Acts of Violet(101)

It’s her. My sister stands six feet away. Her lean body in skinny black jeans and a turtleneck, head-to-toe black, as usual. A decade older since the last time I saw her, and all she has to show for it are deeper grooves on either side of her mouth, bolder parentheses framing her crooked smile, which is still painted a sparkling red. A stranger taking their wildest guess would put her well below forty-two. But I am not a stranger, and a closer examination of her face immediately and intangibly adds extra years. It’s something about her eyes, the way they’re clouded over, a look that says she’s seen plenty but you’re better off not knowing.

Violet holds out a hand, palm up, and I stretch my arm until the tips of my fingers graze hers.

This should be a moment of gratitude and reprieve. I should be propelling toward her, bear hug at the ready, forgiveness imminent. Bygones and all that crap.

Instead, I remain rooted in place and slowly pull back my arm, searching her face for … I don’t know what I’m searching for.

“Now do I believe what?” I ask. Even though I felt her tangible form, my eyes travel around her silhouette, checking for flickers, transparencies, any indication that she’s not a corporal being. “I don’t know where we are or what this is. What am I supposed to believe in here? God? Life after death? Astral projection? Parallel worlds? My unstable grip on reality?”

The angles in Violet’s face blur as she gives me a tender smile. “Nobody has a stable grip on reality.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions.”

“Those aren’t questions I can answer for you. Perhaps you should be asking different ones.”

“Can you even hear how pretentious you sound right now?”

“Can you even hear how judgmental you sound right now?”

“How is it that I haven’t seen you in ten years and you’ve managed to get on my nerves in under a minute?”

“Special sisterly skills. Come on, let’s do this.” She motions me in for a hug, but I hold her off.

“No, fuck you. I’m still mad at you.”

“You’re always mad at me about something.” Her scorn is unexpected. I was expecting contrition.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m overreacting.”

“Because you’ve never done it before? How about the time you blamed me for putting gum in your hair at Wei Zhang’s sleepover?” She folds her arms across her chest.

“Are we seriously doing this?” I match her combative stance. “Wei Zhang wore braces.”

“Wei Zhang was also in love with Gabriel. Don’t you remember she was out like half the week after that sleepover?”

“She had the flu.”

“That’s what Wei said, but Mom was giving me a trim at the salon when Mrs. Zhang dropped in to reschedule her perm because she had to take her daughter to all these extra orthodontist appointments.” Violet gives me a pointed, now-do-you-believe-me look.

I do believe her.

“I’m not saying I didn’t do some awful shit, I’ll own up to that,” she adds. “But I won’t have you hating me for shit I didn’t do.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate me a little bit. Sometimes.” There’s that familiar taunting lilt.

“Fine, sometimes I hate you. But only a little bit.” Our glares melt away into lopsided grins. “We can do that hug thing now if you want.”

Violet kisses my cheek as I put my arms around her, tightly, so tightly, but her small frame is strong, and I know she can take it.

It’s nighttime and we’re standing on a shoreline, the air salty, water lapping at the sand, a full moon casting a bluish glow over us.

“Seriously, where are we?” I ask. “We could be anywhere.”

“Exactly right. We’re anywhere. Leave it at that.”

“I mean it about still being mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I put my life on hold waiting for you to come home. I was always putting life on hold.”

Violet lets out a here-we-go-again groan. “This is the issue I had with you. You did the martyr thing, but you complained about it. I never denied being egotistical. I even made a website and told the world about it.”

“I knew it was you!” I mime strangling her. “You know how many people blame me for writing that thing?”

“I thought, since we were estranged, maybe coming clean would help somehow?”

“After almost five years? Why wait so long?”

“I wrote that thing a month after our last blowup. It took me years to have the guts to publish it. The point is, I finally did have the guts. I owned my selfishness.”

“Should I applaud you for that? Selfishness is easy.”

“In the moment it is, but not in the long term.” Her mouth forms a grim line. “It gets lonely when you end up in an empty house—or on an empty tour bus—with the only person you ever truly put first.”

“Why did you invite me to your show if you were going to leave like that?”

“So your final impression of me could be doing something beautiful. Doing what I do best. Maybe that was selfish, too.”

“You think?”

“It was something I had to do.” Violet paces in a small circle.