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Feeling speechless as a young girl

Chicago, IL, USA

         

My sister attempts to murder me.

Chicago, IL, USA

         

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London, UK

         

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Bali, Indonesia

         

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London SW8 5BZ, UK

My sister attempts to murder me.

Family/Friends

We’re in the South Side of Chicago. I’m in 3rd grade, but school day has come to an end. My sisters and I are at home, keeping ourselves busy by playing in my momma’s bathroom which was our first mistake. Many more to come.

Growing up, my house was always rowdy which is to be expected when your mom has five children. There was Timothy, Justice, Jasmine, me, and then Cameron. Every now and then, my mom would be at work and we’d be left to our own devices. Our creative, reckless, and sometimes dangerous devices. From playing baseball in the living room underneath the glass chandelier (which surprisingly ended with the glass intact, but Tim’s big toe broken) to Justice locking him outside for an hour (which led to an accidental 911 call, and yes, they did show up). Every day was an adventure in my house and as one of the youngest, I often had my share of pain.

On this day, Jasmyne — who was 10 at the time —-preemed herself in the mirror, using a small hand to smooth down the hairs straying from her high bun which resembled a chocolate donut on her head. My eight year old self was full of energy per usual and bounced around the room, singing all of the wrong lyrics to a song that had been stuck in my head all day. Searching for a reaction from my typically reserved oldest sister and to just be annoying, I suddenly jumped in front of her with a weird expression decorating my face. Startled, she frowned in jest before stretching an arm out to shove my shoulder. Little did she know she would be the catalyst for the the events to follow. The push was harder than both of us expected, our eyes simultaneously widening and my arms flailing like one of those inflatable men in front of car dealerships as I fell to my doom.

It seemed like slow motion as my back crashed into Jasmyne’s shoulder, who happened to be standing behind me. It was quiet for a moment as Jas and I locked eyes. In that two seconds, I could see the fiery anger broiling in her eyes, her quick temper rising to the surface. I bolted, dashing across the room and hopping up the three stairs of my mom’s jacuzzi bathtub. In retrospect, not the best idea. She was right on my tail and as soon as I reached the top of the platform, I felt two hands shove me from behind which sent me catapulting into what seemed like the pit of hell. I smacked into the porcelain bottom of the tub, lying there for a second as I gathered my bearings. Rising to my feet, my lip trembled and tears welled as I clutched the aching pain in my temple.

Jasmyne’s mouth was a grimace, the expression you make when you realize you’ve done some dumb shit. I ran past her and my Jus, ignoring Jas’s “Jaida, wait! I’m sorr-” as I dashed through the house and towards my brother’s room where him and his friends were hanging out. With my mother gone, the oldest in the house became the authority figure to turn too. I clambered through the door, crying out, “Tim, Jasmyne p-pushed me and..and-”. Despite my blubbering, he was able to get a sense of what happened and ordered me to remove my hand so he could see the wound. Tentatively, I bought my hand away. My expression turned blank as I stared at my palm which was now coated in thick, crimson syrup.

“Oh, shit,” he remarked. I whimpered.

Oh shit, indeed.  

The next thing I recall were the screams of my mother who had rushed home and confronted my sister about the incident. Then, my sister’s red rimmed eyes as she apologized while I held a wet towel to my forehead. I told her it was okay, because we were even now considering my wound and her whooping seemed to be on pretty equal scales in my mind. 

Later that night, my parents rushed me to the emergency room where I was stitched up. To this day, I constantly blame my sister for the scar beside my eyebrow that has erred my beautiful eyebrows.

My sister attempts to murder me.

This post was written by Jaida Imani

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