Mercy Me

I tossed my phone down on the bed so violently that it bounced off and thudded to the floor. As always, my anger started in my cheeks and collarbone--I could feel the heat build on my skin and within my chest, flushing my face and neck to the point where it looked like I'd fallen asleep on the beach in some distant equatorial country, only blotchily having applied any sunscreen. My brain flipped through the same script it always did after a conversation with my sister: fine, if Bea wants to ruin her life, it's not my responsibility to stop her. She's a fucking adult who makes her own choices and should be prepared for the consequences. Hanging out with Vince? Be prepared to have your life torpedoed, Bea. Again.

The fiery anger immediately liquidated into a lukewarm, nauseating shame--another pattern that always repeated itself when I thought about my relationship with my twin sister for too long. My knee-jerk response of anger and impatience always brought on extra layers of embarrassment and shame when it came to her. Bea had always been the "free spirit", which by default meant I had to be the anal-retentive rule follower. Which in turn meant that I was somehow responsible for both of us. I'd get an A, she'd get a C, and the conversation would be about how I didn't help her do better.

I pulled myself out of the oncoming shame spiral with a few deep breaths, then walked over to retrieve my phone. No cracks, fortunately. With the money I had been siphoning from my paycheck and savings account to support Bea, I couldn't afford to replace my phone, too.

Clutching the phone in one hand and finger-combing my hair with the other, I made a mental note to apologize to Bea tomorrow morning for my abrupt goodbye. Until then, I'd work to curb my own frustration and think about how I could help her through yet another rollercoaster shit-storm with Vince, in case he went postal again. I plugged my phone in to charge, miraculously removed my without taking off my t-shirt (a seemingly universal ability for women), and tossed it onto my dresser before crawling into bed and turning the light off for the night.

*****

Whether it was because of last night's Bea drama, or just because I just really needed it, I slept well through my alarm the next morning. Careening through my morning routine and only stabbing myself in the eye once with my eyeliner, I cursed at my watch as I left my apartment building five minutes before I was supposed to clock in. I'd missed the 114; I'd have to walk a few blocks to pick up the 29 instead. No time for my morning coffee or cinnamon bun from the corner bakery. The bus was about eighty percent more crowded than normal with all the other tardy commuters. I found myself sitting next to the one person in the whole damn city who didn't know that public transit etiquette required her to wear earbuds for her conversation with... her therapist? Yikes. I watched the seconds tick by on my watch as I listened to her explain away her daddy issues.

I felt a buzz and fumbled with my purse, trying to pull my phone out of the pocket without spilling my personal belongings all over the bus (unlike my seatmate, who was now loudly explaining that her high school boyfriend's second wife was a mirror image of what she herself had looked like sophomore year). Finally clawing my phone out of my purse, I flipped it around to read the notification.

Beatrice9:05 AMHey Dantea, do you think Vince could borrow some money? Boss says his paycheck is having some processing errors or something, I said you could spot him until he gets paid. Thanks sis

It took everything I had not to drown out my seatmate's therapy session with an exasperated scream, but predictably, I swallowed it and tapped over to Venmo. Bea hadn't said how much Vince would need to tide him over until the "processing errors" were resolved, so I sent him $200. It was only after I'd tapped the "Pay" button that I realized how little I believed his excuse. More like he'd been fired (again) and couldn't make rent this month (also again). Even more likely, Bea wasn't aware of it.