There's one day I always think of as the beginning. Some things about that day are branded clearly in my mind. Some things I'm not sure I'm remembering right. Some things I don't remember at all.
I don't remember the date. I don't remember what day of the week it was, but I know it was the summer of 2001. Elaine had been away at church camp, as a counselor for physically and developmentally challenged people. I'd missed her that summer, and I think that was when I first tried to stop seeing her as "little sister" and to start seeing her as "friend" instead. I started enjoying having her around instead of ignoring her, which is what I feel like I did a lot growing up. There are six years between us.
She came home and we went out somewhere. I'm not sure where we ended up, but she was trying something on in the fitting foom and asked me to help her fasten something.
A Freudian slip is when you say something you didn't mean to say out loud, although maybe you were thinking it. I've sometimes wondered if what happened next was the equivalent of that, like a way for her to ask for help without ASKING FOR HELP.
They were ugly, and seemed bright red against her naturally pale skin. Scratches. Lots of them. On her stomach. My mind scrambled to find a logical explanation for what I was seeing and landed on...camp.
"Oh my goodness! Did you, like, go hiking or something and fall into some bushes?!?" I know, it sounds stupid, but I think I didn't want anything else to be true.
She got very still, and stared at her stomach in the mirror. "Oh. That."
"Yeah. Where did they come from? Did...did someone do that to you?" Visions of me punching some jerk in the face flitted across my mind. You don't mess with my sisters.
"Um, no." Long pause, with her still looking in the mirror. "I did it." I wonder now what made her tell me the truth. Maybe she was tired of hiding it after all.
For a minute, my mind flashed back to my freshman year of High School. Mentally I was in a bad place that year. I would feel so mad and hurt, without knowing how to talk about it. I would take a pencil and scratch my left forearm with it until it bled, or use the eraser end and rub until I got kind of friction burns. I knew how messed up I was then, and I knew if she was hurting herself something serious must be going on.
Elaine was good at covering it up, but like I said, she was probably exhausted by it. I put my hand out and got her to look at me. "I love you, but this is serious. You need to tell mom and dad about it."
I could see the panic in her eyes. "I'll be with you if you want, we can tell them together; but you tell them, or I will." She said ok and we finished our day.
Later that night I thought about it and couldn't bear the thought of blindsiding Mom and Dad with it. I was afraid that they would have a bad reaction to it and it would scare Elaine more. So, in my traditional role as family peacemaker, I found Mom in her room, sorting through laundry. I think Elaine was downstairs.
That night, Mom and I both cried and held each other. I think we both knew that whatever was going on with Elaine, it wasn't going to be an easy fix. I think we also were both a little stunned and scared. Like I said before, Elaine was good at hiding things...but I felt guilty that I hadn't seen sooner that she was hurting.
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