Write about a character seeking forgiveness for something that happened in the past.

No Quest for Forgiveness

 by Karen J. Keim

Quest /kwest/

1. a long or arduous search for something.

For·give·ness /ˌfərˈɡivnəs/

1. the action or process of forgiving; letting go of resentment for offense by one person for another. 

It has been three years, two months and thirteen days since my sister Kara and I have had any communication between us. It’s not a highlighted date on the calendar, it’s just that the whole blocked talking ban started on the first of January over three years ago...easy to calculate.

If our relationship was a reality series, it would have been episode 10k or so, given our adult conversations about our lives in real time started when I was around eighteen years old. We’re two years apart, brought up by the same two parents but our reactions were quite different.  It has caused multiple conflicts, tense moments and probably a lot of misunderstandings. 

Our history during our childhood days was simple...we were best friends. Yes we argued, but our biggest arguments were with those who came up against one of us; loyal and protective, we stood by each other no matter what. We would lie to save the other punishment if one of us were accused of a crime, like tromping over mom’s bed flowers, leaving the ice cream out on the counter, drinking the last of the milk. Nothing was beyond our scope of reality, we were a team through and through.

I remember one time the two of us ran away from home. We hid in the neighbor’s bushes during dinner to really scare our parents and to talk about our plan of what was next. We brought in one of our tiny suitcases what we thought we needed for the caper: two towels, toothbrushes and toothpaste, change of shorts and t-shirts, a bag of Fritos and two Dr. Peppers. 

We huddled together in the small area among some large silver dollar trees, the wind blowing through them like windchimes. We rocked back and forth on our bottoms, our hands clasped around our shins, our heads bowed down. I called her K. She called me KK, as the second daughter, Karen. We ended up getting hungry and went back home, with Mom and Dad not really making a big deal about it. Kris whispered to me as we washed our hands for dinner, 

“I’ll plan it better next time.”

Kara was the strong one. She tried the untried, she spoke up in class and at home. She would alter clothes mom bought for her to make it more “her.” I was quiet, shyer, more prone to following the lead. She would head the group. She was athletic and got all A’s in school. She tried hard at everything she did. I was more of a slow mover, and got what I got in grades and that was ok for me; I didn’t strive for A’s, but got them, but a B or C was ok too. She wanted to be top of the class and teacher’s pet in every grade she moved through. I could care less, which could be seen as unambitious, but it was really just not being so intense about things. 

Kara was a social butterfly. I spent hours in my room reading and filling in my journal with comments, quotes I liked and ideas for stories I would write. My neighbor was my age but I preferred to play with her younger sister because she was more into  make-believe than Kelli was. 

We used to put on plays for the neighborhood, charging 10 cents a pop. We came up with the story, “Hansel and Gretel”, me playing Gretel, and our neighbor across the street playing Hansel. Dad helped construct the curtain on a bolted-up cord to slide open and closed. We constructed the witch’s hovel out of cardboard boxes and paint. Dad made her broom come to her with a fishing line and a pulley he rigged from the top of the patio covering. It brought oohs and aahs. Mom sewed our costumes and mimeographed flyers that we posted around the neighborhood and took door-to-door. We had more people than chairs and laid down blankets for kids to sit on in front. We were nervous and excited and Kara directed the whole production. It was a big hit and we earned over $10.00 in sales with lemonade and cookie sales. We also held it over three afternoons in summer, and the light hit just right to have the audience be under shade the whole hour of the play in the heat of day in California. We had so much fun we started planning another play, but it never came into being.

We walked to school together, played in the orchestra, sang in the choir, and Kara was on all sports teams for school. I was School Secretary to the Student Body President and on the Yearbook Committee. I also wrote for the school newspaper, a weekly publication about the going-ons with the school. Kara could have attended school anywhere in California but she chose to go to our local city college for two years to remain home. I remember being so relieved she wasn’t moving away. 

She met her first husband and went to Cal Poly living with him in San Luis Obispo, up the coast from our San Joaquin Valley home in Bakersfield. I spent two years at community college, then moved to Santa Barbara to attend UCSB. 

We both graduated, and slowly began our separation into our own lives. We kept in touch but didn’t talk daily or even weekly for many years.

We always got together for the major holidays. She married, but divorced after a few years. I never married, but lived with two men, each long term with no commitment. She had various men come and go in her life, and was too demanding for any one of them to win her heart. 

But we always mended fences after having a spat. Never anything was held as a grudge. It was as if we automatically knew each other’s boundaries after no discussion about what they were. We just felt what was too far . . . she was ultra sensitive about her relationship with Mom and I was more so about Dad. 

Our childhood was probably very very normal for the 60’s and 70’s. But 50 years later, we can feel the results of two distant parents, non demonstrative in nature, strict in discipline, post-WWII folks that never threw anything out and lived a spartan life spending as little as possible on things that may be necessities for some but were considered luxury items for us.

Work was an ethical and serious business. Chores were tasks it was imperative to complete often and consistently. There were expectations in our behavior, school grades and progress in music; our religion was one of the most important facets of our lives. We were baptized and confirmed in the Lutheran ELCA from Sunday school through our adulthood and our participation influenced our lives in all areas of life. 

Currently with another writer named Bayard who was British and had published three books, I accepted an invitation by Kara to join her and her boyfriend Miles for golf and dinner at his Bay area country club. We all got along well, nothing exciting or unusual. We drank lots of wine, had a gourmet meal and danced afterwards to a live rock band. We stayed in Kara’s extra bedroom in Dublin and had Sunday brunch at an upscale hotel on Miles. He was a wealthy entrepreneur of safety air bags and owned two race cars and a Ferrari. We got high on champagne and went to his big beautiful mansion to swim and play cards into the night.

Next day, Bay and I drove back to Santa Barbara. One week later, Kara called to say she and Miles had broken up because she had insisted on a commitment, one way or the other, and he had chosen the other. She seemed ok about it. They’d been together for two years, and I let her be to process the change.

One week later, Miles calls me and asks me to accompany him to a race in Palm Springs for a weekend. I was flabbergasted and totally taken by surprise. There had been no indication of any personal feelings he might have formed for me that weekend two weeks before. I simply asked him why he could think he could call me and expect me to start dating him since the recent breakup of him and my sister. He just said matter-of-factly that I was a lot like him and we could have a good time together. I almost laughed aloud, but rather told him it wasn’t going to happen and don’t call again, goodbye.

I didn’t tell Kara. My thoughts were, don’t bring her down even more. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell her.

He was stupid enough.

She left a scathing reply on my voicemail and insisted I call her asap to explain myself.

I called her to tell her my thoughts.

She hung up on me crying.

I haven’t spoken to nor heard her voice since.

Thankfully I never heard from Miles again either.

Thankfully neither did she, from what my mother told me.

I can’t call her to say I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for withholding shitty news from her so soon after a heartbreak. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t agree with her response. I feel so unempowered with it all. At first I was angry, confused, sad, regretful, and now I am in acceptance, I think, and I’m back to feeling disempowered. 

We are still us--a team, and together always no matter what. I am the most loyal person in her life. I am her blood and kin. We have spent everyday together for half of our lives. What is more important than that? What can override that? 

I’m still waiting to find out.