vignette four.

4.

There was something in me that seemed uneasy. Deep inside I always wished I was more of an impulsive person, someone who could take charge and go after what I really wanted, but my string of short-lived relationships, dynamite attempts at college that kept failing and epically failed battles against depression were just few of the things that littered my past as reminders of how pathetic I could often be. Gaining courage and desire to proceed as normal was hard enough some days, fighting to find the ability to facilitate abnormal and outrageous things was beyond my means. But I digress.

"Promise me you'll be careful?"

My sister stood just as nervous as I did, twitching almost at the edge of the stairs. Her grip on the end of the railing that stood directly facing our front door seemed fierce, the white of her knuckles piercing and harsh.

I grabbed my scarf, my hat, my sweater, my denim jacket and my fingerless gloves (I was in a phase where I wasn't sure what I thought was cool, so I wore layers in case one thing worked while another didn't. I also donned a lot of band t-shirts I'd skimped off on cheap prices of from ebay. Lots of alternative rock and classic rock bands, mostly, a few Jimi Hendrix and Bad Company, the occasional Bob Marley, and the very rare Dead Poetic t-shirt I'd managed to find. I liked bands, and I was in that phase for certain, and I didn't care what anyone else thought about it.)

"Promise me, Nona!"

Her voice quaked. I didn't blink.

"Of course, Tee." Short for Tegan, of course. My Mom thought it was nice. My sister hated it. Or at least, she would until she was nineteen and would meet a boy two years older that thought it was exotic. They both also smoked too much weed to remember each other's names half of the time, but that's neither here nor there.

"Of course." She muttered it just as I was closing the door, under her breath but loud enough for my ears.

Of course.

And I was. At first.