Anywhere But Home                 There’re things that change over the years, for both good and bad. Sibling rivalry is a main point of disagreement within families. I always knew that the relationship between my brothers and I would get much worse before it got the least bit better, but I never dreamed that sibling rivalry could get this bad.                When I was growing up, I was an only girl in a family of four children. My brothers and I would semi-get along. The fights we had were pathetic little arguments over the most minute event or object that these fights were utterly pointless. They were so pointless that with the shed of one single sparkling tear, any one of us could win, and if no one wanted to fake that tear, we would simply forget about whatever it was that we were fighting over in the first place. Our parents never obviously picked sides. It wasn’t unusual for my brothers to win, as I always tried to be tougher than them. Over the years it got worse for me. After the divorce of my parents, sexism was very common, in both my dad and brothers. I was just an annoying little “bitch” in their eyes. I would NEVER amount to anything worthwhile. This last weekend was the worst ever; I predict it will get worse from here on. One of us has to go, either him, or me.                It all started Thanksgiving weekend. I was happy as could be, and who wouldn’t be? I had very little homework, friends coming over the following day, and a long weekend ahead. I also was looking forward to seeing both my dad and mom’s sides of the family for two Thanksgiving dinners, both in different styles. While traditional Thanksgiving turkey is delicious, I also enjoy Pilipino food just as much. Yes, this was a perfect weekend, and nothing could spoil it. At least that’s what I thought.                I woke up Saturday morning with a long, loud yawn, and I was freezing. It was pouring rain. That didn’t bother me though. Stumbling down the stairs, I wandered into the kitchen to see what time it was, and also to find something to calm my aching stomach. Just as I was about halfway down the winding stairs, the phone rang. I jumped from the sudden high pitched ring of the old office telephone, but I quickly regained my balance and rushed down the remaining stairs to answer it.                “Hello?” I asked drowsily, hoping that it was my friend Hayley calling to put the final touches on our plans for the day.                “Hey, Sammy, how’s it going?” It was Hayley. Just as I was about to answer her question, she added with a chuckle, “Actually, I don’t really care. I’m just kidding, but seriously, what are we doing to day? Like, where do you want to meet? ”                We talked on the phone for a good ten minutes and decided to call Melissa, the third in our trio, and meet at my house where we would make or change our plans to what we wanted to do all day. They said they would meet at my house in close to forty-five minutes. I didn’t realize how close that was, so I sat down on the couch and watched T.V. for another fifteen minutes. When I finally noticed that I only had thirty minutes to get ready, I was up and running all around the house searching for things that I didn’t even need. I did manage to get ready in time amazingly, and like usual Melissa and Hayley were late. That didn’t surprise me at all. Finally, the door bell rang.                I rushed over to let my guests in. I opened the door with a big smile, only to see my two friends showing a great resemblance to a pair of drowned rats. I couldn’t help myself; I had to laugh.                Laughing so hard I had a cramp, I asked the duo, “HAHAHA! What happened to you guys? Fall in a puddle?”                Melissa gave out a small giggle, but Hayley was obviously not too amused. So I quickly let them in to dry off. We went in and sat around talking about what we wanted to do for the day in my living room, where the three of us decided that we would hang around my house until about four-thirty. Since that was settled, our minds started wandering. Melissa’s mind wandered right to the Harry Potter Clue that was sitting on the other side of the room.                “OH, MY GOD! Please can we play? Please?!?!” she screamed with the excitement of a five year old child in Disneyland for the first time. How could we crush her hopes of playing the pathetic game? Since we BOTH wanted to play anyway, we decided we would. It’s funny how a group of teenage girls can have fun with a game that is meant for seven to twelve year olds.                Just as we started really getting into our game, my older brother so rudely interrupted us with a muffle of unpleasant words and phrases directed completely towards me and my friends. This is where the trouble of this weekend started. As my brother and I had never really gotten along very well, he started right away with the insults about my friends. How ugly they were, how stupid the sound, how dorky they dress were all quick topics of his immature insults that made little to no sense. As I was told, I didn’t retaliate; instead I just wandered around agreeing with him. It’s the only way to avoid physical fighting in my family.                “Your friends are disgusting fags,” he would say.                “I know, what can I say? I have low standards,” I would reply.                As he followed me around the house insulting me and my friends, I managed to convince my friends that we should go for a walk, even if it was pouring rain. So we packed up to leave; he continued to follow us.                He asked, “Where are you going, Stinky? Going to the dump to play with your little stinky friends?”                