Sisters

The neighborhood where I grew up is the kind of place where we could ride our bikes along the hot pavement roads until long after nightfall. Roads were safe with no worries of bad people.

Mud-pies and forts in the woods and clubs filled up our evenings and summers.

My best friend and worst enemy was my sister. We grew up being confused as twins; this was easily done because we were about the same height, both with dark rich brown hair, and dark eyes.

She was my ally in a war that was not ours to fight. Our parents who had divorced long before still could not be in the same room or even talk on the phone and be civil.

My sister had my back and I always had hers. I have no memories of my childhood that do not have her in them. She was everything to me. I loved her so much, even though my actions did not always reflect that. She knew everything about me, and knew every worry and concern that I had, because she shared them too.

My stories and experiences were not real until I shared them with her.

Today, she is still my best friend. A mere look between us, and we instantly know what the other is thinking.

There is not a day that goes by that I do no talk with her in person, on the phone, or through email or text. I would not change this for anything. We still have arguments and disagreements, but the love and bond is so deep that it can never been broken.