5th Day - Don’t vomit
Reading time: 3 min
Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash
Don’t vomit.
Your sister’s speaking to thousands of people, to your parents, to your Caporal, to the Generals and the Secretary of State, and she’s talking about you. You take up a big chunk of her speech. You should be proud, not nauseous.
Don’t vomit.
She’s the first female to graduate top of her class at the academy, and she’s giving the merit to you. You should look touched but stoic, strong but honoured. You should feel this moment in your heart, not in your stomach.
Don’t vomit.
Who the hell is eating a fish pie at this time of the day? You can’t stand it. Not anymore. Keep your mouth shut, swallow the saliva that’s filling the back of your throat and you’ll be fine. Now your sister turns and shows you to the public. Straighten your back, for Christ’s sake.
Don’t vomit.
What is she saying? “Without my sister, I wouldn’t be here today.” Well, you’d like to say, that’s not true. You were the best one until this unfortunate accident happened. Jesus, how long does it take to eat a fish pie? Don’t try to spot the culprit though, the eyes of the audience are on you. Look touched but stoic, strong but honoured. Don’t say it’s all bollocks, don’t say you should be up there giving the speech.
Don’t vomit.
Don’t give her another reason to be seen as the better sister, don’t say she’s an undeserving b– what’s that smell now? Someone farted? No, it’s manure. The wind changed. The fish pie was a scented candle in comparison.
Don’t vomit.
She’s still talking about you. Why doesn’t she stop? Why doesn’t she move on? Right, you see it now. She’s performing her routine; a routine only you can understand.
“… She’s got a gift inside her, which is not always easy to carry, but she taught me how to power through difficulties and how to stay away from troubles, often leading by example…”
Don’t get up there to smash her face on the podium. Smile instead, as if the acid sickness wasn’t filling you like a jar of water.
Don’t vomit.
“… and I’ll never forget what my sister told me a few weeks ago, before the final exam…”
You can’t take it anymore. You’re on the stage, just a few feet from the front row. You go on your hands and knees and you throw up on the grass an incredible amount of half-digested food, considering you barely had any breakfast, and you curse that night and all the men in the world. The audience looks disgusted, your sister looks disgusted, there’s silence, and embarrassment, and stink of cow shit, but then your sister clears her throat and picks up her speech from where she left it.
“… she told me to always follow my guts.”
