“Can you tell me more about your family?” I ask. If I pose more questions about her sister, maybe I would be able to figure some of this out. “You didn’t talk about your parents much.”
“Not a lot to say,” Seri replies. “They were good to us. They made sure we were taken care of and went to school and all that.”
“So why did your sister act out so much?”
“I don’t know. Just the kind of person she is…was. She just balked at authority. She wasn’t a bad person, simply wanted to live her life her way. Sometimes that ended up in an argument with Dad, but it was never malicious or anything. Normal teenage rebellion.”
“I can’t even imagine not doing what my parents told me to do.”
“Because you’d be punished?”
“Yeah.” I hadn’t meant to bring the attention back to myself.
“Did you ever tell anyone what he was doing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It didn’t really occur to me, I guess.”
“You thought it was normal.”
“Yeah.”
“When did you figure out that it wasn’t?”
“Sixth grade, I think.” I lick my lips and dig into the back of my brain for the memory. “I was in the library at school. I think it was one of those days that we were supposed to pick out any book we wanted to read and just spend our time reading it. I found a book about child abuse.”
“Wow. Did you read it?”
“Some of it, yeah. At first, it didn’t really register, but eventually it did. There was this page in the back with phone numbers you could call, but I wasn’t going to chance doing something like that. There were a lot of references in that book about kids telling their teachers but no one believing them or doing anything about it. Some of those cases were mild compared to what I’d seen my father do, and I figured no one would ever believe me if I told them. If I snitched, and he caught me, he’d kill me.”
“I’m sorry, Bishop.” Seri reaches over and places her hand on my leg.
“Sorry about what?”
“That you grew up that way. No one should have to live like that.”
Again, I seem to have completely derailed myself. I want to talk about Seri’s sister, not myself.
“What did you sister look like?” I ask.
“A lot like me,” Seri says with a laugh. “Some people thought we were twins. Not identical or anything, but the same age. I was the tall one in the family, so I never looked like a ‘little’ sister. Her hair was a little darker than mine, and I have more freckles. Our eyes are the same though—just like Mom’s. Green eyes are the rarest color, but they say it’s still a dominant genetic trait over blue eyes. Isn’t that weird?”
“I never really thought about it.” This information isn’t getting me anywhere. “So, what did you and your sister like to do together?”
“I dunno,” Seri mutters. “Girl stuff? We talked about boys and clothes and hair. Oh! She did dye my hair once. That was a disaster!” She laughs. “She really wanted to dye her own hair but conned me into doing it first. It was supposed to be purple, and it was supposed to wash right out, but it didn’t. It only faded. I ended up with pink hair for months. It was not a good look on me!”
I shake my head, and she laughs again. We go quiet for a minute as Seri looks at me.
“How often do you get your hair cut?” Seri suddenly asks.
“I don’t know.” I glance at her sideways. “Why?”
“Just curious. You seem like a short hair kind of guy, but if you’re here all winter by yourself, what do you do when your hair gets long?”
“Nothing.” I run my hand over my hair self-consciously. “It usually doesn’t get too unruly, and I’ll go into Whatì in the spring to get it cut. I had it cut short about a month ago.”