When Your Angry Sister Finds a Family Story You’ve Written

But she neglected to bring her dictionary to the party

This morning while I was smack in the middle of an online creative writing course, I received a disturbing text message. I shot my phone a side-eye full of sharp, daggerish glares when it intruded my zen-like learning state.

I thought I’d made sure to tell everyone to kindly not interrupt me between the hours of 9am and noon — the hours I would be invested in learning how to inject rocket fuel into my writing.

A quick glance allowed me to notice that the message had come from my sister, a woman I haven’t seen nor spoken to since Obama was president. If you’re American that feels like a whole eternity ago, right?

First of all, I paid hundreds of US dollars for this particular writing course. That converts to roughly millions of Canadian dollars. Missing one minute of the course to check a text message is basically the equivalent of going bankrupt.

But since it’s been at least six years since my sister has graced me with her hostility I sacrificed that single minute to look at my phone. Curiosity got the better of me.

Within the first sentence of her message she was threatening to sue me for “liable” because I’m making her life difficult. I didn’t realize I was making her life anything at the moment. It’s been six years.

Was she still angry that I never purchased her Amway stuff twenty-three years ago?

I’m pretty sure she meant “libel” which means that I would’ve had to slander her in some way. She would also have to have a reputation I could damage but the truth is, no one who reads my work knows who she is.

What I really mean is no one even reads my work.

If, by libel, she meant that I called her estranged (not strange, big difference) then yes I’m guilty. I traversed my way up to the Medium rooftop and shouted to my minions below that I have an estranged sister.

It was a cleansing of sorts — it felt good shouting it out to the bootlickers far beneath me.

A couple of months back I wrote a piece about how it’s a great time for families to put aside their differences and come together in this time of mega-pandemical uncertainty.

I then sent her the link via Messenger thinking maybe she might see the light and magically grow a desire to become part of the family again. Instead, she grew a desire to misuse the word libel and threaten me with it.

This was not worth interrupting my million dollar writing course for.

It will also not be worth her time to sue me for a story I earned $1.23 and 379 claps on. After legal costs she might end up owing me, if we’re being honest here.

So I replied to her with a brief and succinct message telling her I’m sorry she feels that way. Then she ripped me a new one because, and I quote, “You can’t follow instructions. I asked for NO replies.”

She clearly hasn’t paid attention to who I’ve been for 47 years. I have never followed instructions. Particularly ones that tell me to shut it. I physically don’t know how to stop talking or typing.

Even my elementary school report cards indicate that I have no self control. I’ve been loud and proud since at least 1982.

The sad conclusion is that my sister ended up following her own instructions. After telling me that I am dead to her, she stopped sending messages, which is probably for the best.

If she had continued I would have only carried on with a bunch of high-five and taco emojis in an effort to make her laugh.

To this day I can’t figure out how two sisters spawned from the same parents could turn out so completely opposite.

I mean, we survived the mutual childhood shame of having the subpar Intellivision game system when all the other kids had Atari. Fuck Frogger, we had to suffer with two lines and a dot on the screen for entertainment.

I also can’t figure out how I’m suddenly dead to her when only one year ago she sent me an ambiguous YouTube link to Bullfrogs & Butterflies. It’s a Christian album we used to listen to as kids — back when we used to behave like Christians.

She sent me that link with a message attached, “Here’s something from our childhood.” I thought it was a sign that she might be reaching out and coming around the bend, but no further communication ever came of it.

It’s tough when family breaks apart for reasons unknown. I can’t even begin to know how I became so dead to my sister. She used to beat people up for me on the playground when we were kids.

Maybe this whole thing is just a lesson about using the word estranged to describe someone who is…well…estranged. Next time I suppose I’ll use the word “withdrawn.” It sounds less finite and possibly less libelous.

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