Nelson

My Childhood Roommate
Short Story by Marissa C.
Eight Years to Go
I was five when I began counting down the years until my
sister would move out. Dont get me wrongI love her. I
love her like I love the winter coat crammed in my closet; its
great when the temperature is below freezing and I need it to
keep me warm, but every other day it takes up half the space
in my closet and Im tempted to slash it into a million pieces.
Since my sister is four years older than me, as a child I
thought she was the wisest person I knew. She took full
advantage of this. Any story she told (like the one about the
cat who gave birth to a chicken) was 100 percent true: the
bogeyman really would kidnap me if I didnt sleep under the
covers, and when we played Scrabble, the word that scored
her 36 points, confuzzled, was actually in the dictionary (but
in the newer edition we didnt have).
Along with the stories of me being adopted and all our
relatives being able to do magic except me, my sister
convinced me of another reason why I didnt belong in the
family. I had always been perplexed about why my sister
and mom both had striking strawberry blond hair while mine
was dark.
Thats because Mom had an accident on your head when
you were born, my lovely sister reasoned.
I washed my hair 100 times that week.
Six Years to Go
As a younger sister, I never once received first dibs on the
chocolate cake-batter spoon; I never got to be teacher
when we played school, or be Beauty when we acted out
our favourite Disney movie; riding in the front seat was
completely out of the question. Sharing a room, however,
caused the most problems.

Form: Short Story (The Cake Princess)

My sister must have failed basic math because the tape that
separated our room clearly did not split it 50/50. It was
more like 90/10. Guess who had the bigger slice? My half,
however, included the closet. I assumed this gave me full
reign over the clothes inside. Wrong.

Form: Short Story (The Cake Princess)

One day while my sister was gone (most likely torturing

some other innocent person), I decided to try on her new
overalls with the rhinestone straps. I slipped into the twosizes-too-big outfit and ran into the bathroom where I
admired myself in the mirror, pretending to be flirting with
Josh, the love of my life (that week, anyway). Far from my
daydreaming mind, footsteps echoed down the hall.
What do you think youre doing? The words tingled
down my spine like a spider. My heart stopped. My hands
trembled. I had been caught.
Please dont kill me in my sleep. Please dont let my sister
kill me in my sleep.
Four Years to Go
The sounds were familiar: the slamming doors, the
screaming voices, the shattering dishes. Mom was fighting
with the boyfriend again. I had stopped remembering their
names. My sister and I tiptoed into our room. Ignoring
the tape on the floor, I crawled into bed with her and she
handed me her CD player. Everything we had fought about
that day didnt matter anymore. She was the warm winter
coat I needed. And I remembered why I love her.
The next day, when we watched Aladdin, she let me be
Princess Jasmine.
Two Years to Go
Tonight was yet another night with my head under my
pillow, attempting to drown out the music that felt like
an earthquake through the walls of our house. Tonight I
hated my sister and her thunderous parties. I hated her
for keeping me up until 3 a.m. when I told her I had an
important test the next day. It was nights like these that
reminded me why I couldnt wait for my sister to move out.
I walked downstairs and was disgusted by the teenagers
drinking out of red plastic cups and groping each other as if

Form: Short Story (The Cake Princess)

they were checking for ticks. However, the worst sight of all
was discovering my sister in the middle of it. No longer was
she the wise, beautiful girl I had looked up to. She was just
another person who had let me down.
Its hard to remember why you love someone when all you
can think about is how much you hate them.
Zero Years to Go
I had two Christmases the year my sister left for college.
Finally I was freeno more sharing a room, no more being
harassed, and best of all, no more nights of only four hours
of sleep. After counting down for eight years, I was finally
an only child. I thought I would be the happiest girl ever.
And I was, at first.
No longer did I have to take a three minute ice-cold shower
or share a dinner at an expensive restaurant. I was living
the life of an only child and loving it. But after a few weeks
I began to feel lonely. No one was around to give me advice
about boys or fashion.
Sure, my sister and I had our clashes, but we always had
each other when we were in need. Now, separated by five
hundred kilometres and a string of mountains, I feel like I
am missing my other half.

Copyright 2010 by Nelson Education Ltd.d.

Form: Short Story (The Cake Princess)