My sister Veronia was dark in every way. Her hair was shiny and black with eyes darker than brown and a persona that could be summed up accurately as dark. She rarely seemed jovial or exuded happiness. When she did it seemed unnatural even forced. My relationship with her was at the best of times strained and at the worst of times violent and explosive.
I was the steretypical annoying, sappy, worshipping younger sibling that begged for attention and knew few boundaries. Her response to my attempts to become just like her and align myself with everything she did and all-things-like her was by almost any standard mean-spirited.
She did not share anything with me, material or otherwise. Her friends displayed contempt toward me and her life was kept top secret, especially from me. If I dared to cross the intangible boundaries, and I frequently did, a storm ensued. She would first plead her case to my mother who did not have the emotional energy to respond and, having a different nature, did not understand why Veronica did not want to be best friends with her younger sister. She analogized all sibling relationships to the one she shared with my Uncle CJ, they were best friends and never fought with each other the way Veronica and I did.
Part two of the episode, after having received no back up from my mother, would be to take matters into her own hands vigilante style. I was no cowering push over and\, quickly, learned how to stand my ground. Perhaps my Irish temper was an asset in these instances but it was really not my style of relating to people and the confrontations left me mentally, and often physically, injured.
After all the drama, I still longed for a relationship with my older sister. One that was tender, supportive and safe. One day far into my future, I gave up on that dream.
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