August 22, 2008

August 22, 2008

Free Writing: Life with Out Lisa

Drip, drip, drip.

The leaky faucet in the kitchen was always dripping.

Drip, drip, drip.

Always. Non-stop I’d hear the dripping.

Not only the dripping it was a stainless steel sink. So not only it was drip, drip, drip, it was drip, echo, drip, echo, drip, echo.

On nights before my sister moved back in, I didn’t have to hear this annoying dripping. I would be sleeping happily in my room, probably snoring my lungs out, and not tossing and turning on a cot on the cold kitchen floor.

“Oh, Kenneth,” My mother had explained to me that week before. “It’s only until your sister gets back into college.”

“Again?” I thought bitterly.

“Now, now,” she placed her hands on her hips as if she known what I was thinking. “Clean your room, I want it to look nice for your sister.”

So here I am now, sleeping on the laminate titles of our kitchen floor. For weeks I’m always waiting until I finally fall asleep and dream.

Dream of a life with out Lisa.

Lisa wasn’t good at much.

I guess she could be good at something.

All she does all day is eat pistachio ice cream and watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Me, I’m doing anything I can. I’m taking care of Mom constantly. Handling her checkbook, making sure she pays the bills, that’s just the little things I do.

But Lisa just sits around not really doing anything and she gets Mom’s full attention.

“Kenny,” my mother rolled her eyes at me when I asked who Patrick Dempsey was.

“He’s a famous actor, Kenneth,” Lisa snapped at me, waving her spoon in her hand. “He’s TV Guides Sexiest Man, he plays Dr. Derek Shepherd on Grey’s Anatomy, and, he has wonderful eyes.” She added a dreamy breath of air for dramatic effect.

And Mom gave her this proud Oh-My-Daughter’s-So-Super-Smart-Grin.

I never looked at Lisa the same way again.

I woke up the next day all stiff and tried. I was ready for the winter hibernation I was so tried.

“Never again,” I mumbled to my self.

I stumbled to the bathroom; took a shower, got dressed, and pulled a comb through my hair.

Then Lisa, right on queue, bangs loudly on the door right when I go to open it.

“Finally!” She said exasperated as I stepped out of the way.

Then she stomped inside and slammed the door.

“Who slammed the door?” My mother yelled from her room.

“Lisa.” I replied as I made my way back to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” my mother followed me to the kitchen. “Lisa did that.” Her voice was sarcastic but I knew she knew I was right.

You see, Lisa has an attitude problem. Ever since we were kids, she was the one with the Barbie’s but she was the only one on the block who cut their hair.

And Lisa has this thing about profession. Some things have to be just right; like her toaster waffles. But other things, like her room, they don’t get as much attention as her toaster waffles.

To this day, I never forget those shaved Barbie’s. She would have the kitchen scissors in one hand, Barbie in the other and with plastic hair all over the kitchen floor.

August 16th, it’s finally here.

I go back to school, and hopefully Lisa does too.

“Okay Mom,” I prep her. Not only I go back to school but also so does Mom. I guess she’s having her mid-life-crisis. “You have your lunch?”

“In the car.” She answers.

“Your coffee cup?” I ask.

“Kitchen.” She replies.

“Keys?”

She doesn’t answer right away, which is a bad sign. I don’t say anything yet; I just look at her.

“Keys?” she repeats. Yep, something’s wrong.

“Where are the keys, Mom.” I ask calmly.

She thinks, racking her brain for the real answer and the answer I don’t want to hear.

“Your sister has them.” The answer I don’t want to hear popped out of her mouth.

“Lisa,” I whispered. “Lisa has the car keys?” I almost heard my voice crack.

Lisa with car keys is like an alcoholic in a winery.

My mother nodded, not worried about a thing. “Yes, she wanted to go out to meet some friends of hers, she was only gone six hours.”

That’s a bad sign.

I exhaled, what would Dad have done? He wouldn’t have stood of this; he would go strait to her room and demanded for the keys.

I ran my fingers though my hair and Mom tisked; it was a habit Dad has.

Why was he so evil in this house? Just because he thinks that things aren’t working out so he leaves? Is that it?

I shook my head and head toward Lisa room, “If I’m not out in five minutes, call the cops.” I say to Mom over my shoulder.

It makes her laugh as always even though she says I’m insensitive. But I wasn’t lying; Lisa wasn’t going to give up those keys.

And then I wonder what would life be like. Life with out Lisa.