Some of you out there may know by now that the Duck got a job in retail. Her first ! Woo. Okay. We’re done with that.
Yesterday was also her first time working during a Black Friday sale. The pinnacle of human stupidity can now be summarized to, “So how can you tell which items are 50% off / on sale?”
This also goes to say that the Duck is now alas acquiring what all other females somehow learned in elementary school nowadays – the bitch face.
And the final verdict is that… we should all take a hint from this droning rain here in Raincouver and stay in bed.
With all that said, the Duck would now like to take her day off to have your
forced recognition of her writing from another class prompt : “(Dave) (Joanne) was the last person on Earth I expected to do that.”
Joanne is my older sister. Always composed, more than that, almost indifferent to the trying social tactics of a younger sibling. The two of us, we’re mutts, a mix between two ancestral blood, but Joanne was the one who got the looks. She’s tiny, but her silently dominating personality would never tell you so otherwise. Yes, my sister is very difficult to talk to, but I love her nonetheless; the most beautiful person I’ve ever come to lay my eyes on.
Now the same sister sits in front of me throwing up into the toilet bowl of our bathroom. Grisly, straggly hair remade her rough locks. She extends an arm backwards, angled; I want tissue paper. I give them to her. We don’t speak. Joanne wipes her mouth quietly and flushes the toilet still glancing down. I had never noticed the stench before that. For a moment, I am almost afraid to see what would have happened to my sister’s face – nothing. Her features are as set as always, except that her lipstick has faded and smudged beyond her lip line.
See, my sister has such a way of looking at people, it can seem like a threat to a taunting, almost dangerous invite when she chooses to. So most of the time I am left dumbfounded by this ability, often wondering if what I had just said the brief moments before she delivers me this look was in any way stupid or a waste of her time. Always, after this self-conscious pause, she’d answer as matter of factedly as any other conversation.
Joanne fixes her appearance in the mirror and when she catches me watching, again, that stare, then she turns and walks past me to her bedroom. I hear her shuffling while I take in the scene of the bathroom. A mixture of her faint perfume and human upchuck. All evidence sucked into that dirty black hole of the toilet bowl.
In her bedroom, Joanne was in the middle of changing when I walked in. She reapplies her lipstick, smacks her lips together and gently sucks on her monroe piercing while examining herself one last time. The entire time I sit on the edge of her bed, peering around without prying, the artifacts of her room. When she leaves, it is a signal for me to go also. At the doorway she pauses side way, lightly pressed against the frame of the door way until I leave to turn off the light and half close her door.
At work, Joanne is still the same. She does not sell out any false smiles for a paycheck, while I on the other hand proposes the exact opposite. I don’t know if I should respect her for that.
I was walking into the back room when I saw Joanne gently patting a sticky in place of a lint roller on Rikki, a coworker. A part of me was greatly disturbed. It’s not jealousy, because Joanne is my sister, but a longing…a desire to, like me. Yes, she is after all, my only sister, and she was smiling, so I punched him when he came into the backroom and we dropped in muffled silence. I punched him until he offered no more resistance, then I proceeded to unbuckle his belt. I had one hand dug into his pants when Joanne walked in, then, that stare.
We walk home in silence. On our couch, Joanne turns and asks me, “Do you want sex?” I look at her. No.
“Then what the fuck, Dave.” she says.