My Sister's Boyfriend

Malu narrando

I tried to focus on the reading in front of me, a required school book, but one that I couldn't help but like. The book was Capitães da Areia by Jorge Amado and in total I had already read it about 5 times, alternating between the new books I bought and my favorites. I loved reading and for as long as I could remember I was surrounded by books. This was due to the fact that my mother, Dona Betty, had already been a Librarian when she was young, so she always brought one book or another home. When she got married and Ceci was born, she quit her job and dedicated herself to being a housewife. But by then, the house was already filled with books; distributed on bookshelves, wall shelves and in cardboard boxes, his only truly valuable asset. And I loved books and like my mother, I respected them and breathed them. I wasn't good at writing, but I admired that world full of words that became simple, even for a girl as difficult and complicated as me. And I definitely loved the book I was reading, not only because of the author's natural and rhythmic speech, but because of the characters and admired such a faithful portrayal of hatred.

It was at the part where Dora arrived to join the boys at the warehouse, a part that I loved so much, but Karol didn't cooperate. She made noises, shaking her doll, singing songs that started to drive me crazy. They weren't even children's songs, they were current, irritating songs that stuck like glue in our heads. Karol was my younger sister, five years old. She was very small for her age and her voice was extremely thin and irritating. Her short, straight hair, a very light brown bordering on caramel blonde, gave her an angelic appearance, but she loved disturbing others. Basically she was too much of everything, too agitated, too smart, too irritating!

• Karol! – I shouted, losing my patience.

• Trying?

– Why don’t you go watch a DVD?

• Because I do not want. – I frowned at his answer, but I kept quiet, going back to reading. Unfortunately she shifted the focus of her attention to me. Now she was practically on top of me from behind the sofa, trying to read, even though she can't read, the book.

– Please leave me alone. – I groaned, I hated reading with someone on top of me.

– It’s a vacation, I can do whatever I want. – she said, nonchalantly. Yes, it was a vacation. And unfortunately I wouldn't travel, I would have to put up with it.

• No you can not!

• I can yes.

Of course, when I decided to live with my mother permanently, I knew I would have to put up with her new husband's daughter, my half sister, but did the girl have to be so annoying? I lived with my father until a year ago, then after he got married again I decided to come live with my mother. Yes, the reason was that old cliché: My stepmother is horrible. I just couldn't stand her annoying quirks. I actually liked staying here, even though I didn't have as much peace as I used to.

– Please, Karol.

– Karol leave your sister alone! – My mother shouted from the kitchen.

Karol stuck his tongue out at me as he walked away. I, very mature, imitated. She walked backwards and bumped into Maria Cecília, better known as Ceci. My mother had something with Marias, I don't know if she liked the name, or repetitive and boring things. All the daughters were Marias. One Maria Cecília, the oldest. The other Maria de Lourdes, me, although no one knows my name, everyone knows me as Malu. And the worst of the Marias, Maria Karolina. Speaks seriously! All daughters having a Maria in their middle, that's originality and creativity. Unfortunately for my mother, who loved names, none of her daughters allowed anyone to call her Maria. We were known by our nicknames: Ceci, Malu and Karol. I hated my name mainly because I had already met a Maria de Lourdes, an old woman who lived on the street behind us and was surrounded by children, who called her Senhora and Vovó. The name and the noise irritated me. I liked my nickname, it was light and it rolled around like gum in other people's mouths. Sweet and smooth. I felt like I was doing them a favor by reducing my ridiculous and tiresome name.

– Be careful, Karol.

– Oops. – Karol walked away, placing his hands on his rosy cheeks. Ceci rolled her eyes, looking at us and analyzing us. I tried to hide through the pages of the book, already anticipating some complaint from her. About any little thing. From clothes to the way I lay on the couch.

– Nobody got ready? – Finally the question. I tried to ignore her, trying to read the same sentence for the fourth time.

– What do you mean no one got ready? You've got to be kidding!

– What did you arrange for? – I asked tediously, still trying to concentrate on the book.

– I'm bringing my boyfriend here today.

• What boyfriend? - Another? That's what I wanted and I should have asked.

– The one she’s been talking about for a couple of weeks. – My mother said, jokingly. Appearing from the kitchen. My mother was beautiful, tall and slender, unfortunately I hadn't matched her height. Nobody gave her the 45 years she had just by looking at her. She was already in her second marriage and not even time had diminished her appearance and attractiveness, making her more mature and attractive. But when I met her, things changed. When they met her, they saw what a mother she was. She was beautiful, yes... There was no doubt, but her slurred way of speaking, the screams she directed at us like scolding and the bitterness that the fights during the divorce and new marriage caused her, made her a little dull.

– Huh, that guy Adalberto? – I joined the game and heard my mother start to laugh, that loud, easy laugh of hers. In fact, I had completely forgotten the name of the boyfriend at the time.

• Mother! – Ceci shouted, nervously. My sister got stressed too easily. He didn't look 18, but 81.

– His name is Igor! Igor!

– Igor? Why Igor? Why the hell did her boyfriend have to be called Igor? -I pushed some useless memories out of my mind and sank deeper into the sofa.

– Because his parents wanted his name to be Igor! What an idiotic question, Malu. - she said.

