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"Sorry," I said.

"For what?" Ruthie asked. I shuffled my papers together and started to leave the room.

"I'll get out of your way. Just take me a second." I pulled everything into a stack and yanked my backpack off the chair.

"You're not in my way." She took the bag from my hand and looped the strap over the chair again. "Sit, sit. Honestly, Nick, you're not in the way. This is your place now, too."

"I just - I know you've got your own routine here, and I didn't want to change anything." I stood there like an idiot with a slowly sliding pile of papers in my arm and half standing from the chair. She sat at the other side of the small dining table and slid a coaster over for her mug.

"Look, sweetie, if you're in my way I'll let you know, huh?" She winked and sipped from her coffee. I relaxed and sat back down. "Besides, I'm curious to see what you've been working on in here." She slipped a page from the stack and held it up to read it.

"I don't like it," I told her.

"Why not?" She kept reading. "It sounds good to me."

"I don't know. Just don't. I hardly ever like my work." I watched her eyes for any reaction to the page. Each crinkle of her brow and smirk of her lips was like a signal flag snapping in the wind as far as I was concerned.

"You don't write like a kid who can't buy beer yet." She smiled and put the page down. "Did you write a lot in high school?" Her finger slowly twirled at a long, thick lock of hair.

"Yeah. I mean, for myself, not for a class or anything. Just stuff." I was babbling. My sister always did that to me. She was 20 years older than I was, and it made me nervous. There's an expectation of equality between siblings, and when the older sibling is old enough to be your mother, it gets weird. I try too hard to sound mature and the second I speak I'm certain that my youth comes bursting through and makes me sound like an idiot.

Not that Ruthie ever tried to make me feel that way. She's been good to me my whole life. Nevertheless, I can't help think that when she was getting a divorce, I was still playing kick-ball on the playground during recess. When she was celebrating her 30th birthday, I was nervously holding hands with my first girlfriend at the neighborhood Fourth of July party. And when Ruthie was closer to 40 than to 30, I was careening much to fast down the highway with my brand new driver's license in my pocket. No matter how many times I told myself to just relax, I couldn't help but get all nervous about not being a stupid kid in front of her.

Even calling her Ruthie seemed weird, but I think we both liked it. It helped to keep us grounded as brother and sister.

"I always wished I could write like this. Tell stories and come up with the wild stuff you do." She smiled at me and leaned back in her chair. I just sat there and grinned like a doof. I should have said something gracious, or intelligent to confirm her compliment, but I suppose it was destined that I should stand up to get something to drink and hit my head on the light that hung from the ceiling on a small silver flecked chain.

"Oh, Nicky, are you okay?" She was up like a shot checking the top of my head as I bent over in surprise and a sharp bit of pain. I was still unused to having to worry about hitting things as I walked or stood. I'd been average height at best for the majority of my life. Come senior year of high school, I shoot up almost a foot. Clothes didn't fit if I bought from a normal store. Shelves that stuck out far enough were suddenly trying to kill me. My feet never fit under the table without mashing anyone else foolish enough to sit with me. It was just new enough that I was still making an ass of myself.

My sister understood to a degree. She was tall too. Almost six feet. However, tall for a woman and tall for a man is like comparing apples to orange watermelons.

"Does it hurt?" she asked. She was touching my head where I hit the light and wincing each time as she felt for a lump as though she were the one in pain.

"I'm getting used to it." I could smell her perfume. Her leg was pressed tight to my thigh.

"Well, tell you what, why don't you sit and try not to bleed to much and I'll fix dinner."

"It's my turn, I can do it," I said. I started to get up but she laid a hand on my shoulder to keep me in my chair.

"Nonsense. Besides, you look like you were getting into a zone or whatever writers do. Is it a zone?" She smiled brilliant teeth and I laughed.

"Yeah." I sat back. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." She patted my arm and padded off for the kitchen.

I could see her from the table and watched as she slid around the tile in her socks. She zipped around like a teenager left alone for the first night.

"Mind if I turn on the radio," she called over her shoulder.

"Go ahead. I like to work with distractions." I pulled a pad of paper around and fished my pen out of the stack in the middle of the table. I stared at the pad a moment, trying to get back to my train of thought before Ruthie had walked in earlier.

I heard pans clanging in the next room and looked over. The only thing that separated the dining room from the kitchen was a small bar and an accordion door that was pushed all the way to the side. Ruthie was lost in her own little moment. She was flicking on burners and pulling bags from the freezer, all while dancing in popping movements to some band she's been listening to since before I was born. I was struck by the difference between a pretty girl and an attractive woman. They were two different animals.

