Dear Conscience,
I can’t believe you. The first week of the summer holidays, and you put THIS over my head? Not only do I find out the day I get back that Petunia is getting married in August, and I never knew about it, because they wanted to tell me “in person”, but they also suspended ALL the celebrations until I was home. JUST SO THAT I COULD ATTEND.
Earlier today was my bridesmaid dress fitting. Petunia’s is all sorted out, a billowing lacy number, but they waited for my return before picking out my dress so I could “Have some input”.
Not bleeding likely. The only input I had was flat out refusing to wear salmon pink, Petunia’s favourite colour (don’t ask why). Eventually a greeny bluey colour was decided on. I don’t really like it, but it’s better than salmon pink I guess.
Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing to you again. I’m writing to you because of the Engagement party happening in our Living Room that I just got subtly kicked out of.
And I’m blaming you. I told you to be on guard, to let me know something is wrong BEFORE I act, not after. But oh no. Granted, that was because of my suspicions about Potter (still no word on that, but the longer he leaves it, the worse their plot must be, right?)
Okay. Here’s what happened. As if you don’t already know.
It was your average party, really. Sausages on sticks, cheese on sticks, pineapple pieces on sticks, everything skewered on a bloody stick. I was doing nothing out of the norm. Mingling with people I didn’t like, avoiding people I really didn’t like, and giving a discreet kick in the shins to the people who I definitely didn’t like. Petunia laughed far too loudly, and very high pitched, while Dursley either droned on about something nobody cared about, or grunted every so often if it was he who didn’t care about what someone was saying.
So, the thing is, I got addicted to the punch, because there was this special twang in it that made me happy. Of course, I realise now that it so happened to have been spiked with some sort of alcoholic beverage, but at the time I was just grateful that at least one thing at this party besides from me didn’t have a stick up its arse (oh shut up, I can say what I like). Anyway, after several glasses, I decided it would be the proper thing to do to make a speech about my dear sister and her fiancé.
You should have stopped me there. But no.
After tapping my plastic cup with one of the sticks from the sausages for a while, I realised it wasn’t making a noise loud enough to grab anybody’s attention (except for our small, ridiculous poodle, Poochy, who was jumping up and down frantically every time I tapped my cup). So I got a shiny fork, and tapped it on the side of the glass bowl that the godly punch was in. Everyone turned to look. I cleared my throat importantly.
“I just want to say a few words about my crazy “ sorry, my darling sister Petunia, and of course, her piglet “ I mean, her fiancé,” I said, taking what I now see as sneering, but then saw as encouraging looks to be prompts to continue.
“I thought I said no speeches, Mum!” Petunia wailed.
“That’s funny,” I said, “when Petunia wails, she sounds like a seahorse.” The, um, ‘encouraging’ looks intensified. What was I thinking? Why didn’t you stop me? I continued. “So, the speech. Well, first of all congratulations on your engagement. Coincidentally, have either of you ever considered spectacles? Because I hear they change your whole perspective on life.”
“Lily,” Petunia began sharply, but I put my finger on my lips and shushed her loudly.
“When I first met Petunia, I can’t remember what happened, because I was probably only a few days old, and I cried a lot. Ever since then, I still feel like crying when I see her, but it’s no longer socially acceptable, so I just cry on the inside. But then, Vernon came into her life. Then, instead of feeling like crying on the inside, I felt like shooting myself, which was basically the same, only more theatrical and less tedious. It’s true what they say. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. Well, I just want Petunia to know, that if I could choose my family, I would never choose you. And as for Vernon “ I don’t know why anybody in the world would choose you, so the chances of someone with half a brain cell like me choosing you are slim to none. But every cloud has a silver lining! Well, this poor grey cloud’s may only be an aluminium lining, but it still has one. At least Petunia won’t ever need to be paranoid that her husband is having an affair with her sister!” And then I poured myself another cup of punch, and raised it in the air as a toast.
“To the happy couple “ Vernon, who bores to death everyone he knows, and Petunia, who hates me because I’m a wi “”
At this point, Mum took hold of my arm, and gently pulled me out of the room. “Lily, dear, I would appreciate it if you went upstairs and thought very hard about the words you just spoke,” she told me.
