Inspired my story:
As I watched my sister stroll away down the sidewalk leading out of our neighborhood my first instinct was to run after her. But it was raining and I wasn’t wearing any shoes and the baby was asleep in his crib and I wasn’t really sorry, so what would I say? Besides, she would be back. She had nowhere else to go.
My older sister considers herself an artist, and I suppose she is. She paints and draws wonderfully, does some sculpting, and writes short stories that often feel more autobiographical than the fiction she claims them to be.
That’s what most of our fights are about. She recently wrote a short story about an alcoholic abusive father. It’s how she describes our dad. But it’s not the dad I know and I told her that. She says I am too young to remember and that I block things out. She thinks she is so smart.
I remember what I want!