i've been sitting here for half an hour, trying to find lyrical words, poignant words, words to wrap around this delicate feeling of loss and love entangled.
when i first came here, i didn't know my sister very well. we never had much in common: when i was being a married yuppie into top 40, she was a hard-partying good ol' girl into country-western. by the time she started listening to music i could stand, i'd moved on to music she'd never heard of. by the time i discovered recreational chemicals, her biggest party days had passed.
i called her every year on her birthday for a ten-minute conversation less intimate than most of my email: we'd swap press releases, then wander off for another year. she didn't make much sense to me, and i had no inclination to create a space for her in my life. the calls always ended with an almost-reflexive "love you, sis." easy to say the words when you never have to think about them.
matt once said something about not recognizing the protagonists of his past. i'm doing well to recognize the supporting actors of mine, my little sister included. we grew up in a battle zone; mostly i have fragmented memories, scattered shards of glass: listening to her screams during a beating with mingled painreliefguilt, plotting against my brother, bringing her milkshakes from work, how we always managed to choose one dress alike when shopping for school clothes, feeling sick when i found out she'd given my journal to the stepmonster.
so i've been living here for nearly two months now, seeing tracy every day, beginning to understand her as a person. i've watched her pain and confusion over how to treat a suicidally depressed person, listened to her views on life, seen sudden moments of vulnerability when all the pain of her life shows on her face. i've talked to her when she's drunk (sad because i know she won't remember everything the next day). we've confided in each other about sex and love and confusion.
memories i will take with me: the way she *wiggled* with pleasure over the hostess gift matt sent her after his visit, the evening she barbecued hamburgers outside and we sat on the porch in the late afternoon listening to the doors and i felt very calm and still, her incredible honesty, the tears on my face as i explained my shame over this depression (shame she met with quiet acceptance), how she brought home granny smith apples because they're my favorites, reaching over and touching her shoulder quietly because i wanted to hug her but didn't know how.
monday we washed her truck. i did the tires, strong chemical smell and the sound of plastic bristles on rubber sidewalls as i knelt on wet concrete. midmorning sun pleasantly warm on my back, laughter when she nearly rinsed me instead of the truck. we worked companionably though we didn't talk much, and i found myself zen-soothed by the task, definite beginning and end and no ambiguities, just scrub the tires and sponge off the rims. it hasn't all been easy. we've been exploring boundaries, sometimes stumbling but always being real with each other. she's had to fight impatience and frustration on the days i felt immobile. i've had to fight resentment at being dependent. somehow out of the whole mess, i've come to love and respect this amazing resilient woman. her life would suffocate me, i think, but she has attained one of my goals: she lives a life that pleases her. i'm terrified of losing this love after i move; leaving here is one of the hardest things i've ever done.
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sine | deb
okay, so it took me nearly 28 years to figure out
how much i love my sister. that still leaves me more
than half a lifetime to enjoy her.