Growing up my sister and I got along as well as two girls two-and-a-half years apart really can. We played together all the time, but we did have our occasional spats. One day we were having a fight the roots of which have been lost to the twisting of family legend. However the fight started, it ended as the dirtiest fight we ever had. I was seven or so and had a stuffed dog named puppy who I still love to this day, and my sister had a teddy. I don’t think she ever named the bear as she doesn’t like material things very much. The way I remember it, she was mad at me for some very very minor transgression, so she took my puppy and gave him a swirly! Stuck his head in the toilet and flushed! His long red ears were being pulled by the spiraling current in a show of unhygienic horror.
I cried. I hollered. I got my revenge. As soon as my sister was outside I found a piece of rope and ran straight for my sister’s teddy. By the time she got back to our room, teddy was hanging above her bed with a makeshift noose. A suicide note was pinned to his chest that read “I couldn’t take it anymore, you’re too stinky.” My sister chased me around the yard screaming for hours. My poor mother thought both of her children had lost their minds, and can you blame her? What kind of sick seven-year-old writes a teddy suicide note? Eventually peace was declared. Teddy’s neck was refluffed and puppy was lysoled. But I still can’t look at that bear without laughing.