I was born in a home where there was nothing hanging on the walls. The walls had not been painted in decades. The furniture was older than I am. It's still there. That home is still there. My sister and I have both moved out, but my mother and father are still there. Still married. Still arguing. Nothing is on the walls but the stains we made with cheese curl fingers or the blood of a fight. We weren't going to clean them and neither were they. My father is a writer. In a very small circle he is famous. He writes about philosophy. He writes the history of philosophy. I don't know a thing about it because it's not something he ever spoke about at home. When would he have a chance to speak? My mother is not a philosopher. She is a gossip. She's a mimic. In all the years that I've been alive, I don't think I've ever seen my mother stop talking for more than a minute. I know she speaks in her sleep. I've heard it. I pressed my ear to the wall, and I could hear her speaking. Giving advice to my sister. Warning my sister. Yelling at my sister. My sister was the oldest, and she came out full of trouble. Apparently, she came out  sideways. I don't know if that’s true,  but that’s what my mother told anyone with ears. That's why my mother can't leave her alone. I think she's mad at her because her birth was painful. Me? I came out like she was squeezing a bar of soap. I shot out and the doctor barely caught me. My mother says I flew through the air. Again I don't know if that's true. It's just the mythology of me and my sister. There's a lot to it by the way. My father would never be able to write a book about it because I don't think he knows much about either one of us. He stopped listening to my mother years ago even though she is clearly the definitive authority on everything that is me or my sister. It's not so bad for me. The story my mother tells about me is a very good story. And I should be a good story. I was a good child. I did a lot of things right. I had a lot of talent at a young age. I was recognized for my talent. I could have been one of my father's philosophers. I never stepped into the same river twice. I know that there's no exit in hell. And even though I wasn't a gadfly, I knew that my sister was. She made so much trouble. My pathway through childhood was so different from my sister’s. In some ways I think my parents were lucky. They got to experience everything the warehouse of parenting. I lived a lot of lifetimes between the ages of three and 17. I was an accomplished ballerina. I danced the nutcracker with the local school for the performing arts. I wasn't a student there but I was a hell of a good dancer. I can still stand on pointe without my shoes. My toes are made of steel to be honest. I wrote a novel when I was 15. It was published. I didn't even use my father's name. It got published all on its own. I became the student council president and was able to convince the principal that we should have multi-gender bathrooms. I don't even think there was a trans person at my school. I just did it because it was the right thing to do. And because I could. I probably could have convinced the principal to ban football. I thought about it. But I was dating a football player, and I thought that would probably ruin the relationship. He was a good kisser. I'm a good kisser, to be honest. I got all As. I took the hardest classes. I could have graduated a year early but I was asked to teach a class on Modern Art. It was a good opportunity even though I was only 17. I actually liked the class immensely. I taught the art teacher a thing or two. Actually I think I taught her more than a thing or two. And I designed several prom dresses. I wasn't going to charge money, but the parents insisted. And from there I found a buyer at Barney's in New York who fell in love with my designs. I have a line of prom dresses and evening gowns that are sold in New York in many different stores. “Teen to Teen.” It's a nice source of income. My parents don't make much money. They don't pay writers who write about philosophy a lot of money. My father never cared about money, but my mother did. She racked up an enormous debt. I offered to help pay it, but she refused to let me help her. It's only for my sister that she will ask me for help,  but I don't give any money for my sister. She hurt my mother when she was born and she pushed me down a lot when we were little. Truthfully, I could have kicked her ass. I was much more agile and fit. But I didn't. She's my big sister, and that's what big sisters are supposed to do. I know.  