I pull my hair in pigtails and wear my rainbow dress with pride. With the flick of a switch, I turn my fairy lights on, and the colors of my small fraction of the room come alight. The golden shine creeps to the other side, where muted colors of brown, green, and gray comingle where leftie resides. She is sitting up in her king sized bed, reading a dusty old book while wearing an old robe.

“About time you woke up, righty,” she says without a single glance away from the pages. “We need to talk.”

“Is it about prom? Don’t worry, I won’t let Sammy find a dress last minute. In fact I already gave her some ideas!” I couldn’t help but boast. While leftie was busy organizing study material by class in thoroughly alphebetized folders that almost crowded my limited space, I was thinking of all the ways Sammy was going to outshine the rest. I could see her at the dance floor now, surpassing expectations in her moves and in extravagance. She would revel in such joys, so much so that the four hours would be nothing. Unfortunately, there are steps of this plan I have yet to work out. I weave through the cramped piles of information towards the border of where my side ends and leftie’s side begins.

“No, exactly. It’s about the boy you convinced Sammy to ask out.”

“What about it?” Oh, God. Not this again. Her views will never change. To leftie’s side of the brain, love is a curse. She rolls her eyes, utterly exasperated. “You know what?”

“Oh right.” I roll my eyes too. Two can play at that game. “You can’t let her be happy for once.”

Finally, her book is down, open with the pages against the bed in order to keep her place. “As I’ve said time and time again, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m protecting her! She doesn’t need a boyfriend!”

“That can’t be your only excuse can it?” I keep my voice level and try to prevent the aggressive, angered raise of my voice.

“It is my only excuse. It’s the only one I need to prove why this isn’t a good idea!” For the reasonable part of this operation, she is becoming awfully loud.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Yes it does!” She yells. “If she gets heartbroken, she will shut down. She won’t be able to study or succeed in school! She will fall behind!”

“How have you deduced this? She’s never been with a boy before! There is no way you can assume something like that without proof, without previous evidence.” Adrenaline courses through me. The good kind. I’ve never been able to argue like this. Not with leftie at least.

“That doesn’t matter! I’m the logical side of her brain. I’m doing my job!”

I shove her away from me. “Well that’s not exactly something you’re good at!”

Not one retort follows. Her mouth is open like a distraught codfish. My outburst successfully halted the endless stream of comebacks that she always provides. Inside me, I have no harbored regrets. There hasn’t been an even balance between left and right since Sam hit high school. That needs to change.

“You need to occupy less territory.” I take some of the piles, open the brain disposal, and chuck them in. Down, down the chute they go into the black hole of forgetfulness. Some may reappear, and some will be lost to time forever. It can be difficult to predict. This angers leftie, but I cease to care.

“Righty, don’t you dare!”

More piles go, and it feels more like I can breathe. I do not stop when leftie yanks.

“That‘s important! You can’t do that!”

I give a satisfied smirk. “I just did.” In one fluid movement, I grab leftie by the legs and hoist her over my shoulders. Thrashing and kicking like an animal, she throws obscenities at me. Very colorful obscenities.

“Righty I swear—“

Into the disposal she goes.

Her shreiks are cut off as she becomes forgotten. Until further notice at least.

Now I must figure out how to decorate the rest of this room.