Kayla Draft 4

My sister Kayla has a trail of faded pigmentation from her navel to sternum, accentuating her bleached happy trail. This line resists all tanning and burns. It splits her like a paper doll, and mimics my brother's appendectomy scar. My mother weaved her creation story from this marking.
God made you the most wonderful little boy of all. He asked his special Stork to carry you straight to my arms. The Stork immediately set out with you wrapped and folded in beak and wings. But, all of a sudden, a terrible storm blew up, with lightning and gales. You, my precious, were struck with a single fearsome bolt of lightning that hit your chest and ran down your body until it zapped your penis off. From that day, you were cursed a girl, but this line shows you're more special to me than all the others.
The story masked the horror of childbirth my sister could have suffered--trailing the shaved genitalia of a streched mother of three. Kayla, however, dodged the skull-squishing slide and broke from a c-section. To this day, Kayla avoids a solid crotch, preferring to not dream of butterscotch and sex. Asexual. A word I avoided until college, never explaining to our mother that her story would leave Kayla lonely forever, dreaming of test tubes and storks, avoiding the scent of men and women alike.
Kayla always maintained the most fluidity of any in the family. Each year, she was able to reinvent herself--a changed name, job, friends, schools, music and family role. Kayla, Brooke, KK, Kayla-bean, Beaner, Stick-legs, K, Horse-legs, and Scales managed to transition into the softball-soccer-football-volleyball-basketball player, the veterinarian, the cleaner, the Dixie rebel, the Christian, and the criminal. She changed university campuses and classes as easily as the air fresheners in her Civic. All she required was a new story--a tale of broken hearts and friends that never existed, lovers of which she never read, and the dreams of unknown masterbations.
To us, she was always the last child, the surprise. The spark to my mother's spaying and a house with another bedroom. I watched her change her story each year and always wondered which life, if any, contented her. If she was happy, or if her most famed moment was falling from the lightning.