I remember thinking how glad I was that I didn't move out west with my parents. I never really had the chance to know my sister any better than I knew some of my cousins, and I was thrilled to see her in her own light. When you only see someone at holidays and family functions, you don't get to see how they really live.

Her long blond hair tumbled around as she moved back and forth. She zipped around and made all sorts of noise as she cooked. I smiled a bit and set to my paper. The words just seemed to flow. It was easy. I didn't need to write fast. I put word after word on paper and each one came as fast as it needed to. I'd finished five or six sheets before she came in with two big bowls of food. She handed me the bigger bowl, heaping with beef and vegetables. I think she was the only woman I'd ever met who fully understood the ravenous hunger of a large, growing 19 year old. It was worse than when I was 16. There was never too much food.

"Let's eat with TV," she said. She always said "TV" like it was a person. We sat on the couch and ate while watching a rerun of a cop drama. It sounds lame, but I was having entirely too much fun just living with my sister. I always wished she were around when I was a kid, but I knew she had her own life. Sometimes I felt like the step-brother around her. As though I was the product of some other union altogether. It was finally starting to feel right, though.

"How's your show going?" she asked one night. We were watching an old movie and I was starting to dose off.

"Good," I said, rubbing an eye with the heel of my palm. I was lucky enough to turn a sample script for a decent budget cable show into a permanent position on the writing staff. One of my best friends from high school had a brother who was the producer for the show. He got me a chance to send a sample in and they liked it a lot. It was killing me though. Once they saw what I could do, they made me a kind of supervising writer. This meant that in addition to the regular episode writing I was doing, I was also expected to read over and fix scripts that I didn't write. By the time I was done with a full day of reading and running around making sure everything was being done, I could barely keep my eyes open past ten at night.

"You look like you're ready to fall over," she laughed.

"I didn't think it'd be this hard." I rolled my head to the side and looked at her. She was curled up with her feet under her body and her shoulder was jammed in the corner of the high back of the couch.

"Is it worth it?"

"Definitely." I smiled at the thought of what I had the opportunity to do every day. "Never mind the fact that I get to write a TV show. Forget that. I'm in charge of other writers. And I'm meeting people that work for all these companies. A couple of them have asked me to meet with them." My excitement had jazzed my brain up a bit. I was sitting up and had an arm over the back of the couch while I turned in my seat to look at her.

"I can't wait to see it. When does it come on?" She pulled a leg up to hold her knee straight at her chest. I didn't immediately notice the way her gray flannel shorts seemed to disappear a little.

"The network's going to run a sneak preview of the pilot episode in a month. We still have to get about six more episodes shot. Which means we'll be writing and re-writing like mad for the next month." She smiled at my happiness. I was struck by how young she seemed. I didn't know what a 39-year-old woman should look like, but she didn't seem to look it. She didn't look 20, but I couldn't get 39 just looking at her.

I felt warm in my chest. There was a taste of adrenalin on the back of my tongue.

"I can't tell you how happy I am for you, Nicky." She pulled a long lock of hair from her face. I noticed faint wrinkles at her eyes. It made her look like she was constantly smiling. She was beautiful in her ease. Suddenly, she jumped from the couch. Her shorts were wedged up between her cheeks giving a glimpse of the firm body no one got to see. She quickly straightened them down with a pinch of her fingers on the tight hem. "I'm...it's been a long day, so I'm going to bed. Good night." She sounded odd, but I ignored it.

"Okay. Good night." She walked quickly to her room and shut the door. I sat there and watched television until I drifted off.

I woke the next morning with a start. I was still on the couch and the TV was off.

"Ruthie," I called. I checked my watch. It was only 6:30 am. I didn't have to be in for another hour and a half. I stood up and shook the stiffness from my legs. I walked around the couch and down the hall to my room. I looked into Ruthie's open door and called her again. I didn't hear any response.

"Thursday," I said aloud. She went in early on Tuesdays and Thursdays to work out at the 'Y' before work. I was about to leave when I saw her desk by the door. It was covered in photographs. They looked like they were all from when she was in high school and just after. I sat down in her chair and started shuffling through the mess.

I found photographs from her punk phase. Tall pink hair that jabbed at the sky. Black make-up and ripped clothes. It all seemed so interestingly inappropriate on her. She was smiling and laughing in every one. I was seeing her, as I'd never known she could ever be. In these photos was a girl with my sister's eyes. She was skinny in her way. Definitely not the smooth, fit woman she was now.

She had them all marked on the backs with dates. I flipped them all over and pulled out the packets that were still in a shoebox next to the desk. I spent 15 minutes putting them all in order. I turned over my stacks and went through them one by one.
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