– Blah, blah, what a stupid question, Malu. – I grumbled, imitating her.

– Don't start fighting. – My mother warned and Ceci snorted, crossing her arms. – I hope this boy is worth it, seriously. And may you calm down once and for all.

– You can leave it, mom. – she said, smiling. I snorted, I hated it when she brought her new boyfriends here. It was a pain in the ass. Having to smile, be very polite, put up with the lame jokes, pretend to be friendly and of course, feel compassion when she sees the boy's passionate look at her, knowing that he would soon be kicked by someone taller, or blonder, or with a better sports car.

• Shy?

– Eu.

– Aren’t you going to get ready?

– It’s still 5 o’clock.

– And it takes you two just to shower. – I looked at Ceci, totally irritated. She put her hands together, in a 'please' gesture. I closed the book and placed it on the coffee table. Defeated. - Will you go or not?

– Okay. I'm going, I'm going. – I got up irritated and my mother went back to the kitchen. I walked to the stairs. – There is no peace in this house!

• Shy?

– What is it this time?

– Be good. I really like him. – laughs ironically.

– And when am I not good?

I would love to say that I was dressed up in my best clothes, anxious and looking forward to meeting my sister's new love, ready to give all the support in a difficult time like this, which is introducing your boyfriend to the family. But it would be a huge lie. No boy was worth that much effort. Especially when I knew that my ‘dear brothers-in-law’ relationship with Ceci’s boyfriend would only last a maximum of two months, and I’m thinking positively. In other words, boyfriends being introduced to my mother; on Ceci's part, it was the most common thing in the world. So... I barely got ready and I wasn't anxious at all, in fact I was discouraged. To irritate Ceci even more, she was simply wearing denim shorts and a long, comfortable coat. On his feet, a pair of flip-flops. Really well off. And woe betide Ceci if she complained.

I sat on my bed, looking around as I combed my damp hair. My bed was unmade and my computer desk needed real tidying up. The small dresser squeezed next to the computer, which I used to store my clothes, was full of dust and the television on top asked me to tear off the stickers that Karol insisted on affixing. Near the window, there was a shelf with my various books, school notebooks and papers thrown together with my backpack. In other words, my room needed a new cleaning. New Year had just passed and I hadn't cleaned that room. It was a small room, but I was lucky I didn't have to share it. Each of us had our own room. Mine was the second smallest and Ceci's was bigger and better looked after, benefits of passing the entrance exam the first time. Karol's was an old office that served as his bedroom and playroom. My mother's was downstairs and was without a doubt the best. I could fit two of my rooms inside hers. Mine, besides being the smallest, was the worst. Because it was facing the street, that is, when there was some kind of party, or a car with a loud sound near the gate. My room turned into a gigantic speaker box. I tied my hair up with a braid, while it was still wet, and decided to let it dry on its own, not before applying a leave-in conditioner, to avoid future disasters.

I went downstairs and threw myself on the couch. The room was frighteningly tidy. My house would be beautiful if there weren't so many messy people. Of everyone, only my mother was organized, she liked everything in its place, but she loved trinkets. And her daughters loved leaving things scattered, taking their decorations out of place and this drove her crazy, as she always tried to keep everything tidy. And today she must have been jumping with joy when she saw the room tidy, without Ceci's lipsticks and magazines, and Karol's toys were gone. And the DVDs on the mahogany rack? They had completely disappeared. My mother's burgundy rug was stretched out tightly and the coffee table hid the small orange juice stain Karol had made a few weeks ago. And besides, everything sparkled. The pictures on the wall, the photographs on the shelf, the well-arranged sofas, the small table by the window without the keys lying around. All frighteningly organized. Only my book had been left on the coffee table, along with the magazines about economics, politics and the arts that normally only my mother's husband and I read.

I soon noticed that Ceci really wanted to impress the little guy and that it would be interesting and fun to meet him, the amount of jokes I could make and how to embarrass Ceci like a good little sister that I am was catastrophic and adorable. Maybe dinner wouldn't be so disastrous, tedious and tiring after all, I thought.

Upstairs I could hear Karol's racket in the bathroom, in the kitchen my mother was humming and unfortunately, she doesn't have a very sweet voice... And Ceci was walking from one side to the other around the house. Going up and down the stairs, taking off the slippers scattered around the house, changing the position of my mother's porcelain angels on the shelf and almost drilling the floor with so much agitation. I tried to pick up my book and distract myself from all of Ceci's noise and anxiety, but it was impossible.

– Can you at least stay still? – I commented, already dizzy with her agitation. – Or I'll nail your feet to the ground!

– You seem irritated.

– If I were angry, you would not be among those who are of this world. Translation, dead.

– My life has become exciting since you came to live with us, threats make me emotional.

I couldn't say it had been that exciting for me. I had decided to leave my big, comfortable room, the freedom and coolness that my father gave me, and my annoying, monstrous new stepmother behind when I moved here. Winning two warm and annoying sisters as a gift. An overprotective mother, an indifferent stepfather who was full of frivolities and insults towards my younger sister and schoolmates who would give anything to see me fall off my skateboard, preferably face down, every day when they saw me arrive at school. It was a pretty fun exchange, of course. Living dangerously and all that.