The Black Widow

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On holiday in Canada, I went out of my way to fix this whole problem I’ve been having with my sister. My older sister. The one who’s supposed to be more mature. And I can imagine how pissed she must be, having had to clean up my puke when I was three, but seriously, I cannot even fathom that this would be the reason why, when I met her, I might as well have been meeting E.T. who would, in my mind, have been more friendly. 

My sister hadn’t spoken to me for 9 months. She just all of a sudden stopped talking to me. Avoided my phone calls. And basically, dropped off the face of the earth. My aunt did pretty much the same thing. All because I contacted my cousin, who granted, she had asked me not to contact but hey: THIS IS WHY I HATE FACEBOOK SO MUCH.

My meeting with my sister was horrible. And I would have preferred to be a victim in the Saw movies, than to have to face her, after 9 months of WTF tension. We arranged to meet at Chapters, because there’s a Starbucks there. And nothing cuts through tension better than a nice cup of coffee. I had previously considered meeting her at a bar, so I could have consumed a bottle of champagne before hand and been, you know, bubbly. But for once, I decided to deal with a situation soberly.

Just before I was due to meet my sister, after going to the bathroom 3 times due to nervousenes, I received an email from my aunt. I read the first three lines of this email, and then had to seirously wrestle with my brain over whether or not I should delete it. I saved it in the end. But not for my own torture, I decided I would share this gem with those all around me. Oh yes.

The conversaiton that I forced myself to have with my sister, after taking serious consideration of burying myself into a German-language Vogue magazine, was, as I mentioned above, like subjecting myself literally to a torture seen in SAW. But thinking of it now, I think it was probably far worse than that. At least the victims in SAW have a choice. With my sister, I don’t have a choice. She is purely dominant over me. Like a black widow spider, and I’m in the web – her baby, who she’s about to eat. I must laugh at her jokes, be interested in her conversation, make an effort to meet her when I would rather jump off of an overpass…otherwise, all bets are off and she’ll eat me. As a ‘mother’ she paid for my coffee – even though I might earn more than she does, she’s the older one – the black widow – and she pays. Our conversation was worse then one that goes down in the office kitchen. The weather. How she told her husband that the road was icy, he ignored her, and then told her later she was right. Her horses. Her dogs. HER LIFE. Not a single question was asked about how I was doing. How my life was. And of course, the topic of why she has avoided me for 9 months did not grace her lips. When I got back into my boyfriends car, I felt more deflated then a blowfish in a Japanese dish. 

What she doesn’t know, is that I already knew why she hadn’t been speaking to me. And in all honesty, I felt sorry for my regal queen. The poor thing was upset that I didn’t love her as much as I love my dad – or so, this is what she told my faithful aunt (a non-psycho one) the previous night, at a family Christmas party that my boyfriend and I weren’t invited to. And thus, in all the shock and horror, you may begin to understand how my family works.

Half of them are complete morons. They belive that the world solely revolves around them. That the Sun God shines the sun on only their faces, and everyone else is in dark gloomy weather, unless they bring the gift of sunlight to them. This is where I get angry. Because seriously, who the hell do they think they are? And when my non-psycho aunt stood up for me at this Christmas party, I was pretty stoked because in all honesty, I have no idea what the problem is of these cukoo-birds. If my sister wants me to love her more than I love my dad, perhaps she should refrain from her black-widow ways. My psycho-aunt on the other hand should realise that indeed, I will never speak to her again. As per her email: As your mother’s sister… I mean, what a cunt, to throw my mom’s death in the first line of an email after not speaking to me for a year……she must have forgotten that she told me to fuck off in the first place.

One thing we need to figure out however is, why I still feel so damn compelled to call my sister. Deep down I think I want to laugh in her face and tell her what a cow she is. I just need to get out of her web first, I think.

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