I can’t remember the last time I saw her. But her image has always been burned into my mind. I remember being a young age the first time I felt empathy. Maybe I had prior, but this would be the first I recall knowing what it was. It felt helpless. I remember thinking of her knowing she was alone even though I was aware that her loneliness was brought on by her cat like persona, pulling people in only to later push them out.

It was like an art form, the way she was able to manipulate those who saw her beauty, her intelligence, her mystery. Bringing them in was easy for her. It was easy to be attracted to her long black hair, olive skin and petite figure. But her ability to adapt to others personalities, whether it was their kindness, intelligence or artistic mojo she was just that. She could be sweet and giving, even working with the mentally disabled, and doing it well, for a period of time. And then so cold, her glaring stare could burn a hole in your heart.

Being a younger sister to this maleficent being was, well, an interesting ride. In our younger years, we played like sisters did…at least I thought that’s what we were doing. Now, as an adult, I realize even back then, she had already shown signs of…something different. I will need a pardon on that one as I, and those who were closest to her, still don’t know what that “different” quite was. At first maybe it was the idea that something was a bit “off”. Then, as you spent more time in her presence, you could almost feel her negativity fill the room quickly like a cloud of smoke forming from the oven burning the last bit of oil that had dripped from the pan. It filled your soul, no matter how light your mood, somehow it would swallow you up and leave you as charred as the remains of that oil left to suffer at the bottom of the oven.

But then there were days where a smile might peak through. Something would connect you to her and she would glow like the sun setting over the warmest of waters. It would make you feel like you could be friends again. Remembering the days where you would practice your dance routine based on the show “Fame” that you both loved so much together. Or the nights spent painting pottery and watching “Night Rider” until the parents picked you up. Even though she was better than you in all facets of life be it painting or writing, hell even talking. Somehow at every age I felt I was in the presence of an extremely educated girl, a girl that never did come to graduate high school. It was impossible to keep up with my older sister, but that was ok. I only wanted her to like me.

The things that made her happy….punk rock music, guys with mohawks and Doc Martens, Fells Point (before it sold out), patchouli, beads and scarves and weird ass jewelry. But all those things were the things that my 10 year old self wanted so badly too, because they were nothing like anything I’d ever seen. While my friends were listening to Debbie Gibson and Van Halen, I was being pulled in by the sounds of Pink Floyd, Dead Kennedys, Sinead O’Connor, The Sugarcubes, Siouxie and the Banshees. I remember the blank cassette tapes in her handwriting she would give to me, dubbing the coolest new tracks. I felt like I was the only one my age privy to this information. Hanging with here punk rock, teenage friends, full of angst we would walk downtown and throw quarters in the sewer grate sipping on Jolt soda outside of the Pizza on Wheels. I was turning into somebody, somebody different than everyone else. And it felt cool. Not good, but cool. So I went with it.

Unfortunately for me, this was during a time when I would be entering middle school watching my friends move away to different schools leaving me with bus rides full of newcomers to town. Growing up in a safety net of a neighborhood, riding bikes and wondering through corn fields with my besties, that was all demolished to allow for affordable housing and the development demons that stole my childhood. The loss of my innocent childhood was unfolding before my eyes to be replaced with pissed off kids, complacent parents and years of defending myself from girls that thought I was trying to steal their boyfriends to boyfriends that only dated me to break up with me in front of the entire school, loads of gum in my hair and even an unbeknownst sucker punch to the eye.

I reveled this by buzz cutting my hair, wearing combat boots and pouring myself into my studies. This only made matters worse for me, of course. Middle school is already a cluster of puberty, emotions and awkwardness, unbeknownst to me, I just added a target on my back. But all I wanted was to be like HER.