On Digging Pits and Falling Into Them

I’ve written about my elder sister more than a couple of times here. When she found out about my blog last week, she asked me to call her Serena, rather than SH, whenever I mention her. Mathew and Serena? (Shrug) Personally, I preferred SH. You know, it’s kind of like I’m shushing her when I talk about her, and that was kind of nice. But well, with progress must come change... sigh.

That done, I guess it’s about time I introduce the brat… ahem, I mean, the other sister. The kid.

For the sake of easy reading, I’m going to call her Zoola. It’s a variation of the nickname Serena came up with way back in the day, and it’s one that would drive her (Zoola) up the wall when she finally gets around to reading this (if ever).

She’s 14, and though she isn’t showing all that much interest in writing, unlike Serena and I, she does have other artistic talents that I don’t. Maybe it’s just that she hasn’t found her voice yet.

Zoola can be sweet when she wants something from you, and a mule when she doesn’t. Your basic kid sister. She’s the youngest, but our parents never let her get spoiled. Close one, that. Growing up with a younger sister isn’t easy. At least with a brother, you can do this... 

... every now and again when authority needs to be established. Not so with sisters. It is so much more complicated with sisters.

The reason for this post, though, is ( obviously) what happened a few weeks ago.

She came into my room asking me about the horror movie Drag Me to Hell. I had it, quite by chance, but I still hadn’t watched it yet. Maybe I was saving it for a day when friends came over and we could all laugh at it together, or maybe I just wasn’t interested in watching it, having better things in line.

I don’t know about you guys, but I personally find horror a bit boring, and sometimes even hilarious. N and I were crying with laughter all the way through The Conjuring, but that was mostly because he and I kept dropping ridiculous one-liners in between tense moments.

Anyway, Zoola started telling me about Drag Me to Hell that day. She wove a sad tale of how her friends had all watched it, and how she was the only one who hadn’t. I responded by rummaging in my desk, showing her the DVD, and then stuffing it back inside.

My mistake. Obviously, she wanted to watch it with me. And obviously, I said no.

I always watch movies with her these days, but there were a few good reasons why I didn’t want her to watch this one: first, she used to have migraines earlier, and two, she sometimes had nightmares. Didn't think that made that good a combination with a horror flick. And thirdly, I hadn’t seen it yet, either, and I didn't know how much in there was appropriate for her.

  

But that didn't stop her, and she didn’t give up asking for the next two weeks. And I kept saying no, and watched other movies with her to compensate. She hadn't watched horror movies before, and I didn't really know how she would take it. She was pretty adamant that she wouldn't be afraid, though, But she was getting really, really annoying, and so, I decided to let her have it. Either that or she'd watch it without me.

After all, it was her choice. A fact that I repeated constantly during the set up process, which involved a few pillows, the laptop, earphones (didn’t want to wake our mother up) and the most crucial ingredient to watching horror movies…

Turning out the lights.

“For the last time. You might not sleep tonight.”

“Nothing can scare me.”

“............ Whatever. Let's just get this over with.”

And so, it began. And... it was boring. It didn't get much less boring as it went on. Zoola yawned. I started browsing articles on my phone.

And then began the part where the gypsy woman started begging inside the bank, and the noise drew my attention. It was starting to get interesting, so I put the phone away and started to watch. Then came the parking garage encounter.

My reaction?  It was hilarious. Come on! She was trying to bite without any teeth! How is that not hysterical? I had to stuff a pillow on my face so I wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

Halfway through the flick, though, it began to get interesting. Not scary, which was disappointing (some stuff was just plain stooopid), but… interesting.

And somewhere past the 45 minute mark, I noticed that Zoola was gripping my arm tightly. Sometime later, she paused and turns to me.

“Um… could we watch something else after this?”

It wasn’t easy to keep my face straight, but since the lights were off, my grin of victory must have looked like a grin of pure evil in the monitor’s glare. Which, honesty, it also was.

“Oh, I don’t know. Like what?”

“An… an animation, maybe? Something funny? After this one, of course.”

“Oh, we’ll see. After this.”

So, after the rather satisfactory ending, Zoola looked at me with a hopeful smile.

“Wreck-it Ralph?”

I faked a yawn that turned into a much longer real yawn. Talk about getting into the character, eh?

“I don’t know. It’s 1 am, and I’m tired. And you need to sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” she said, “Come on, let’s watch Wreck-it Ralph, we haven't seen that yet.”

“Why do you want to watch an animation? Don’t tell me you’re too frightened to go to sleep?” 

I chose one of the mocking laughs I keep in stock for just such an occasion and used it to its full potential, “Or that you’re so afraid, you need to forget this?”

“No! Of course not!” She glared at me, “What’s the matter with you?”

“G'night, shoo.”

I moved to close the laptop's monitor. Note that the lights were still off, and the moment the monitor went off, I would have to get off the bed and walk six feet to the switch and flick the lights back on.

And in those precious seconds, Zoola would be utterly alone. In the dark. With only the images of the movie we just watched in her mind's eye to keep her company.

How much of that flashed through her mind I don’t know, but before my hand touched the screen, she had yanked it back and was holding onto it for dear life.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Let’s watch Wreck-it Ralph.”

“No,” I grinned.

She shuddered, visibly.

“Please.”

I grinned some more. I couldn’t help it. C’mon, people. These are moments to cherish, blackmail worthy pouches of gold to hang on to because you know she would do the same if the roles were reversed. As evil as I sound, this was my nuclear deterrent. And no, this is one of those few times that I’m not exaggerating.

And besides. She brought this on herself. I did warn her, didn't I? But I’m not that cruel. To prove it, this is what I said next.

“We’re going to watch Wreck-it Ralph on one condition. Admit you’re too frightened to go to sleep unless you do.”

To which she promptly replied

And of course, I did the natural thing. I reached for the laptop with the other hand.

“NO!”

“Say it!”

“I’m NOT!”

“I’m going to sleep.”

Finally, we ended up watching Wreck-it Ralph. The Weaver had won again.

Forty five minutes into it, I was half gone, but Zoola was apparently cured. She jumped up, said she was okay, and went off to her room. I smiled as I mentally filed the last two hours for future use, and then let my laptop hibernate.

I switched off the lights, snuggled into bed, and closed my eyes.

Zoola? She was fine next morning, and eager for her next late night horror movie. And me?

This was me, the rest of that night.