Sister, Sister

There is a quote about sisters that I love; it says, “A sister is a little piece of childhood that can never be lost.”

These words ring truer and truer as I get older and older. My sister is a little piece of my childhood; she is my best friend, and she knows me better than anyone else.

Now, before I continue being sappy, I would like to remind anyone reading this, especially if you know my sister and me today, that we have not always been best friends. Only about 9 years ago did we really start liking each other.

Anyone who remembers Rachel and me back in the day probably remembers a lot of bickering, clothes stealing, shouting, and running. Back in those days I truly was the big sister. These days though, Rachel maintains that older sister persona.

But let us travel back in time for a moment…

One night when Rae and I were somewhere around 9 and 13, respectively, we were sitting in her room with two of our block friends playing “poker.” (Speed. We were playing the card game speed, and whoever won got the random crap we “bet.” E.g. chapstick, mini stuffed animals, a dollar, nail polish, etc.) Rachel and I were sitting on her bed, which was the bottom bunk of a perpendicular set of bunk beds—we had moved out into our own rooms some time before this—getting ready to play our first game of Speed; our friends, a pair of brothers from across the street, were on the floor playing their first game. Before we started though, I smelled something horrible. A bit like rotten eggs, a bit like, well, poop. And I seemed to get a whiff of it every time Rachel said something.

“Ugh. Rae. Go brush your teeth. Your breath stinks!” I scolded her.

Like the good little sister she was in that moment, probably because she was embarrassed in front of our friends, she crawled over our game to go brush her teeth.

When she returned, we got ready to play, but as soon as she leaned forward, I smelled it again.

“Rae! Did you actually brush your teeth?!”

“Yes!” She breathed into her cupped hand and smelled it. Then she leaned forward to breathe on me.

“No you didn’t! It still smells!” I shouted at her in disgust.

So, she crawled over me and our setup, again, to brush her teeth. Again.

She came back into the room, saying in a huff, “You’re being so mean.” As she prepared to climb back over our game to her spot, I noticed something at the back of her bed, sitting on her pillow. It was brown. I leaned forward and discovered where the smell had really been coming from.

Just then our new puppy, Baby, came barging into the room and jumped up on the bed, totally knocking over our cards. And that’s when we all realized: Baby had pooped on Rachel’s pillow.

The impenetrable stench was not Rae’s stinky breath. It was Baby’s poop. A pile of literal shit perched perfectly at the center of her pillow. We died laughing—well at least our friends and I did. Rachel might have started crying, or yelling at me for being mean to her, I don’t quite remember.

…

I am so thankful for memories like this, and not just because they’re fun to write about, but because we laugh and reminisce, and it feels like yesterday that we were little kids playing “poker,” or two adults buying foam swords and chasing each other around the house with them (I still contend, no matter what my mother says, that those were one of the best purchases we ever made.), or being unable to say grace for weeks on end because of laughter for no good reason other than we knew it was going to happen.

The time spent with my sister is never dull. I believe everyone deserves a sister. I know that I’m biased because I have the best sister, but I truly believe there is nothing like that bond.

“I’m happy you accept me for who I am, and that I can tell you when I do embarrassing things.”

“That’s what sisters are for. Also, I am exceptionally weird too. And you love me anyway.”

I’m going to close with another set of words about sisterhood that I love. I think these words encapsulate the true blessing a sister is. Especially mine.

“She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. And some days, she’s the reason you wish you were an only child.”