I hate when my sister Mel has to go away. My parents are constantly trying to explain to me about how sick she is and that she needs a lot of help. They tell me every day that I bring her up how lucky I am to have such a normal brain where all the chemicals flow properly to their designated areas like undammed rivers. When I complain about how much I miss her and how bored I am without a little sister to play with, they try to make me feel bad about pointing out that her boredom surly surpasses mine. Considering the fact that she is confined to a small grey room that’s in the institution in a nearby city. I always try to beg them for second chances with her, beings that my parents are very understanding, loving compassionate people, they always give in. Mel has been home a few times, each time being shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail, crazy things start to happen. Such as: the neighborhood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in her toy box, Dad’s unused razor blades covered in blood put in random spots like the slide on the playground that’s across the street and Mom’s vitamins replaced by dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using “last chances” sparingly. They say that Mel’s disorder makes her charming, making things easy for her to fake normalcy and to trick the doctors into thinking that she is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to find way to occupy my time, if that means safety for her and others.
I hate it when Mel goes away. I makes me have to pretend to be good until she is back.