Valentine, Chaja Jamie Marie

Valentine By Chaja Jamie Marie

What was the neighborhood like?

It was always cloudy. Not just the sky but the landscape itself. The grass was always grey, the houses were too pale and pastel to be anything but grey. I’d sit on the porch swing and just watch. Ms. Hernz in her yard catering to these grey daffodils, her husband wearing all grey and their daughter wearing all grey dresses.

Not only was the neighborhood grey but so was the mood of everyone else. Grey and nosy. I’d go to the park with my parents and they’d stare at us, idolize my parents, their eyes would tell me how lucky I was they adopted me, people would come over and ask my parents how they managed it. How they adopted a little girl from the ghetto and made her into a respectable young lady. They’d praise my big sister for being such a team player and taking me in after 16 years of being an only child and getting everything she wanted.

Truth was, she never talked to me behind closed doors. Wouldn’t bother with me at all unless she wanted me to get out of the shower.

Your sister was suffering from an eating disorder… how did you feel when you found out about it?

I found out before my parents did, I woke up one night— I was about 13 at that time— and I really needed to pee. So I walked into the bathroom– I hadn’t heard her yet in my sleepy daze. So I flicked on the bathroom light and she was there, hunched over the toilet, absolutely spilling her lunch into the bowl. And all I could do was wonder why she was throwing up with the lights off.

She noticed I came in two seconds after, she just got up, washed her face in the sink without looking at her reflection which confused me. I was wondering if she was going to tell our parents that she was sick.

I didn’t hear anything the next morning. I didn’t say anything.

It got worse?

Mhm. The second time I walked in on her throwing up was Saturday of that same week. And I was a smart kid so I immediately realized that something wasn’t right. Either it was the fact that her fingers were down her throat or that she was immediately doing this after eating yogurt for lunch.

This time she didn’t push me away, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, which made me want to gag, and beckoned me over. My legs led me over to her and she spoke to me for the first time in two weeks. “Hold my hair?” She asked.

And I nodded, because to me this was my big sister trying to bond with me, this was my big sister being a big sister for the first time since I arrived here when I was seven. At that time I just wanted to be closer to my sister and so I held back her hair for her while she stuck her fingers down her throat and vomited. 21

And I’m not going to lie, it felt pretty great to be able to spend time with her. Despite her giving me all this trauma.

Did this improve your relationship with your sister?

It was, heaven really. She talked to me a lot. Always coming into my room and stroking my hair and tying it up into two puffs. Asking me why it’s so thick and what products I used to get it so curly. Different hair texture between African Americans and White people and all. She’d watch TV with me and help decorate my room. Laugh with me and deteriorate. I think she only did all those things with me to keep me quiet.

And when she died…?

I found her.

She was laying on her side, her eyes were wide open and I just stared. Just looked at her. I remember vividly the blue-ish bags under her eyes. Her cheeks were sunken from three months of not eating properly. Her hair was so matted and crinkly.

And I remember thinking “How did I not notice? How did they not notice?” My parents?

Apparently I had a panic attack, that's how my mom found me. And then she sobbed with me when she saw her oldest and blood daughter sprawled out across the floor. Dead. We sobbed for hours. At midnight, when my father came home, he told us he found us asleep cuddling a dead body.

I’m sorry, I-

It's fine, others cry too when they first hear this.

And the funeral?

The hardest part. Suddenly I had all these people reaching out to me telling me how it wasn't my fault and how I wouldn't have known… but I did know, I always knew. I was old enough to know wrong from right, I knew my sister was starving herself but I didn't understand the context.

And after the funeral?

Everything went dark. grey, black. As I grew up, my adoptive parents watched over me like hawks, making sure I ate, making sure I was happy. I got everything I craved, but at the cost of my sister's life. I was suffocated by the attention. I can never escape the selfishness, no matter how many people I tell, no matter how many people know the truth.

What is the truth, Valentine?