Kelly was always the perfect one. She appeared to have all the attributes of a saint: a great Christian life, grades any parent would be proud of, she knew just what to say to adults, and worst of all she never made a mistake. What parent would not love a daughter like that, and I always felt that mine loved her more then me. I don’t know, still to this day, whether my hatred for her blossomed from jealousy or frustration. Whatever the case, our fighting had reached a new plateau. Both teenagers, our sibling rivalry had mutated from fighting over toys to things like clothes, the phone, and trying to get the other in trouble.
A common day in the Frasz house would include petty arguments over borrowing clothes, touching the other’s things, or just being annoying. But, on occasion, all hell would break loose and those were the times that we were left alone. These moments were dangerous and I don’t know how my sister and I both survived them. I, myself, was often tempted with reenacting Cain and Abel on my sister. The winner was often the one more enraged or with the better weapon, as it has been in battle for centuries.
This was the “perfect child”? Everyone thought so highly of Kelly; I knew better. I knew how she really was. The same girl that received an A on her history test, was the same one who chased me around the house with a broom. The same perfect Kelly that spoke in chapel at school, was the same girl that had me locked in a bathroom while she sat outside with a knife--waiting for me. I hated that! I hated that she was thought so highly of, while at the same time she was human too and made her share of mistakes. I even found myself at times forgetting her flaws and thinking highly of her, which made me hate her even more. I let everything about her bother me, her attitude, her demeanor, even her looks.
She was not pretty. I never used to think so, but that was my bitter attitude at its finest. She was just ...