I just didn’t reply. I had enough of him in those ten minutes to last a lifetime. You’d expect that after we left that the insults would stop; they didn’t stop. He continued screaming insults at us until we couldn’t hear him any more, and even then we didn’t know if he stopped. This was just one example of the abuse that I go through, and as we walked in the rain we talked about how unfair it was.                “Why doesn’t your dad stop this, Sam?” Melissa asked.                “Because he only sees what he wants to see, and he wants to see how great his sons are and how useless his only daughter is. That is why he doe absolutely nothing to stop it.”                Hayley added, “That’s not fair! Why don’t you live with your mom then?”                “Because my mom is abusive and she throws knives at me. I think I’m a little safer here. JUST a little, though.” I wasn’t sure if I should have told them that, but I just said it. They could tell I was feeling a little upset there, so they stopped talking about the topic, which promptly changed to where we were going to go. We all knew that we couldn’t wander around like headless chickens in the pouring rain. So we went to Hayley’s for hot chocolate. * * *                Returning home with Melissa not too long later I found my brother asleep on the couch. Since he was asleep, we decided to take this opportunity to go on the computer, as we wouldn’t have any chance later when he was awake. As we entered the office and got on the computer, the phone rang, waking the sleeping beast known as Kyle. With one loud growl, we had fled the computer room and gone upstairs to my room to watch T.V. Instantly I noticed that much of my room was missing, meaning only one thing: my brother had been there. Stealing all the furniture and electronics that I had that he only wishes he could afford. Since it all belonged to me, I went into his room to retrieve it. Any normal person would do the same. As I did so, he stormed upstairs on his injured leg screaming at me all the way, “Why are you in my room, huh? WHY? Did I say you could? NO! I didn’t think so! GET THE $#@! OUT!”                “I’m taking my stuff back, Retard. It’s mine, and I want it, WHO said YOU could go in MY room and take MY stuff and pretend it is YOURS?” I shot back at him.                Angry as could be, he started throwing things at me, leaving me with bruises. Yes, the objects being thrown hurt quite a bit, but there was nothing I could do. Being hit in the head a few times does something to you; it makes you angry and frustrated. Retaliation happens almost automatically. So I threw some of “his” pens, pennies, ink cartridges, and batteries back at him. My solution didn’t work well as it only resulted in even more being thrown back at ME.                So I went into my room and watched T.V. with Melissa. As we watched the bruises got a little darker and noticeable. You would think that that would be enough proof of abuse for a father, but after Melissa left, and he came home, my evidence didn’t stand.                “She did it to herself,” Kyle would say. The funny thing is that my dad would believe him. No matter how stupid Kyle’s argument was, it was still believed by the man we called “Dad”.                Later that night, while I was on the phone, Kyle once again stole objects from my room. This was getting a little out of hand, so I went to stop him. One and a half years doesn’t seem like along time, but our size difference is huge. He was much stronger, much taller, and much bigger than me. He hardly had to work to stop me. He slammed my head against the wall; it hurt a lot. When he got my leg in the door I was just hurt too much to stand, and I cried. My dad heard this and furiously came out.                “WHAT?” he screamed, and then added, “Why can’t you leave your brother alone, Samantha? Why do you always go looking for trouble?”                “I DIDN’T!” I screamed with tears streaming down my beet-red cheeks, “You always take his side! You don’t even know what happened! He’s stealing my stuff again!”                “No I wasn’t. She just started taking my CDs and when I got them back she started hitting me, then she ran at me and missed and ran into the wall. I never touched her! She’s such a liar!” The truth must be too hard for him to tell. To top it off, he added, “As soon as I got here she started bugging me! Ever since I hurt my leg she’s been annoying me nonstop! Why don’t you make her leave me alone?”                I was amazed, how can you make up crap like that and get away with it? I was so pissed off about his last comment that I made it my duty to tell the truth, “What are you talking about? As soon as you got home you’ve been swearing your head off at me!” Of course my dad didn’t believe me, so I told him exactly what Kyle had said to me earlier. I told him word for word what had been said to me; not one word was left out. My dad stormed up the stairs and grabbed me by the neck and carried me by my neck all the way to my room.                “WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT YOUR BROTHER? WATCH YOUR MOUTH!” he said as he headed for the door of my room. He turned and added, “Oh, and start looking for a new place to live.”                I cried all night, this was both verbal AND physical abuse. Why was this happening? What did I do? How is it that I, the honor roll student and athletic over-achiever of the family was suddenly the trouble maker and the drinking, thief, drug-addicted class-skipper was the angel? As intelligent as I was, this made absolutely no sense to me. All I knew was that I had to get out of there, QUICKLY!                