An Ode to Little Sisters

 

(Loosely based on my childhood memory of a ride to Myrtle Beach)

“Shake your legs, Shake them girl. Get the needles out!” I said while wiggling my own. Remember how we shook off the prickles of limbs left too long in one position? My sister and I moving wildly until we came up with a game of who could perform the best jiggle to the song playing on the car radio.

And Remember, how that game eventually transformed into a contest of who could come up with the best song about the people in passing cars, and the next game a sillier version of the one before it? This is how we spent the long rides to ‘Sunset Beach’ every summer break from school, until the three year age gap between us widened and filled with trivial contempt.
Do you recall, in the years to follow, we would spend the entirety of this annual trek with our faces planted in books, daring the other to cross into the dangerous sibling territory that we occupied on opposite sides of the backseat?

Remember how our two older sisters had long abandoned us for the recluse of teenage life? I barely knew their faces anymore; they were becoming clones of my mother. Their voices became continuous echoes of hers, repeating her orders when we interrupted their conversations about fashion, college plans, or whatever teenage girls get occupied with. I became as familiar with the backs of their heads, as I had my mother’s sharpened eyes in the rear view mirror.

But your face, little sister, I knew like my own.
I could trace the shape of your eyes, and draw a map of your hairline. I knew by your breath that the candy bar you hid had peanuts, and was layered with the grape-flavored gum that you chewed before that.

Remember how we spent this particular trip with our legs connected, noses inches apart, laughing and singing in unison at jokes only sisters would find funny?