When we were little, my sister always pretended she knew what was going to happen to her before it actually happened. Sometimes, when she made a lucky guess, she was right and she acted as if the fact that she’d got ten out of ten in her spellings that week, or done a full pirouette without falling overjust like she’d predicted,didn’t shock her in the slightest. Most of the time she got it wrong though, which she put down to tiredness, being overworked (she was seven) or just not being in the right mood. I used be so jealous of her because I was younger and believed near everything she said: now however, knowing what I know, I would give anything to go back to myself and find a way to snap out of my childish, awe-struck stupidity.
As my sister grew up, she got off lightly. She lied that she could see into the future, pretended that’s what she wanted, but really all she wanted was attention. My parents worked a lot; our child-minder was twenty two and pretty much hated children: we were left to amuse ourselves, and apparently, her weedy younger brother just wasn’t interesting enough company. No – Sally was let off the hook. She went to high school, college, and is now working for some firm that sells something the public justcan’tlive without, and she seems happy. When she visits she smiles, rolling her eyes and telling me to stop being such a sulky teenager.
I want to tell her. I want to say, Sally? You know how when we were kids you used to see into the future? Well. I don’t just see into it. I travel into it too.