My writing piece is influenced by actual events that happened within my family. These events caused strained relationships and continue to affect the next generation with underlying judgment between siblings.
Flora woke up to the sound of yelling outside her bedroom door. Two voices clashing against each other, intertwined with the feeling of hatred and hostility. Aimed at each other. Flora stood still, listening to their shouting.
“You’re not my father! You never were!”
Flora got up from her bed and quietly opened the door. She hadn’t seen her sister in two days. Her sister was dressed in a tight black shirt, her hair flat-ironed. She wore a necklace laced with gold and a little diamond at the end. Her nails were acrylic and smelled new.
“Then why did you come back?”
Flora’s father yelled back. His stance was crooked and faltering—back and forth. In his hand was an empty Corona bottle. The two continued to argue, voices rising. Until her father raised the empty bottle and brought it down with a smash over Flora’s sister’s head.
“Linda!” Flora yelled.
Linda couldn’t hear as she got up and dug her nails deep into her father’s face. He yelled in pain and the two continued to fight. Flora’s eyes opened wide, not knowing what to do. Instead, she went back into her room and put on her clothes. It was a Monday and she did not want to be late for school.
Flora’s room was tiny. She shared it with her mother, who slept on a mattress on the floor. Flora often felt guilty for having an actual bed but couldn’t do anything about it because her father wouldn’t buy a bunk bed. After she was dressed, she looked at the full-length mirror where she criticized herself, daily. It was part of her routine to judge what was reflected back in the cracked mirror whose wooden frame was chipped away. It was a gift from her father. He found it on the street with his friend Marco.
Flora took a long look at herself and hated it. She was large in the wrong places and hated wearing shirts that showed it. She pulled up her jeans, hoping it would tuck in her rolls. The least she could do was flat-iron her hair and put on hoop earrings that highlighted her above-average face. She couldn’t see it now, but she would turn into a beautiful woman. But even so, she would always feel overshadowed by her sister, whose beauty was apparent and treasured.
She skipped breakfast, later gorging herself on dinner. As she walked to school she bumped into her friends along the way.
“Hola, Cuy!”
A short boy with long black hair greeted her.
“Hola, José,” Flora responded.
On the inside Flora hated that nickname, Cuy, but would never say so. She instead looked behind and saw her sister stumbling out of the apartment building, clutching her hair. Flora turned around and walked away, leaving her sister to wander out in the morning alone.
Linda didn’t know exactly what set off the fight, but she was sure that she needed to get out of the house. She slowly walked toward the end of the block, the wind blowing out her hair. She delicately examined the bump forming in the middle of her head, wincing at the pain. Her feet blistered in the heels she’d never worn before. She chastised herself for needing to have these shoes. But she was interrupted when she saw a man walking toward her.
“Linda, hurry up, we’re late.”
Linda quickly walked up to him, swaying back and forth as the shoe tag poked her heel.
“Why are you walking like that? It’s weird.”
Her face grew bright red as the man’s arms pulled her close. He was wearing a black shirt that hugged his chest, showing the outline of his chiseled body. His brown skin glittered under the sun, the Virgin Mary permanently apparent on his arm.
He held Linda tight under his arm as if he was a boy holding on to his favorite pet, making sure no one else got a hold of it. As they were walking, Linda’s back twisted in his tight grip and her courage mounted with every step, until she could free herself from his hold. When she did, he grunted and glared at her.
“Lo siento, Giovanni,” Linda apologized.
“Está bien.”
Linda suddenly felt unprotected now that she was free from Giovanni’s grip. She ran her fingers through her hair, hissing when she touched the bruise her father gave her. Giovanni noticed this and stopped in his tracks.
“¿Que pasó, niña?” he asked.
Linda shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, niña,” Giovanni hissed.
Linda jumped when Giovanni pinched her arm, grunting in pain.
“I had a fight with my father earlier, nothing important.”
Giovanni’s pupils dilated. Linda hung her head down in defeat. She didn’t need a second fight to occur between her father and her lover. The deep disdain they had for each other had an evil stench to it whenever they were in the same room. A much more malicious rivalry than the one she had with her sister.