How's the Water?

I was only 13 but it haunts me to this day. The haunting isn’t solely because of my actions, which admittedly were less than admirable, but because my sister, the only other witness, and the victim of my crime, won’t let me forget it.

We were standing in the kitchen and I’d just started the dishwasher. We were chatting and getting lunch when we noticed that I’d forgotten to unplug the drain. The sink was rapidly filling with hot, hot water, while my 11 year-old sister and I stared in horror. “What do we do?” she yelled at me (ostensibly the one in charge because I’m 2.5 years older). “We have to unplug the drain!” I shouted. I knew it had to be done. If we didn’t put a stop to this, we’d have a huge mess to clean up and possibly a flood. There was simply no alternative. And yet, I was afraid to burn myself. I admit it. The steam rising off the soapy water looked menacing and dangerous. Standing next to the sink as it filled with water at what appeared to be an impossibly fast speed, I could feel the heat rising off the surface. I reached my hand towards the sink. I turned my face away and willed myself to do it. I couldn’t. The sink was filling fast, the water line rising to the edge.

I quickly amended my statement. “You have to unplug the drain,” I screamed at my sister. “What?” she asked in horror. “Look, I’m really sensitive to heat” I bullied, “you’ve got to do it. Do it! DO IT!” I berated her for at least 4 seconds before she plunged her little hand into the water and pulled out the drain. She screamed as she did it and when she pulled her arm out of the water, it was bright red from the scalding she’d received for her efforts. “Why did you make me do that?” she asked me as she nursed her tender arm. “I’m sorry?” was the only response I could think to make. Why, indeed?

Since then, I think I’ve done some nice things for my sister. I think I’ve been a pretty supportive and caring older sibling. In fact, I’d buried the memory of what I hope was my one truly non-fraternal act towards my younger sister. Until a few weeks ago, that is. I was with my family out at my sister’s house. We were all gathered in the kitchen, talking while some of us cooked. I turned on the tap to rinse some dishes before putting them away in the dishwasher. As the water hit my hand, I couldn’t help but exclaim “shit, that’s hot!” My sister, from across the room, looked at me with a sly smile and said, “I guess you want me to do that?” Ouch. Burn.