Opening the door

Ksenia Isakova

As I was opening the door, millions of thoughts ran through my mind. I was asking myself “What she is like now? Does she have the same ideas she did at thirteen when she was sent away abroad?”

It’d been already seven years from the last time I spoke to her. I couldn’t distinctly find the reason why I was so afraid of seeing her again. My knees were trembling and my voice could give away all my nervousness at that moment. I would rather run away or simply disappear, but I put myself together and stepped into the room.
She was sitting on the couch observing me entering with that arrogant look I would recognize from thousands of them. She was wearing grey elegant dress an her hair was gracefully falling down on her shoulders. I realized I nee to do something, like, greet her, but I found myself petrified.

- Grüß dich, Schwester! – she exclaimed ironically. She knew I always hated her picking German phrases, irrelevantly as usual.

- Hello, darling!- I answered gladly as that awkwardness was finally broken. However, I could predict that it would be some moments of that kind.

- Have you missed me? – She paused. – Though I could not care less. I have no time for these sweet family talks. I came to you for a business. By the way, do yu know that it’s been three years since I came back to the country?

I should have prepared for her rudeness, bit I could never do anything about the way it always hurt me.

- I think I’ve heard…

- Don’t lie to me, - she interrupted, - you haven’t heard anything. You never wanted to look like you’re fooled and you’re trying to hide that you actually are! Well-well, you haven’t changed.

- Something has to remind the same. – I said trying to stay as passionless as possible.

- Anyway, I don’t want to waste my time. I’ll show you something.

She picked up her bag which was lying near the couch, opened it and started riffling through papers inside. She had changed, and that should have happened. She was thirteen the last time I saw her before today. She was just a girl, although the ambitious and proud one, but now she became a young beautiful attractive woman. Her hair grew longer and her eyes got deeper color – her appearance on the whole was a
combination of beauty, maturity and pride. She got one paper out.

- Look. I need your signature for this.

I glance at the paper. It was the disposition of property. That ‘property’ was our family house in suburbs where we used to live in the summer and for the last couple of years was not visited. I was deeply offended.

- You know,– I was nearly shouting at her, - I cannot do that! Mother never wanted us to sell it. It’s the most memorable place to our family, don’t you remember?

- It doesn’t matter anymore what mother said, she is no longer with us. She died, can you just put up with it?

- Oh yes, I can, but this house is precious to me, and it is for dad too.

- Really? What would you say for this?

She pointed at a familiar signature on that bloody paper. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

- You faked it. He couldn’t do that! – I whispered desperately.

- You can ask him yourself. – she laughed sarcastically. – So, would you sign?

- Never.

- But I need this! Though I can’t tell you why…

- It’s none of my business.

- Just wait and it will be!

- Are you threatening me? – I was glad to feel like I was not the one who lost control.

- With or without your signature, this house will be sold soon. This is not the end!

Suddenly she stood up, grabbed her bag without closing it and with quick steps went ut the room pushing me to a shoulder.

Without analyzing what had just happened I sat on the couch and started to think over all possible reasons why my sister needed house to be sold and some options of helping her in another way. Unintentionally I set my eyes on the floor. There was lying a thin opened envelope with a piece of paper looking out. She had lost it while going out the room, that was obvious. Automatically I picked it up, opened and started reading ( I
knew it was a bad thing to do but I couldn’t resist). The handwriting belonged to a man, I supposed. What I read would blow me off my feet if I wasn’t sitting at the moment …