As hard as it was, I had to call my mom and ask if I could stay a night or two over there to get away from this hell hole. Naturally, she agreed, and I was to be picked up the next morning. I didn’t sleep all night. I was afraid of the dreams that would certainly appear from the nights events. * * *                My two days away from the building I used to call home were great. I didn’t have to spend my time with my mom; I got to go out with some of the friends that I left behind when I decided to move to my dad’s. They were glad to see me. I even received a Christmas present that I was meant to get two years earlier. I also got to have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom’s side of the family. They, too, were glad to see me. But all good things must come to an end, and this easy going life ended when I had to be picked up by my dad and brother to go to our grandparent’s house for Thanksgiving again. * * *                Walking into our grandparent’s White Rock home, the smell of turkey and stuffing filled the house. Since it wasn’t finished cooking yet, I headed to the back room to watch whatever I could find on TV.                About five minutes later, we were called to get out dinner.                “This is my spot and if anyone takes it I will kill you!” I threatened my little brothers. The threat was made in more of a joking fashion.                As I returned with my mouth-watering dinner, expecting that no one would be in my seat, Kyle passed me. When I re-entered the small back room, I found him sitting in my spot, while my dad was on the other side of the room. I told Kyle, “Kyle, you’re in my spot. Could you please move?”                “No, I’m not in your spot. You weren’t here, so I sat down. This wasn’t your spot, Fag.”                “I was there; I just got up for…”                “Nooooope!”                “Kyle ge…”                “Nope!”                By this time both of my little brothers had already returned with their food. They knew that our older brother was in my place. Neither of them said anything. My dad also knew that it was my place; I had asked him to save it for me, and he had agreed to. And yet, he still didn’t make any effort to make Kyle move. After half a minute of me complaining, he finally told Kyle to move, then went to the kitchen to get his food. As soon as he left, Kyle started at me again. He keeps saying the same old insults, but then throwing in sexist jokes, and “daddy doesn’t love you any more.” He continued with, “awww, look she’s crying again, what a $#@! baby” and more swearing.                This just wasn’t fair anymore. I stormed out of the room in a fury, and pushed my way through several people in the hall and went into another room where I could be alone. In this case I could hardly say that being alone was the best thing, because that gave me a few minutes to think about this, and how it would escalate in the future. Something had to be done. Everyone followed me in, eventually, where I explained to everyone what Kyle had said to me. This brought on the last of what I could take. I got in trouble for everything! It was my fault, as usual. After they left Kyle came back for more. I was hit again by my idiotic older brother. This let loose the rage that I had been bottling up inside me all those years I had to put up with him and his abuse. I started screaming at my brother and father. I had had enough from both of them; this was it. I ran through the house swearing none stop, in front of my dad’s side of the family. I didn’t care if they thought I was a bad child, or that I was spoilt rotten, or that I was insane. It wasn’t like I would be around long anyway.                This was it. Either it was him, or me; there was no way for both of us to be around. There was no justice for me in this family. Even if I had the brightest future of them all, even if I was the most promising of the bunch, there was no point in me putting effort if it would never be good enough or be appreciated. Again, it was either him or me. That thought just kept repeating in my head. Since he seemed to be getting his way, and there was no way he was leaving, I guess it was me. I grabbed onto the steak knife from off my plate and I ran out of the house. I sprinted as fast as I could down the narrow roads that winded around the small identical houses of the retirement park. Luckily, I didn’t see anyone outside their houses; I couldn’t bear to be seen like this by any people I didn’t know. I finally got to the old squeaky gate and had trouble getting a grip on the knob. My hands were very shaky and sweaty at the time.                After completely exiting my grandparent’s complex, I sat down. All I did was sit there, thinking. I thought about what I had going for me, and if it was worth it. I made a scale in my head. The scale was completely vertical in favour of the “not worth it” side. I fought too hard, and I just couldn’t keep this up. It wasn’t worth the effort I put in. So one last time, it was him or me, they chose him. Whatever, they’ll be better off without me. In my head I could hear Kyle’s horrid taunting voice. He was telling me Do it…do it…do it…! For once he was right. I took the steak knife I was using for my dinner and brought it slowly up to my throat. I said to myself softly, “Fuck you, Kyle,” knowing perfectly well that he would never hear it, which was probably for the best. I paused for a minute, made sure this was what I wanted. It was EXACTLY what I wanted. Then, with a quick slice, brought the knife across and …everything went black. * * *                 I woke up; everything was calm and quiet. Quiet, I said in my head. The silence took a while to make its mark in my head. Where I was from, quiet was as unknown as the meaning of life. Quiet, I repeated. I knew then that I was far from my home. Here was the complete opposite of home. Here it was peaceful, blissful, relaxing, reassuring, calming, secure, safe, and mainly, Kyle free. I knew where I was. Although dazed and confused, I knew I could ONLY be where I needed to be, where I wanted to be. I was happy now, because I was right where I wanted to be: anywhere but home.