My family is pretty normal, sort of. You see, my family came to America eight years ago, and lets just say, they haven't adjusted to American 'culture'. My mom still shakes her head to nearly nonexistent shorts, and my dad still prays every time he sees the beaches. My parents are from the Arabs, although they both grew up in the countries surrounding India. That means they're overly religious, overly critical, and simply anal about culture. My sister and I though, were only born in the Arabs. The US is our true home. Sure, I don't walk around in a tank top, but you don't exactly see me covered from head to toe. My sis and I know the limit. We know to fit in, but still stand out. We know to be American, but still have strict morals.
My sister, Sunetra, and I aren't really inseparable. She's 18, two years older than me, and that tends to be a problem, most of the time. She's beautiful, and fits her name Sunetra, she of pretty eyes. I, on the other hand, am a mess. While my sister is the epitome of Asian beauty with pale skin, auburn hair, and voluptuous 5'6 figure, I am the complete opposite. I am barely 5 foot in heels, chubby, blind, and completely socially awkward. We have our truce moments, but we were still never close. Till the day, she ran into my room, crying.
She leans against the door, panting. I see something grasped in her left hand, and I throw up my arms to defend against it sailing towards my face. Instead, she slides down to the floor, and breaks down. For possibly the third time in my whole life, I see my sister, crumpled on the floor crying. I rush over to her, frantically asking her if she's hurt. She just shakes her head, but continues to sob. I gather her in my arms, and stroke her dark hair, until her sobs quiet. I murmur things like "It's okay" and "I'm here". She finally collects herself together long enough to tell me.
My sis has obviously lost her mind. Or maybe I just momentarily went deaf. Maybe I became schizophrenic and started to hear voices. Maybe there was a ghost and by the power of the moons alignment with Earth, she was able to tell me how she died. Anything. I was ready to believe everything, but those two words.
As proof, she shows me her left hand. A stick lies in her hand, and health class has given me enough info to let me know it's a pregnancy test signed positive. I can't help but swear. I have nothing to say, and after a moment of dead silence, I ask her. "What the fuck Sunny?"
She rubs her eyes, and blubbers.
"God, Nell, I didn't know. I mean, I'm eighteen, and people do this stuff, you know? And you don't hear everyone getting knocked up. And Ryan, he was getting impatient, and I wanted it too. I didn't know, I mean, what the fuck? Why me? It was like once! And it wasn't even good, it like hurt, but fuck, why me? Why me?" She trails off in whimpers, and I see it through her eyes. I knew how alone she felt because the last time she'd called me Nell was when I was three and crying because I had broken my hand. I keep stroking her hair and ask, "Have you told mom?"
She looks at me, and I know she never will. She looks at me, and suddenly I feel like the older sister as she asks, "What do I do now?"