The Portrait

Yesterday the phone rang. It was my mother. She called to tell me about my sister (step), the crazy one who lives in Mexico, the only one.

My sister, eight years older than I, never lived with us when we were kids. Our dad (my step dad, really~but a real Father to me) and her mom managed to send her off to Swiss boarding school at a very young age. She never had any family life. No mom waiting with cookies after school. No dad to beam at her at first dance recital.

Some years ago she confessed that on her first visit with her father's new family (I believe she was thirteen, I must have been five), she hated and envied me as she watched us from the upstairs' window. Her dad showing me how to fly the kite she never knew. Her visit didn't last long, she left a few days later to I have no idea where.

I don't recall seeing her again till several years later. I was ten, I was so excited to see my big sister! All of eighteen, but seemingly a very adult woman, she was beautiful, poised, a model and an actress! She by this time had seen much of the world, and spoke several different languages fluently. She was amazing, I was so proud.

I think I was about 16 the next time she came to visit. Still gorgeous, thin, an aspiring model and actress. Her stay was longer this time as she had "female problems" and required surgery. It was during this time she introduced me to the tarot, and astrology ~ the real stuff, charts and aspects, not just the daily horoscope crap that one twelfth of the world shares. She told me of the supernatural, the psychic and metaphysical worlds. I was fascinated. She was always very positive and taught me much.

We saw her a bit more often for the next few years as she actually choose to live not too far away… Hollywood, where she could model and act.

When I was in my mid twenties and living on my own, she appeared again. She had been living in Europe and Brazil, doing heaven knows what. My, my how the years did not change her and it was then I first accused her of somewhere having a portrait of herself hidden away in some dusty locked-up attic. She laughed at the "Dorian Gray" remark, and enjoyed the compliment. It was at this time I really started to worry and wonder about her. She stayed with me a few days before leaving for a job in London, to tour with Bob Dylan (some sort of secretarial position, I believe). She was on her way to stardom as this was the perfect opportunity to meet the right people to make her an actress or a model. Once again, she disappeared.

My beautiful, petite, blue-eyed, blond sister landed again upon me about a year later. The Dylan tour was exhausting and these people she worked with "knew absolutely nothing." Could she please live with me until she got a job, and could get a place of her own. Months passed, temp jobs came and went. Much of her day was spent reading tarot cards, writing a novel and smoking the illegal stuff.

I finally, not so tactfully but politely, moved her in with Dad. Your turn to keep her for a while, Pops.

Well she managed to get on her feet, and moved out on her own. Fame and fortune still on her agenda, and of course, a soon to be published book, but now the world was beginning to turn against her, conspiracies were formed. She warned I must be careful what I say and do because, being her sister, the CIA was keeping tabs on me too. The phone was tapped.

I didn't hear from her often after that. The next time I saw her was years later when we went on a cruise with our father. Dad's new wife, many of their friends, my husband of five years, and his ex wife (a different story~don't get excited, very innocent), my sister and her friend went on this wonderful seven day cruise. My sister still looked the same, just a bit thinner. I commented about the portrait, she returned a secret smile. Sister darling gave herself a very bad name on this excursion by attending to too many of the attendants on the ship. It was research for her "book," don't you know.

The last time I saw her was almost a year later at my stepmother's 50th surprise birthday party.. wow, so many years ago. I gave her the bit about the portrait. I was pregnant at the time with a souvenir from the cruise and left the party early. The reports later were that my dear sister again made a spectacle of herself and added the last straw to too many already negative feelings other family members had for her.

A couple years later her mother, an American who resided just north of Mexico City, passed away. Sister was adamant about having to be there in three days time to claim rights to mother's property, and to see to proper services for the deceased. She borrowed some money from Dad and headed south.

She called me some months later, all arrangements were being taken care of and would pay Dad back as soon as the mother's estate was settled. Yeah, right.

I called her a year ago spring to inform her that our ever-healthy, 84 year old father, had a mild stroke, had taken ill in the hospital and passed away. At that time she confessed that the CIA was responsible for his death. The CIA had him taken care of because had she recently told my father that she knew of all his military secrets and the horrible things that he was aware of during his stint with the service.. (a well kept secret, even to Dad!) That because of what she confessed to Dad the CIA had been following her and her life was also in danger. I couldn't believe she had the nerve to tell me these things over the phone! She also told me that she had a few weeks earlier been mugged and beaten to within an inch of her life as a warning. In her mind, Dad's death now confirmed everything. She could not attend his memorial as it was far too dangerous.

Yesterday, an ancient attic was discovered. The cobwebs brushed aside in a musty room filled with ghosts of furniture and memories. The dusting sheet removed and beneath revealed a canvas, a portrait framed in glorious gold, the portrait of a young woman. A remarkable likeness of a beautiful woman smiling with the wistful knowledge of fame and success, smiling for love of family, security, and blessings that were only hers. A poignant portrait in oils that painted a misfortunate destiny.

This may not seem like too fitting of tribute to a sister, a lonely, lost soul. But, I must say that my dear sister was a truly gifted person. Her talents and knowledge in so many ways much exceed mine and many of those who knew her. She taught me many things and opened my eyes to possibilities I may not have ever considered. Her brilliant mind and imagination eventually took over reality to make her life an adventure, and adventure turned sour, but an exciting adventure no less.

The representative from the American Consulate told me that she knew my sister well, and knew of her eccentric behavior. She confirmed my beliefs that my sister was never mugged or harmed in any way. That she was a loved neighbor and friend to those who lived near her.

Yesterday she died quietly in her sleep from respiratory failure. She was 53.