The Wrong Sister

Define crazy. If you really think about it, it might not be that simple to define. I suppose that each individual had his or her own definition of the word crazy. There was crazy-crazy, as in delusional. There was crazy-weird, as in odd, unusual, or eccentric. Then there was crazy-mean. The thing is, no matter what brand of crazy Crazy is, Crazy can usually be sensed before Crazy goes crazy on you. Seldom do they take us by surprise, going from a seemingly normal, ordinary human being to downright crazy and vicious in just a matter of seconds. How one simple conversation could change everything in a heartbeat was crazy enough, but as I was reminded one terrifying day, this can and does happen. Maybe it doesn’t happen very often, where we’re taken by surprise, and there don’t seem to be any warning signs, but it was true… anyone could go crazy at any moment. Anyone. And they could fool those who were typically very good at reading people. I wondered just how many people existed in society who went about their daily lives on a regular basis, fooling everyone around them with how sane they appeared to be, just to snap on those who least expected it. How many “crazies” were there that left their victims thinking they were the last ones expected to show such cruelty and commit such deplorable acts? Just how many of them never saw it coming? I myself never saw the craziness and the cruelty behind Lisa’s mask of compassion, sensitivity, kindness, and intelligence until it was too late. Lisa was in her office working on her laptop that afternoon. She had the day off, but she still had online business of sorts to tend to here and there. “Can I come in?” I asked from the doorway. “Sure.” “What’s up?” “Not much. Just playing some stupid game.” Then, “Actually…” “Yeah?” “I do have a question for you.” “What’s that?” “You’re always welcome to say no, of course, but I was curious to know if you wouldn’t mind sharing your blog with me?” She looked up at me as if searching my face for an answer. “I could, but why now?” She gave a slight shrug and said, “Just simple curiosity. It’s strictly up to you, though. You can say no.” “It’s okay. You can check it out.” “I noticed the link was no longer available on Facebook from before you moved down here, and I couldn’t find it by other means, so I thought you might just want your privacy or something like that.” I smiled. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of her reading my blog, even though I had nothing to hide in it. I just wanted a somewhat private place to express myself, but I knew that if I said no, it might make me look like I was hiding something. “It was actually other family members I wanted to keep it private from.” “Oh, so it’s private now?” “No, it’s public. It’s just at a different site now, and I haven’t shared the link with anyone.” “Oh. So, can you tell me where it is?” I recited it to her, glad I hadn’t written anything she might find objectionable. I left her in there to read for a while and then returned a half-hour later with tuna fish sandwiches for lunch. “Oh, aren’t you a sweet one. Thank you very much, honey.” “My dear hubby deserves the pampering.” She chuckled, took a bite of the sandwich, and said, “Made to perfection.” I sat in a nearby chair, paper plate on my lap, and bit into my own sandwich. “You know, you’re a fantastic little writer.” “Thank you.” “And I appreciate you not using real names and the rave reviews of my sexual performances.” I couldn’t help but feel myself blush. We finished our lunch, and she continued reading. Despite her compliments, I really wished she would just stop already. I returned to the office hoping to distract her and that she would pay more attention to my flesh instead of my words, but things didn’t quite work out that way. “Hey, Shay?” “Yeah?” “These blogs usually have multiple security settings, don’t they?” Crap! “Yeah,” I admitted too hesitantly. “So do you have any private entries that would be visible only if I were logged in as you?” I didn’t want to lie. She could find out if she really wanted to, anyway. “A few.” This time, she sensed my hesitation and said, “You can still say no.” “I have no problem sharing them. It’s just that I usually go private to practice my other languages. You could use a translator, but they fuck up a lot, and I’m really not in the mood to read them to you now because I have a slight headache. I’m flattered that you like my writing so much, but can we do it later? Right now, I just want to lie down for a while.” Lisa gazed at me, hints of suspicion flickering in her eyes. “Ok. You can share later if you still want to.” Shit! I knew there was no stopping her now, and that my piss-poor excuse would only make her more determined. I wondered if I could sneak onto my own laptop and remove some of the entries without her knowing what I was up to. I had a feeling that if I decided not to share, she would just use a password cracker that the cops often used when investigating cases online. I just didn’t feel comfortable sharing private stuff with her, for some reason. Sharing intimate details once shared with her sister, or some shitty experiences I had as a child, just felt awkward to me. I headed upstairs, and sure enough, she was right behind me. I went into the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and fell onto the bed. “No painkillers?” she asked, leaning in the doorway. “No, not at this point. If it gets worse or won’t let up soon, then I’ll take something.” Without another word, she walked away, knowing full well that my headache was feigned. It seems you couldn’t fool a detective any more than you could fool a psychologist. “You feel like going for an evening stroll on the beach?” I asked Lisa later that night. “Sure. If you’re feeling better,” she said, plucking her laptop off her lap and placing it on the couch beside her. “I am. Then maybe I can share the private entries with you later or tomorrow. I’m just in the mood for some fresh air right now.” She picked her feet up off the footstool and planted them on the floor. “Not up to going alone, huh?” I shook my head. “Sorry for sounding like a sissy. I know it’s pretty safe around here, but I think you have a way of making me feel even safer.” She smiled, flattered. “Even if you weren’t a detective, you could probably still kick the crap out of most people if you had to.” “Well, I’m honored to be your protector, and yes, I will keep you safe. After you, Mrs. Winters,” she said, opening the door. We ran around on the nearly deserted beach that night, laughing, chasing, and tackling each other. “I’m running away!” I shouted playfully, bolting over a slight knoll. “And I will always find and catch you!” she exclaimed back, chasing after me and catching a giggling me in no time at all. Eventually, our bodies were pressed against each other, and so were our lips. “Getting horny?” she asked with a seductive giggle. “As always,” I said, not knowing that this would be the last time I would enjoy being with my husband.