Sisters at Twilight

What could break the bond between two sisters? Theoretically, the correct answer is nothing. Though, in reality, even the toughest substances can be worn down over time.  Even pavement forms alligator cracks eventually, as small streams of water seep into micro openings, the water freezes, expands, and breaks the cement.

For my sister and I, time and distance, secrets and malice have done their work. It’s subtle ‘til it isn’t. Until some heavy lifting and repair is needed.

Now, driving into the City of Bridges, I’m hoping to keep building another one – one between my sister and me.

You see, sometimes family is easy. You can fall apart and fall back together again with ease.

But sometimes family is hard. Sometimes falling back together means falling back into negative patterns and reinforcing them over and over and over. The presumption of ease leads to neglect and false assumptions. “She’ll always be there for me” leads to “I’m too busy to call.”

Still, we try. Reaching for something that once was and yet something altogether new, something more complete.

Because now we’re adults and we have our own lives and aspirations. But, when we’re together, we’re still just little kids sneaking downstairs to gather supplies for our “Sister Sleepover Party” at 11:00 pm. Giggly with the adrenaline of staying up late. Giddy with the delusion that mom and dad can’t hear us from the room 10 feet away.

Reaching out my hand and patiently waiting for my sister to grasp it. Because I don’t want to disappoint her again.

I pick her up, hazard lights flashing as I slowly pull up to the entrance to her dorm room, and she directs me to the local grocery store.

I’m happy to be useful, shuttling her somewhere like I used to when she was in middle school and couldn’t yet drive. When we would blast Z100 and sing along to all the songs, taking circles around the block just to finish listening to the latest hit by Bruno Mars.

She has a more developed taste in music now. Whatever random station I found on the radio doesn’t do her ears justice. So, she hooks up her phone to the aux and turns on her tunes. We get to talking and she hands me a pumpkin spiced doughnut from the Farmer’s Market that morning. And things are just like they were, but somehow slightly more delicate.

Still, I try.

Because a big sister needs a little.

Because in my darkest hours, I think of my sister, and she gives me strength.