lifetime of sisterl

She was the only kid on the block that rode a Fuji bike and the first one to make me feel pain. Outside of a parent, she was also the first one to love me.

“You also had a Huffy.” I reminded her after I returned home from a meeting with Fuji bikes.

“Her name was Pink Thunder to you Red Tornado.”

I never questioned why we spoke in riddles growing up, it was always part of us and not who we are. I knew her words were meant as a slam and know love comes in different sizes. She expressed her’s in real time swallowed with a grain of salt. To an outsider, she can be extreme and matriculate. To me, she’s acting with out caution, that’s what makes us sisters. So alike, yet so different.

She first told me she loved me by slamming the door in my face when I was three years old. Decades later she’d tell me by saying “Good-bye.” I’d return the favor by calling her a “Stepford Wife.” I don’t even know what that means outside of a bad Nicole Kidman movie where the women were scary. June Cleaver scary. The tone she took while wearing a buttoned up white coat and matching headband reminded me of June.

“Please stop with that condescending tone.”

“Jessie, if you think that’s how I sound, you need help.’

“Stop being such a Stepford wife.”

I know my oldest Brother has since scoffed and said to his wife, “she IS a stepford wife,” this I know with out confirmation. Cause when we’re together he talks, he says stuff. She’s always been my older sister. To Him, she’s always been the one our Parents gave everything to. To me, She was the one I could never measure up to. To Her, I never needed to.

That was page one of our history and page two of nothing I can explain.
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