I wrote my book about that. My sister’s an addict, too. She had a drug habit. And she drank at school. She'd be blacked out by 7th period. We were actually in the same class. She was a senior and I was a freshman. It was Calculus. She always asked me what happened in class. I would always tell her the same thing: "nothing." So it's 20 years later and really it's all the same. My sister got sober, but she learned to love gambling. She stopped taking the hard drugs. She'd rather spend the money at the track. She's the only woman at the track. She often gets other people to bet for her, but she likes to bet a lot so she makes her own bets on her phone while she's at the track. It's an app. It's convenient. I don't really care. It's her life. It's just amazing how different we are. My gowns are still out there, but that experience made me hungry to keep creating. And that's what I do. I design people's interiors. Their insides. I can't do a thing about the outside though. Sometimes I get hired to work on a home that is a mess from the outside. The clients will ask me about it, and I always tell him the same thing. “I don't know anything about that. Got the the key?” But once I get inside I can do miracles. I feel like a therapist. I feel like I can design a living room or a bedroom or a kitchen so that the people who live there will feel better about themselves. If they hate, they won't hate so much anymore. If they suffer, their suffering won't seem so bad. It's a talent I have. I have so many talents. The one thing I don't have that is a family. I didn't want one. It seems awkward. A waste of time to be honest. My family wasn't so wonderful. Why would I think that I could make anything better? Besides, it terrifies me that maybe the baby will come out of me sideways. Maybe that's a genetic thing.  I'm smart enough to know that it's not possible, but I still cling to these childish notions. In fact I cling to a lot of childish notions. It could be argued that I'm still a child. I'm still the same kid I was between 3 and 17. Maybe. I stopped growing at the age of 14, and I still have a lot of the same clothes that I had back then. I had good taste, and I made my own. When I show up for a meeting with a potential client, they're always surprised that a “teenager” is going to be their new designer. I do look young. And short. Not like my sister. My sister looks like something that's been chewed up and spit out because it's not edible. She's not very good looking. I'm cute. She tells me I’d make a great jockey.  She would know. I think I'm pretty. I'm certainly not hurting for suitors. Men are always interested in me. I date a lot. My sister has a boyfriend. They've been together for a while. He's the father of their three children. These are my nephew and nephew and nephew. Three boys. Her boyfriend is a truck driver. He's been a truck driver the entire time I've known him. Truck driving might not be an admirable career but it's admirable when somebody does the same job for a long time. I can't say that I've done that. I've switched jobs. Many times. I was once a state senator. A hand model. And a choreographer for The Knicks City Dancers. I didn't have that job long. Those girls can't dance. Drove me crazy. But my brother-in-law / not brother-in-law drives his  truck from one part of the country all the way across to the other. And then he comes back. He does it all the time. Sometimes all five of them go on the road. He's got one of those cabins that has a bed in it. When the kids were little they would all sleep in that cabin. But now that they're older they stop and stay at hotels. Waste of money if you ask me. I mean what they're spending on the hotels she could be keeping to take to the track. Or using to support our mother. I didn't mention it yet, but she's actually a very good handicapper. In fact she's turned it into a career. She works for one of those TV stations that is connected to the track. Saratoga. And she stands there and gives her picks before each race. Somebody thinks she's an authority. I went to the track with her one time and she won a lot of money for me. She told me how to bet. I didn't pay attention to her at first but then I started to notice the pattern of winning and I thought I'd like to be a part of that. I don't need the money but I don't mind winning. And on that day when I was with her I actually won $12, 432.56. I started with 100. She did it. She turned it into all that money. When there's a big race she gets dressed up. She'll wear a fancy hat. I've offered to make her a hat, but she never takes advantage of me. Every time she wears one of those fancy hats, I think how much better she would look if I made it for her. But she doesn't want my hat. I hate her. I always did. Every time she pushed me down I would tell mom. I was that kind of sister. And she was always in trouble because of it. I used to think about what it would have been had I just let her push me down. Or maybe if I stood up and pushed back. It's hard to say. If you asked her it would be easy to say. She would tell you that she pushed me because she wanted me to push back. She didn't want me to be weak. I don't think I was weak. I didn't do drugs. Well not many. I mean just enough to make me feel comfortable having sex and to help me stay trim. I don't need drugs anymore. I don't have sex anymore. I have other ways to stay skinny. She was torn apart by drugs. Her whole life was a mess. I don't know why, but I have my suspicions. But I keep them to myself. I like being the most important person in our family. If I let myself think about what probably happened to my sister, she would become the most important child. Because she would be the victim. And the victims are always the most important. At least in all the books I have ever written.