“Sure thing, Mum,” I said, and climbed the staircase “ which was a harder task than I remembered it ever being.
That’s when I came upstairs, and recounted my impromptu speech. Which is when I came to the conclusion that the punch was spiked. I’m such a fool ... Why don’t you stop me doing these things? I hate you.
And I have a headache.
Sincerely,
Lily
Dear Conscience,
I can’t believe you. You let me go and ruin a social event to do with my sister’s wedding AGAIN. I mean, seriously. I don’t WANT to keep ruining all these things that get planned. I’d like to just blend in with everyone else, and then forget about it and go back to my normal life.
WHY do I have this talent for showing myself up at social functions? Why can’t I have a remarkable talent for invisibility like that girl in our dorm who it took me three months to notice, and another two months to learn the name of? I bet she doesn’t show herself up at all of her sister’s wedding celebrations. She probably doesn’t even have a sister. She’s so lucky.
This time it was the hen night. It was doomed from the start, of course. Just the fact that I was invited means it was doomed. Not that Petunia invited me or anything “ oh no. It was all Mum’s idea, so that I could “make up for things.”
I said that I was perfectly happy being considered a drunken idiot by Petunia and her friends if it meant I didn’t have to go to a 1950s themed hen night. Petunia said that she didn’t want me ruining her special night, not after last time, and whose idea was it to have a 1950s theme anyway, because it certainly wasn’t hers. Mum happily ignored us both.
So I was stuck wearing a huge, stupid pink poodle skirt with a tight white jumper tucked in, and a pink bandanna thing tied around my neck. These clothes used to be my MOTHER’S. I looked just as ridiculous as Petunia, who was wearing a matching outfit, but a yellow skirt and bandanna.
WHY it was decided to colour code us this way is beyond me, because pink clashes with my hair, and yellow makes Petunia look ill. I think it was the sizes. My outfit was BEFORE my mother lost weight, but then she dropped a size or two, so bought a similar outfit but in a different colour, to symbolise that she was the same, but different, herself.
Gee, thanks. The fact that she told us this while giving us our outfits really helped. It made me realise that a) my mother is insane, and b) she isn’t ashamed of admitting that her youngest daughter is the same size as she was before she decided she needed to lose weight. I mean, way to do wonders for my self esteem, mother. No wonder I’m such a freak.
Which is probably why I managed to ruin Petunia’s precious hen night. My being a freak, I mean.
So. There were about eight of us altogether “ who knew Petunia had so many friends? “ and we were all in 50s style clothes, probably supplied by our mothers. Petunia’s friends weren’t all the shiniest wands in the box, if you know what I mean. They spent half the time talking about men, and the other half talking about hair. Having no current boyfriend, or potential boyfriend, and having pretty normal hair “ apart from the colour “ meant that I didn’t really have much to talk about. Not that I would have done if I had three boyfriends on the go, and the latest, most expensive haircut there was, but whatever.
I thought that I could survive. I convinced myself that if I kept my head down, everything would be fine “ I could just smile and nod, and die quietly, but I would soon be able to leave, and I could forget I was ever wearing such a heinous outfit.
But no. Because you had to fall asleep, and let me do something rashly again.
Okay, I’ll just stop bluffing and stalling and get it out there “ I dropped the rhubarb crumble on Petunia’s white and yellow outfit. Rhubarb “ the dark red fruit (or is it a vegetable?) that stains things easily.
This was all in the nice restaurant/dance club we were to be spending the evening in. I mean, I don’t even like rhubarb crumble. I’d ordered something made of chocolate for pudding (maybe that’s why I got Mum’s pre-diet clothes), it was Petunia who wanted the crumble. But they got our dishes mixed up, and so I was taking hers over to her, because she was in too deep a conversation to notice.
It was only when I got to her end of the table, holding her desert out in front of me, that I realised what that conversation was.
““I know, Marie, having a freak for a sister is the worst thing you could imagine. She’s nuts, she’s overweight, she’s ginger, I’m just glad she goes to that special boarding school for mental people“”
It was at this point that I made the rash decision. Sister, rhubarb, “slip”, kaboom.
