The War

S

Every Friday night is a war zone at my house. A clash between two opposing forces, both ready to fight, both prepared to sacrifice everything they have for their cause. This fight stems from a conflict that cannot be resolved from negotiation.

The fight for the TV remote control.

It’s a matter of life and death, really. Oh, you may not think so, but my sister and I certainly do. Imagine, showing up at school on Monday morning and not knowing what happened last week on each of our respective soapies. I would be an outcast forever, and I can only think that the same would happen to my sister.

It’s a clever marketing ploy on the part of TV companies, showing the two highest rating shows on rival channels, inconveniently at the same time. A little too inconvenient, if you ask me, to be completely accidental. I think that this is done on purpose, to convince families to buy ever more televisions just to stop family instability. The more televisions each house owns, the more viewing gets done. It’s a good strategy, I’ll give them that, but incredibly annoying when your family refuses to expand past one TV. So as sharp as their plan may be, I hate them for it, because I hold them sorely responsible for the situation I have to go through every Friday night. And trust me when I say it’s torture.

“Give! Me! The! Remote!” my sister screeches shrilly, next to my ear. Each exclamation point is accompanied by a sharp tug of my hair, causing white-hot pain to sting against my scalp.

“No!” I yell back, equally as high-pitched, “Louise, leave me alone!”

Louise pulls my hair again as I try to wrest my body from underneath hers, where she has pinned me with surprising strength. I’m fed up. If she wants hostile, she can have hostile.

I sit up quickly, still with my sister (three years my junior, and infinitely smaller) on my lap. I place my hand over her face, effectively blocking her vision and moving her backwards. If she tries to escape, her nose will meet an untimely end.

It’s a dirty trick, but there are casualties in war.

I quickly jump away to the other end of the couch, remote still safely in my grip. It’s five minutes until my show comes on, but I point the control at the screen anyway, preparing to turn the TV on. It can never hurt to be early. My finger comes down upon the button and I sense, rather than see, a movement to my left. Time slows down, my finger hovering above the red ‘power’ button, and suddenly I am hit with a mass equal to that of an entire football team carrying several rather overweight elephants. Heavy.

Or, really, the weight of my sister, as she projectile launches herself off the opposite armrest.

The remote is abruptly gone from my hands, and Louise tumbles to the floor, grinning and unharmed. How can little sisters be so spry, anyway?

She stands up triumphantly, holding her prize above her head. “Hah!” she yells, an ineloquent victory call. She also pokes her tongue out at me. Brat.

I stand up off the couch, advancing towards her. If she thinks she’s going to win this one, she’s sorely mistaken. There’s still three minutes until either of our programs have officially started, not including the beginning credits. It’s more than enough time for me.

Louise must notice the menacing glint in my eye, because her poor thirteen-year-old self starts to slowly back away.

“Now, Bella,” she says pleadingly, “Don’t do anything that you know you’re going to regret later.” She has her hands held up in front of her body defensively, the remote loosely held between two fingers.

I charge, throwing myself forward. She darts quickly out of the way, avoiding my onslaught, leaving me stumbling for footing. I turn around, and see that she has sat down, quite comfortably, on the couch. I stamp my foot, looking at her angrily. Louise smiles with what she probably thinks is an innocent expression, and turns the TV on.

It’s still the ad break before the show. Good.

I steel myself, and then jump, straight from the ground, across the room, aiming for cushy suede softness of the sofa.

I should get involved in rigged American wrestling championships. I can make this type of thing look good, and God knows they need better looking female wrestlers.

Louise glances up, and her eyes widen for a second in horror. She barely has time to open her mouth and scream before I am on top of her, once again trying to pull the remote control from her hands.

“No, Bella!” she cries, anguished. “It’s about to start! Don’t do this to me!” Sure enough, the familiar theme songs comes on, but I think Louise is too distracted, trying to retain her grip on the Holy Grail of TV Master-ship, to appreciate her favourite melody.

With one final wrench I pull the handheld device free from her paws and quickly, without fanfare, change channels. My own program comes on; it’s credits soothing my battle weary soul. Louise moves towards me again, but I stretch out on the couch, pushing her away with my feet and holding her at leg’s distance. She screams, but I block out her shrieks and concentrate on the TV and it’s peaceful, flickering images of beautiful people. This is the life.

Eventually Louise quietens, only occasionally muttering ‘Bella gets everything she wants’ under her breath. I sigh. All is well in the world, and I know that the better person has won. The theme song ends, and I can almost feel Louise’s bitterness emanating off her. She starts fidgeting.

This will not do. What if she suddenly decides to rebel against her captor (me) while the program is on? It would distract my viewing. No, this simply cannot be allowed.

However, before I can even turn to Louise and utter a ‘don’t even think about it,’ the TV’s voiceover comes on, and I decide to concentrate on that instead. However, the narrator only gets so far as ‘last week on…’ when Louise digs her nails into my calves, causing me to pull my poor legs away in haste. Small, red crescents line my leg. She grins exultantly, throwing her body once more towards me. Her hand grabs my wrist, holding like an iron vice, and pulls my arm towards hers. She presses the ‘off’ button and the TV goes black, leaving no background sound to play as soundtrack to our confrontation.

I can feel my fingers loosening, and though I vainly try to hold onto the remote, I can feel it slipping from my grip. My sister jerks upwards suddenly, and the control flies away from both of us, spinning through the air before clattering onto the ground.

There is silence, and then Louise and I both struggle at once to reach the remote first, while still holding the other in place. First I am on top, pushing her down, but just as I start to stand for my goal the tables are turned and I find myself once again trapped. We struggle, but neither of us can gain the upper hand in this fracas. We are equally matched enemies.

Suddenly our mother walks into the room, causing both of us to still our fighting and postpone our separate crusades. She sees the remote on the floor, picks it up, and turns on the News.

Turning to us, she raises her eyebrows.

“What are you girls doing?” without giving us a chance to reply, she continues, “Never mind, but off to bed, I want to watch the news.”

Louise and I prise ourselves apart, looking at her in dismay.

“Well,” she speaks again, “Off with you.”

I look at Louise, and she looks at me. Our eyes meet, and instantly we have a connection. Our previous battles are forgotten, a truce is called, and we are united against a new enemy.

A much more formidable enemy.

“But Mum!” we whine in unison. Sometimes even opposing armies must band together when in the presence of a greater evil.

After all, anything goes in war.

S

AN. Just forcing myself to write. Constructive crit appreciated.