms; we’ve left Mum and Dad’s pretty much as it was. Every time we talk about cleaning it out we wind up not doing anything. And so we live, Lexi with her music and hobbies and me with my coding, running and climbing…
I turf the used bag into the compost box and ferry the cups back through to the lounge.
‘Lexi?’
She starts, then looks up and smiles. ‘Sorry, Robs. Woolgathering again’. She shifts the music from her lap and takes the mug.
‘Thanks. I needed a cuppa.’
‘Who’s wool were you gathering?’ I ask, teasingly.
‘Nobody’s in particular’, she returns. ‘Just thinking that I should go for a walk or something.’
This is unusual for her, Lexi’s an indoors girl who’s sense of a nice day out is to sit in the garden under a tree.
‘There’s a nice gentle walk I do sometimes…’ I offer, hopefully.
‘Oh?’, says Lexi, interested.
‘Yeah, it goes down along the river and over the old weir. There’re some stones out in the middle I like to sit on’.
‘In this weather?’ Lexi asks.
‘You know the cold doesn’t bug me, and it’s nice to be outside in the wind. Want me to come with and show you?’
Lexi chews her lip, then smiles. ‘Yeah. Lets go walkies! I need some fresh air.’
We grab hats and coats and pull on some sneakers. March is still cold in our part of the country, with frequent rain and sometimes even snow. So we bundle up warmly before heading out. It’s mostly overcast, and there’s a breeze, but the sun breaks through sometimes and it’s a lovely day, my favourite kind of day.
Our house is part of a cul-de-sac that borders onto woodlands, and so we make our way out through the garden and the old wooden gate at the back. I notice the birches are starting to bud. But mostly I’m just watching Lexi. She walks with a dancer’s grace, making me feel like I plod. One of her prior boyfriends once called her Elfin; she has that kind of air about her. The effect is admittedly slightly ruined, however, by the washed-out pink knitted cap she’s clamped down over her head.
‘How far is it to the weir?’ she asks. We’d been walking in silence till now.
‘Maybe ten minutes. A kilometre or so’, I reply. ‘I can run it in five minutes or so.’
‘Freak’, she responds with a laugh. It’s always been a joke for her – Lexi gets up before me but I always find her wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa as I head out for my early morning run. Lexi eats like a bird and has a slim build; I have to work hard to keep mine. Of course it means I could probably bench-press her if I had to. I’ve joked with her before that she’s the water that wears the cliff-face (me) down.
‘Some of us weren’t born with the right genes’ I mutter at her.
‘Crap, Robs’ she says. ‘I’d kill for your abs’.
We both laugh, hers free and mine somewhat self-conscious. I sneak a quick look at her; she’s smiling and staring off into the distance as we walk. Some wisps of her hair have broken free from her cap; it makes her look even younger than she is.
‘Come climb with me and you’ll have your own ones’ I return.
‘Yuck, at the gym? No thanks. Too many creepy old men.’
Lexi has a thing about being watched. Strangely enough, she loves being a soloist. So it’s situational, complex, like both of us.
‘Most of them are our age, Lex’.
‘Fine. Too many creepy men. Creep central. Lurching man-children in ill-fitting hoodies trying to be Rocky Balboa.’
She says this with a sardonic grin. Lexi has a lovely grasp of language and likes to play with words. Sometimes I manage to get her to read to me, and these are some of my favourite times with her. We’ve passed many winter evenings, the two of us. We closed ranks once we were alone and it’s seldom that we let anyone else into our space long-term. This has cost Lexi some boyfriends. But truthfully I think she’s also got a twist to the soul that makes her happier by herself.
‘They’re just looking for luuuuuurve’ I drawl. She snorts, takes my arm and walks closer. Our hips bump occasionally. To be fair, I’m more hip than she is.
‘Aren’t you?’ she asks.
‘Aren’t I what?’
‘Looking for love?’
I miss a step and stumble; she yanks me back before I can face-plant.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, a little bit flustered.
‘I’m just curious. You’re all grown up now. Yet I’ve never seen you with anyone, or even interested in anyone.’
‘Lex… ‘, I start, uncomfortably. Lexi loves to pry, but this is an area she’s never dug into before, and it’s unsettling for her to suddenly take an interest.
‘Spill it, Robs. I’m bored and restless and have wanderlust, and part of that is due to not knowing whether you’re happy.’
I walk in silence for a bit; I can feel her watching me.
‘Robyn Emily Blake, I asked you a question.’
She never calls me by my full name unless she’s serious about something. I sigh. ‘I’m not seeing anyone.’ I try to keep my answer neutral.
‘Why not?’
‘Because’, I huff.
‘Whyyyyyyyyyyy?’ she wheedles.
I can’t help myself, I laugh. Lexi has this way of sounding impossibly cute and adorable. I’d liken it to the way a kitten demands attention. I’m powerless against it, and she knows it, the bitch.
‘Because I’ve never met anyone who interested me,’ I respond. ‘Lex, I went to Uni with a class of social misfits who couldn’t see past the fact that I had two X chromosomes. I work with a bunch of lovely people who are to a first approximation neckbeards.’ (She makes a sympathetic face here).
‘I gym and run as an outlet for frustration, not as a way to partake in a meat-market. And my climbing partners, while awesome, are just that, partners.’
‘So, no boys then.’ she says.
‘No boys, no.’
We walk on for a bit.
‘Girls then?’ she asks, mischievously.
‘Lexi!’ I say, and barge her.
‘I knew it, it’s girls!’ she laughs.
‘Damnit, Lex, stop teasing me!’
She dodges my attempt to smack her, holds up her hands in capitulation and then comes back next to me, taking my arm again. We walk on, and I listen to the wind and think.