To be fair to myself, her face was glorious. I wish I was more creative, because then I could paint that moment in time, and win a comedy art award.
She stood and slapped me, so I slapped her straight back, and then we both reached for each other’s hair, and it was a full on girl fight.
But the small foreign waiter that Marie had been flirting with all night came running, and pulled us apart. Then the manager of the place came over, assessed the situation, and made us switch outfits before I went home. I tried to tell her that this was ridiculous, I would never fit in something that small, and we wouldn’t want Petunia to drown in her poodle skirt, but that manager lady was scary. So I ended up wearing a stretched-to-the-limit, rhubarb stained outfit on the bus as I headed home, leaving Petunia to bitch with her friends about how socially retarded I am.
When I got home, I found Mum and some of her work colleagues playing poker in the dining room, as they are often wont to do. She took one look at me, and said “Okay, Lily, what did you do this time?”
I just stormed upstairs and slammed the door, but then you decided to grace me with your presence.
So, I’m just writing to say “ stop replaying the look of hate in my sisters eyes. SHE was the one bitching about ME. Why should I have to pay the price of guilt???
Sincerely,
Lily
Dear Conscience,
Today was The Wedding. Mum gave me a very stern talking to before allowing me out into the open, since I have been restricted to the house ever since the hen night. This was all as she was pulling me into my dress very rigorously. I could barely breath, and there were too many frills tickling at my skin, but when I tried to complain she only pulled it tighter, so I thought I had better keep my mouth shut.
Marie was also a bridesmaid, and was the most excited person in the house. I told Dad to get the smelling salts ready, and he started to chuckle. But then Mum hit him with the big ornate hair brush, and told him that he shouldn’t be hanging around the girl’s dressing rooms, he should be getting into his suit. He left quickly, apologising to me with his eyes before he shut the door. At least someone in my family appreciates what I’ve gone through so far this summer. The final bridesmaid was a little girl with the largest brown eyes I have ever seen, and these scarily precise ringlets. She looked about six years old, and everybody was swooning over her. I don’t even know who she was, she was just this random little girl in a miniature bridesmaid dress. I didn’t want to ask how she came to be the flower girl or whatever, in case it turned out she was our cousin or something and I just didn’t realise it.
Maybe she was from some kind of weird hiring company called Rent-A-Sap.
Anyway, then Petunia was finally done getting herself ready, and Mum started crying everywhere so we had to redo her make up. To be honest, I was bored of all the emotion, and frankly I was glad she was technically leaving this family, if only by name. Petunia Evans was my vindictive older sister, but I think Petunia Dursley is going to be someone who I have to endure now and then. Much easier.
We were late getting to the church, of course. Mum’s fault if you ask me, crying all over everybody. You’d think it was Petunia’s funeral, not her wedding. And then it was our stupid poodle’s fault, Poochy, for peeing all over Mum’s shoes, so she had to search the house for another suitable pair “ even though the “new” ones were pretty substandard, to be honest. The service itself was pretty average. Once we did the aisle bit, us bridesmaids just sat down and pretended to be moved. Marie was too busy swooning to look after The Mystery Girl, so I had to keep her still. Those ruffles were LOUD.
To spare my pain, Kerenza was invited too, a couple of days before, after I begged and pleaded, and eventually declared I would not attend unless I was allowed one measly guest. She looked fresh and summery and everybody loved her. She chatted to more people at MY family wedding than I did, and I started to wish I hadn’t invited her after all, but then she sought me out and stayed with me for moral support.
“How have you been doing?” she asked, concerned. Obviously she could tell how traumatic this has all been for me.
“You have no idea,” I told her.
“That bad?” she asked, shocked.
“Worse,” I replied, and that was all we said on the matter for the rest of the night.
But I managed to get through it okay. And the reason I’m writing to you is to ask one thing: Why? Why do I still feel guilty? I didn’t even do anything. I endured the service, I endured the reception dinner, I endured the after party, and no one got insulted by me as far as I know. What did I do to make you make me feel so guilty? How is it possible that I feel like this when I haven’t even done anything this time? I want some answers. And I want them soon “ all this wallowing crap is even worse when you don’t know why you’re doing it.
