MicroHorror

Okay, Candy, my dearest sister, I think I’ve got you this time. I’m a physician and know how to make one thing look like another, so I should be able to pull this off. I can make murder look like an accident.

You always were the clever one. I remember my first T-Ball game. I was the only girl on the team. Five years old and up to bat. Hit that ball over everybody’s head and rounded the bases. Turned and looked to the bleachers, hoping to see the smiles on my parents’ faces.

But that’s not what I saw. You made sure of that. You started coughing and sneezing so bad Mom and Dad rushed you to the hospital. I had to ride home with Aunt Sally.

They said you had asthma, and oh, how you could get what you wanted after that. I remember when I broke my leg playing football with the boys and couldn’t move from my bed for a few weeks. That was fine, because Mom sat there and played games with me and read me stories. That was until your inhaler all of a sudden stopped working. And, of course, a lack of air takes priority over a lack of mobility. Mom went to the hospital with you, and I got Grandma, who couldn’t see to read and didn’t like to play games.

A time I like even more than that was when I took up drama. I got to play Juliet in the year-end production. I was so excited, right up to the point you developed your agoraphobia and couldn’t leave the house. You developed panic attacks right about the same time, gasping for air, turning purple and passing out. You looked so pathetic, and, of course, the only thing that kept the attacks at bay was having both Mom and Dad nearby. They got to watch my play on tape, but I doubt they heard much with you wheezing away in the background.

That’s not it. There’s much more. With the agoraphobia still alive and well, they missed my valedictorian speech. They were on the way to my college graduation when you made your first suicide attempt. The second came when I graduated from med school. Then there was my wedding, where you became so emotional you once again managed to stop breathing and had to be rushed to the hospital.

Well, Candy, you’ve thwarted my attempts at love for the last time. Yesterday, I brought my first child home from the hospital. Mom and Dad are on their way to meet him, and I’m sure you’ve got something in mind.

But this time, I’m a step ahead of you. As I said, I’m a physician and I know how to make a murder look like an accidental death. And since Mom and Dad have always thought the worst that could happen to a person was for their child to die, they’ll have to ignore whatever you come up with and stick around to console me.