WHY MY SISTER IS A TERRIBLE, BAD, NASTY PERSON

DISCLAIMER: MY SISTER, MANDY, IS A WONDERFUL PERSON (now) AND I LOVE HER VERY MUCH (now) (certain details may have been blown out of proportion or overshadowed to make me look spotless and her like a O.J. Simpson, but all for the sake of comedy)

Summer was the best. Nothing could beat summer when I was kid. Hot weather has never been my favorite, but not going to school was ALWAYS my favorite. My sister, however, at the time was hit or miss. She could be great fun and all laughs or she could make me feel like the overpowered hampster in a science lab. She, at the time, was not only my big sister in age (as she is four years older than me), but also in size, power, and just general build.
This particular summer I must have been about five or six, putting her in the nine or ten range, if math serves me. Being older and admitedly smarter than I on top of the afore mentioned power of which she had greater supply, she often sought ways to either get me in trouble, get me back, or just all together get rid of me. Over the years, her devices swithched to just simply lording her strength of body, wit, and her words over me to keep me under her big sister thumb. Thereby reducing me to nothing more than a toy or a slave. She tried but she failed.

ATTEMPT 1: Upon hearing that she had a new baby brother she replies "Why couldn't it be a girl?" Now, birds and bees aside, I realize that this was a relatively innocent question and I was really too young to be hurt by it, but let's just call it foreshadowing.

ATTEMPT 2: Jumping immediately from slander to abuse my dear sister waits for the proper moment. A moment when the screams of an innocent little boy wouldn't be able to be heard. As our mom was washing the dishes Mandy struck. Mom, in the other room simply hears giggling, and makes a sweet, motherly assumption that her only daughter is playing with and caring for her only son. Mom turns the water off and suddenly hears a mixture of tones. The giggling remains as loud and as jovial as before but beneath it she detected the sound of an infant crying. Crying as if for his very life. She approaches the room only to find Mandy bouncing. BOUNCING on her new brother. Whatever harm done to me must have only been to the part of my brain that remembered that day because I don't.

ATTEMPT 3: "Hey Ian." "Yeah Mandy, what?" "I've got an idea."
How many times did I hear these terrible words? How many times did they lead to pain, dissapointment, or punishment? On this particular day it was a kind of mixture of the first two. My parents were going to be out side. Not too very far, but not in the house. I was rather a particularly well behaved child and, to my knowledge pretty low maintenance. They told me that Mandy was in charge. Okay. A five year old doesn't really have a very accute sense of words. They are usually quite literal in their understanding of things and I was no different. They say Mandy is in charge. I take it to heart. Mandy understands all too well that this is my interpratation.
"Mom and Dad said that I'm in charge Ian." "I know." "So...........lick the carpet."
I did. I'll give you a moment. Your'e probably thinking now about all the things that could be found on your carpet at home now. Ours had at least as much. There's no point in telling any more. I'm sure you can infer the rest. I cried. I washed. Mandy laughed.

Back to the summer we started out in.
"Hey Ian." "Yeah, what?" "I got an idea." "Okay." This time the big plan was to take a small plastic table that I used when I was quite young and stand it up in my red wagon, taking up about half of the surface area of the wagon. Then we draped a blanket over the table creating a shade. Now we have a royal carriage of sorts. The final touch was a plate of grapes, because as we all learned from pictures in history books, the height of oppulance and Roman like lavishness is to eat grapes while being dragged around somewhere.
"We'll take turns in the wagon, and pulling the wagon," she says. As I begin to pull here I find out just how weak I am, how heavy she is, and how hot it is when your'e a mule in the summer. I take her up the block a little. "Is it my turn?" "No, you gotta' take me the whole block and then it's your turn." I press forward with the thought of fresh juicy grapes in the shade as my reward. We reach the end of the block. Finally my rest has arrived. "Okay, let's switch." "Oh. No, I meant all the way up and down the block." "Oh. Alright."
I was down, but not done. Most of the rest of the trip was a blur. Sweat. Labored breath. More grapey dreams. By and by, we made it to the other end of the block. I peered 'neath the blanket and saw the beads of water still resting on the grapes from their earlier sink-cleansing, as beads of sweat still rested on my brow from dragging my freakin' older sister around in my red wagon.
"Alright, let's switch now." "No no no. What I meant was you gotta' get in front of our house 'cause that's where we started."
I was an even tempered child. I had great patience, and great desire for grapes, but more than that I had an irrational fear of my sister. So off we went.
Alas! We arrived. There were no more loopholes. No more excuses or delays. It was my time. As she finally got out, the first of two dissapointments hit. She hands me the plate and sitting atop it are the ravaged remains of what was a plate of delicious green grapes. It lay there like a shriveled up old tree. I was too tired to argue or complain, I just wanted shade and rest and a little kingly ride down Bryan street.
I get in. I get comfortable, and we're on our way. As she begins to pull, I see the look already on her face. This was not fun. This was not like eating grapes. This was like work. I didn't care. I'd put in my time, and now I could not only enjoy, but appreciate the quaint leisure of a carriage ride (power wheels/flinstone style). You know it's small moments like these when you really just think that mayb............wait. Why have we stopped.
"Okay, my turn." IS SHE SERIOUS?! We were about 3/4 past our next door neighbor's house, she turned, wiped her forehead of the sweat it had collected and said "my turn." No grapes, no ride, no fun, and no way was I dragging her sorry presumptuous hinder up and down the block again!!
She knew that my fear of her was trumped by my fear of mom and dad. I generaly didn't do anything if I even imagined there was a way I was gonna' get in trouble for it. Knowin this, she made a last second strategic move on my paranoia. "I'll tell!!"
And off we went. She in the shade and me in my lowly little brother bridle at the helm.
HYAH! HYAH!!
Epilogue: I am nearly a foot taller than her now, I can physically throw her, and my fear of her has reduced considerably. I do still love a fresh green grape though.