to hold a job, that advised her to leave in the middle of a shift, or scream at people about cold coffee, but to my mother this was all just words, because my sister looked fine, and what was this thing inside her they kept talking about? If she really had something that dangerous, wouldn't she be dead by now? So my mother yelled, Stop making excuses, and my sister would counter with something about lack of parental affection when she was younger. And on and on, and now it was my turn to be Mother. Growing older does not mean more friends and wisdom, it means you must go to greater lengths to avoid people you no longer want to see. So I said to my sister, I can't talk about this now, and that was a big mistake. Neglect is fatal, and inattention leads to things like my sister stealing all the old family jewelry from my mother's cramped apartment, and the hatchback to boot, selling them for quick cash. Which is what she
 | | did. She didn't even use the profits for something daring like drugs. Instead, strapless dresses that would be out of style six months later, or every variety of cigarette in the Western hemisphere, or a trip to Hawaii, even though she has been there fifteen times before with one of those ex-boyfriends who is married but can't seem to leave the picture, but it is the only place she can "relax," and if I only gave her enough to settle down on Kona, and take that wellness class spiced with a little yoga, she would be perfectly happy, which is utter bull, she can never be happy. No snap judgments, I say to myself to calm down, you are no better. But I am better, I have the earache to prove it, I am dripping with sympathy and compassion and respect for people who have long since died, and Mother has joined that pantheon. I sit awake at night under my fluorescent lamp, staring at the light until it dances violet in my eyes, regarding the
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