Song From My Sister

My sister sure can talk, baby, also. She wrote this in high school, about her, about me and about us being sisters together. And I absolutely love it! Also love the video taken by my husband when we visited Seattle in August of 2009, which I think is really really funny. Thanks David and thank you Stephanie, for being the best sister I ever could have had.

"You're too funny," she says to me in a playful mocking way. Her laugh settles into a heavy, stretching sigh. She's beaming at me with a mouth full of thick, ortho perfect ivory, reminding me of a white picket fence.

She continues the conversation and I can't help concentrating on the delicate, but firm sound of voice; the words ending with soft corners. Her short sturdy fingers press upon the stereo controls with swift, confident precision. A familiar tune rises from the fuzzy black speakers and we smile at each other with recognition. The room is glowing from the sweet smell of music and her childish display of happiness. Her head plays with the rhythm, bouncing left to right, and her golden brown curls tumble in every direction. Her face lights up, singing along and she's bending her knees to the beat.

The music wraps us with cotton memories. They turn whiter and fluffier over the years, but I faintly remember how coarse they once were. She was twelve and I was eight. Trapped in the same room, we had our separate illusions of privacy and "being older." We held a thick wall between us, to protect our dignity and individuality. But mine wasn't sturdy, and I often wanted to crawl to her side when mine became too silent. Flowers and beautiful music lingered among her wall and I had to strain my ears and my eyes to see them. Her Pink bedspread with yarn sewn hearts, looked across the room in shame, at my sickly yellow and green striped blanket.

My hair was never as full and curly, and my cheeks never shone the same rosy color. My eyes were brown beads, compared to her big blue ones. And my voice tripped awkwardly out of my mouth, smothered by the graceful melody of hers. She would pull Tiger out of my arms, because he was her cat and loved her more than me. I listened with aching envy to her share secrets on the phone, and leave for the movies with friends.

I suffered the unforgivable justice of being too young. But I loved my sister all the same with an unconditional admiration that was too powerful to drift into jealousy. And she loved me, with the older sister pride that was difficult for her to show. But I knew, watching her sing and dance in my room, smiling.
~ Stephanie Hirning