Chapter 2: There Are Two Sides to Each Story
Being the only boy between two sisters is generally hard. They usually talk about things you never knew existed. But no matter how hard you try to just “get it,” sometimes things that are shared naturally could never be conveyed manually. Being forced to listen to those things is even worse. I can’t get away because I’m simply unable to.
I love my sisters regardless.
Hope was the loud one. Always talking, fighting, walking, or doing anything. She couldn’t stand still for as long as I can remember. She adored being punished.
Or at least that’s what Mom used to say.
Hope didn’t like being punished, she liked getting attention. She liked seeing Joy’s and Mom’s anger. She liked the feeling of rebellion. She liked knowing that she caused a crack in Mom’s model picture of her children. She liked that she was acknowledged as the trouble child. It made her feel like her own person. That she had her vibe. That she is existing outside our sewed bodies. She liked the fact that she was being heard and reacted to. That she isn’t invisible. That she was making noise so loud that it concerned the higher-ups.
And she only wanted one thing in return.
One thing.
Surgery.
The word that shall not be uttered in our household.
To be fair, she wanted freedom. Which, for her, is equal to us not being together like a pack of socks.
And to be fair, she was right.
What’s the point of us being stuck together? I understood that before we were 18, anything could’ve happened and it wasn’t so safe. But continuing the rule even after eighteen seemed out of the line to me. Getting to a college I liked was impossible. Instead, we went to a college we liked. All were forced to take whichever was the easiest and made money.
Coincidentally or not, it was Joy’s dream college.
My conscience beats me up whenever I think about her negatively.
She has done so much for you. She took the burden of being the older sister. She took the weight of listening to our mom’s lectures for us. And she treated you so so so nicely.
But it wasn’t enough to conceal what’s been underneath for so long.
Joy wasn’t a good sister. She had the spirit, but she wasn’t a sister. She was the teacher’s pet who sits in the front seat, beaming at her whenever she could. She tried to play the role of a sister when we desperately needed a mother.
An actual mother.
I don’t know what ours is called, but a person who favors one over the other: forces us into a college we don’t like; ignores our problems and struggles; then proceeds to talk about them like she understands shouldn’t be called a mother.
Joy struggled a lot too. And it makes my blood boil thinking about every moment Hope has ever disrespected her. She’d always call me a “baby” for standing up for Joy.
And maybe I am, for following her lead and not doing the surgery.
Our mother’s will didn’t plainly state we don’t get to do the surgery, but rather not doing it until we all agree.
I remember vividly how happy I was when I came across that. Joy and Hope were deep asleep. I had nightmares and didn’t seem to follow their path. I noticed on my right the secreted box, Joy’s biggest mystery. She used to tell us that the box contained precious things to her, and she’d appreciate it if no one got near it. Hope was very pleased to hear this. She availed herself of this as her main argument. She always told Joy that if we do the surgery, she wouldn’t have to worry about her privacy being violated, and she can live mind-free if we were able to get out of this trap.
I always thought the box contained things associated with Mom or things she left for Joy. Due to the box suddenly appearing shortly after Mom’s death. So I respected that. Joy seemed to be the only one who genuinely liked Mom, and I know her death devastated her. And the reality of our situation hit her hard around that time, the fact that she can’t hide her pain away from us. Hell, she can’t even go away from us by herself, how will she bury her emotions?
And that was why I loved Joy. She wasn’t the best, but she was the kindest.
But I was curious. What could have possibly been left for Joy? I remembered clearly, everything Mom owns was given to us. I knew Joy locked the box every night, however, this night was different. She had the weekly fight with Hope tonight. I assumed she forgot to lock it. And I hoped it was open.
Tick.
It’s opened.
One single sheet. 18 papers, front, and back. And nothing, nothing else.
Two hours, that short, or maybe long, was how much time it took me to read the will. I still had one page left.
The edges of my mouth certainly liked my eyes that night. I couldn’t stop smiling. Mom didn’t forbid us from doing the surgery, she put a reason. The only request. A reasonable one. An easy one.
Or maybe it wasn’t as easy as it looked.
If all of you agree to the surgery, then do it. But if Joy agreed, why did she hide the will? It’s two out of three, the majority. All of you. The will states that clearly. Not the majority, all of you.
“Hardy, what are you doing?” Half-asleep, half-I’m about to kick you in the face, Joy says. “Why in hell are you still awake-“
Silence.
Still Silence.
She saw the will.
She knew I read it.
She is afraid.
And so am I.
She closes the light.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, once Hope falls asleep,” is all she says in the utmost darkness.
And we did. For the very same 2 hours, we talked. We discussed everything. Everything.
Joy was just trying to keep the peace. To keep things balanced between our mom and us. She felt the need to step up as a sister, even though she never knew how it feels like to have a family. The condition written in the will was a trick; she knew Joy will never agree.
Because on the very last page.
In the very last line.
Between the combination of the very last letters.
Was the deal-breaker. I’ll disown every one of my children if they do the surgery.
The story has a creative idea. Very good job 💖💖💖