my siblings

I was in the bedroom of the home I lived in throughout my teenage years. I was in bed and my mother walked in with two other people: a man and a woman. She flicked on the light and showed them around the room – perhaps they were buying the house. After they had gone, my sister came into the room; she looked lovely and sleepy so I lifted the quilt and let her crawl into bed beside me. Next our brother joined us; he was wearing a rust coloured hand-knitted jumper like one he might have worn when he was a child. Another woman sat with us in the room; it became apparent that this was our older sister. My mother came in and gave her a present: a sky-blue, wide belt with a silver buckle. She thanked my mother, who left the room, but I didn’t feel that she had appeared grateful enough. She explained that she liked that belt but was not sure about its value. I told her that I was looking forward to getting to know her and that I had known and understood my brother and sister our entire lives. My brother then walked out of the room and began to cross a road that appeared outside the bedroom door. A car rushed by and he tripped, hitting his head on the bitumen. We all ran to him. I arrived first and I picked him up and turned him over, holding him in my arms. There was blood on his head and my heart pounded so hard in my chest I woke with a start.