Have you met my sister?
|my sister recently sent me this old photo of the two of us|
|my sister and me at my (unconventional, in-a-canyon, wearing jeans) wedding|
She is three years older than me, but if you met just our emotions incarnate walking down the street, I would seem ancient compared to her. At one time, we were mistaken for twins, but we both laughed at that—even then, when we were so close, it seemed absurd. Maybe it was just the pigtails.
She is fiercely independent, and though she might show her love through domestic gestures like cooking your dinners and doing your laundry, don’t try to hug her. Her smile of approval will make you feel like you could conquer the world, but be careful because she will just as easily flash her dark eyes at you. “The look” will stop you dead in your tracks.
Over the years she has worked to outgrow the chubbiness that I used to claim caused her to be mean and now has a slender figure. She was graced with Mom’s olive skin instead of Dad’s Irish pastiness, which was reserved for me.
She is the smartest person I know, and I think I only began to truly know her once it was much too late. Try not to miss your chance. Her complex personality, changing needs, and physical distance (first to Iceland, now in Boston) have made it nearly impossible to maintain the sisterly relationship that once was.
If you get an e-mail from her from time to time, be sure to let it sit in your inbox for at least a week or so. She doesn’t like to feel smothered and you certainly don’t want to make that mistake. She might stop speaking to you altogether. You don’t want to be hurt like that. Again.