Character
I have worn hand-me-down clothes all my life. It doesn't bother me; second hand things suit me just fine. They've got some life in them which lends the owner authenticity.
Of course, my older sisters have always had peculiar tastes in things, and their things lose meaning quikly. This meant I always had a surplus of their throw aways to rummage through in my wardrobe, but I also had some strange fashions come over me because of the phycedelic material I had to work with. Never grew out of the old athletic boho phase I guess. Looking back, I see myself as a form of vermin trailing in the wake of elegant birds. They spent so much time and resources preening their feathers. I wasn't any more productive for all the floundering for attention I did in my own... special way.
Between struggles with vanity and insecurity we never really got to know eachother. They got along alright for a time, but I couldn't seem to catch up with them until I started dating. Suddenly, they were interested.
Boy talk. They wanted all the juicy details. I wanted to belong. Made me feel obliged to create some details to talk about.
Then the unthinkable happened. We fought, and it got ugly. Perhaps I said things I should not have, but by my reckoning, no lines had been crossed. My eldest sister thought otherwise. She woke up my parents in the middle of the night, and told them all the things parents never want to hear about their daughters. The things shared in a sister's confidence. A terrible breech of trust. If that were all, I might have forgiven, but she persecuted me. Actively seeking to inflict as much pain as she could. My phone and diary were confiscated and used as evidence against me. No one slept that night. Who could sleep through a witch hunt.
The next day, I had to act in a play at my school. My first speaking role. After a series of lackluster performaces, I froze in the middle of my big scene. By the time it was over, I was exhausted and humiliated, and having no privacy to speak of, all I could do was pretend. It doesn't sound like that big of a deal now, but at the time it was enough to destroy me. All I could feel was anger and guilt and disapointment... I was a dramatic teenager. But those emotions left a lasting mark on me.
This was the worst experience of my life thus far, and I had no one sympathetic to talk to. That is what really drove home the betrayal. I hardened a little bit that day. Trust became a delicacy and I hoarded it.
I knew my sister was a vindictive and impulsive. Agressive and unpredictable. I wasn't surprised when she turned out to be a drug addict, or when she spewed foulness about how our other sister in law should have a miscariage during her first pregnancy, or when she screamed that our brother was abusive in the middle of the street. Lies. Horrible lies. Evil wishes. One after another. I wasn't surprised, but it all still hurt.
I suppose I hoped she wasn't as bad as I imagined, but everyone walks on eggshells around her now, and it isn't enough.
All her clothes are new and fancy, but she has no character and never will.