girl, why canât you be like your sister?â
âEveryone says they love Faith. Why you gotta be so unlovable?â
âFaith looks just like an angel. You should look more like Faith.â
I spent many years wondering why I couldnât be like Faith. I used to follow her around the house trying to walk like she did. I watched the way her mouth moved when she talked. I tried to put my hair in buns like Faith did, but my hair wasnât long enough because it broke off from Mommaâs neglect. She never took care of my hair the way she did with Faith. Once when I was younger, I cut Faithâs hair off when she was sleeping and put it on my hair. I finally had a bun. I ran out to Momma to show her what I did, to let her know that I was finally pretty, like Faith. I had never gotten beaten so badly in my life. Of course Faithâs hair grew back, but my self-image never did.
One day, I decided to stop trying to be my perfect sister. Iâd cringe anytime someone mentioned her name. I didnât want any comparison to her. I started to distance myself, barely saying a word, keeping myself locked up in my bedroom. I could tell that she was hurt by it, but I didnât care. Iâd felt pain my whole life; she could handle it too. Thatâs when Faith started to focus more and more on church. After school, she went to the middle school to go tutor for free. On Sundays, sheâd stay longer at church to help out with whatever she could. When we did see each other, we barely spoke. When I distanced myself from her, it only hurt me worse. I thought being mean to her would satisfy me, but it only made me angrier. If John hadnât come into our lives, Lord knows what I wouldâve done once I finally exploded.
I admired John. It was innocent. Iâd sit in the kitchen and watch him make breakfast. I was fascinated whenever he shaved. Iâd sit on the sink and watch in awe. One time, he took the shaving cream and squirted it all over my face. I retaliated by squirting toothpaste in his hair. Momma came barging into the bathroom when she heard all the ruckus. When she left, John and I cracked up and continued our bathroom war.
John was closer to me than he was with Faith, partly because I demanded all of his attention. Faith couldnât have him. He was mine. I was the one who brought him back after Momma broke up with him. Nobody else accomplished it. I was somewhat possessive over John. I had never known what it was like to have a father figure, to have a man tell me that he loved me. I bathed in the attention that he showed me. He was the only person who was able to brighten the dark spots in my life.
One night, I burst into Faithâs room and locked the door behind me. I was bursting at the seams with excitement. I had talked to one of my male friends at school who said one of his cousins was having a house party in the city. Faith and I had never been to a house party before and I thought sheâd be as thrilled as I was.
âHouse party?â Faithâs mouth dropped open after I told her of my plans. âAnd in the city? No. Thereâs gonna be a lot of crazy boys looking to prey on freshmen like us! No! Iâm not going!â
âStop being a Bible hugger and live for once.â
âI can breathe, I can eat, I can walk, I can see. Thatâs living,â she said.
âFaith, we gonna be sixteen in a few days, letâs party!â
âNo.â
âJesus went to parties.â
âNot the same kind of party youâre talking about!â Faith screamed. She would get so angry whenever people were blasphemous. It made me laugh. âItâs not funny.â
âFine, Faith. Donât go. Waste away your life. Just tell Mom that Iâm sick and not to bother me.â
âSo youâre still going?â
âHeck yeah, regardless. I have a ride. What can go wrong?â
Faithâs face squinted up, which was what she did
Learning to Kill: Stories