"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.