Sincerely,
Lily
Dear Conscience,
Well, I just want to say: Thanks.
No, I’m not going to rip into you and accuse you and blame you. I’m going to humbly apologise, and thank you.
Some may say that thanking my conscience is like thanking myself, and therefore being self assured and arrogant, but I think not. And anyway, that’s why I don’t tell people that I write to you.
So why am I thanking you? Because your niggling guilty feelings eventually gave me the moral high ground. I can now move on from my sister, saying that I tried. I tried to right our never ending wrongs, and she was the one who messed it up this time. Which, I will emphasise, means I didn’t. I didn’t mess anything up when it came to the important stuff.
So. I spent the remaining two weeks of the holiday wallowing in my own unexplained guilt, until she and Dursley (he may be my brother-in-law, but I will never be able to call him Vernon unless it’s to his face, when I have to) returned from their two week honeymoon in Scotland.
They have a house in Surrey, on a snooty little street called Privet Drive, which is similar to our childhood home, only ten times more self-important. But Petunia came back bringing gifts for the family “ mine was a tiny plain box of fudge with absolutely no thought put into it, but that’s just Petunia written all over.
And when she came back “ when she entered our hall in a salmon pink sundress, framing her scarily thin frame “ I realised what I needed to do. And I knew I would only get one chance at it.
So I stepped down the stairs, while Mum and Dad were in the kitchen making tea, and said my piece.
“Petunia, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’ve been an awful sister this summer, and I apologise for ruining various social events, whether it was technically my fault or not. I should have stopped and thought before I acted, I should have considered that you were getting married, and were therefore stressed out, and didn’t need an impossible sister on top of that. I should have discussed floral arrangements into the night with you, I should have matched colour swatches and helped plan seating arrangements. Because maybe then I could have avoided upsetting you. As it is, what’s done is done. So maybe, since you have a fresh start anyway, we could maybe wipe the slate clean, and start acting like proper sisters should. Maybe. What do you say? Are you up for starting again? I’m sure we’d both be happier that way.”
And then, we just stood there, staring at each other. I tried to see in her eyes what she was thinking, but it was impossible. Eventually, she broke eye contact, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lily. Maybe it’s wrong of me to resent you for being what you are, but I’m never going to get over it. And neither will Vernon. He knows, Lily, I told him. He’s forbidden me from associating with you any more, whether I want to or not. And he’s my husband now. I “ I can’t disobey him.”
“You’re right, Petunia!” I cried. “You’re right, but you’re so wrong! He’s your husband now, of course he is, but that means you need to compromise! Or you’ll end up being nothing any more, a little mouse who bends over backwards for your husband, as if he’s your overpowering father, not your other half. Petunia, are you ever going to be happy with Vernon Dursley?”
“I have to, don’t I? I can’t back out now. Besides, I love him. I know you don’t believe it, you can’t see why, but that’s because you’re strong, Lily. You’re stronger than me. Whoever you end up with is going to love you for that, you’ll be a true partnership. But I can’t do that “ I need someone overpowering. Because I’m not strong like you. I’m sorry. But I love him. Just not in the way you understand “ the way of flowers and romance.”
I felt a lump coming to my throat. “As long as you’re happy with that.”
She raised her chin. “I am. And that’s why I can’t be any more than a reluctant sister to you. But I hope that one day you find what you need. Despite everything, I want you to be happy too.”
I reached out to hug her, but she stepped back. “Reluctant sisters, Lily, remember?”
“Right,” I said, dropping my arms. “Right.”
And then she went into the kitchen, and left me standing there. So you see “ I tried. I tried, but it wasn’t enough. But at least now I know. At least now I can move on.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Lily
AN: *Sniff* How emotional. By the way, while a 1950s hen night would probably be amazingly cool now, but in the seventies ... not so much. So that’s why Lily and Petunia were so opposed. There’s one more mini-fic in this ficlet to come, when Lily goes back to school again, having grown up considerably ... And I wonder who else she will find has moved up a maturity level or two ...?