The Case Against L, Part III

L is seven years older than I am. My parents never paid for a babysitter. L looked after me when my parents weren't around. Since she resented me from birth, this created problems, sometimes. She has a tendency to be cruel. Here are Exhibits A and B:

One year L took me trick-or-treating. I was probably six or seven years old (which would make her 13 or 14). She'd stand on the sidewalk while I went up to each house to collect my loot. We started to pass one house that was completely dark. She told me to go up and ring the doorbell. I said I didn't want to. She made me go. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I started to walk away. She said, "Ring it again!" I rang again, reluctantly. She might have insisted a third time; I can't remember for sure. Eventually a very old, very sad looking woman answered the door. "I'm sorry dear, but we don't have any candy. We're very poor." L could hardly keep herself from laughing. Once we got past the house, she was hysterical. Until I told her to stop a few years ago, L called me every Halloween to tell the story and laugh again. Every year.

When I was a teenager I had knee problems. A few times I was in a full toe-to-thigh plaster cast. I had to use crutches. Once day when I was in a cast, L and I were walking into her apartment. She picked up something -- I'm not sure what it was, maybe a small fuzzy toy -- and threw it at me while saying, "Look out! It's a dead rat!" I tried to run out of the way. In a cast, it was hard. I freaked out. L laughed until she cried. She still laughs when she tells this story. It's a story she loves to tell.