For My Sister

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“There’s one in Culpeper, one in Jersey, and one in Alabama,” says my sister of the boys she’s met at college. Since she started attending Virginia Tech, she’s gotten to be incredibly boy crazy, a state of mind I’ve yet to understand.

She’s eighteen; I’m sixteen. Approximately thirteen of those years are made up of fighting. The two of us never seemed to get along. We’d fight over the most insignificant things, and more often than not, it would turn physical. I received several bloodied noses, and I once separated her collarbone.

Looking back over our younger years, it’s hard to say how we ever found the time to get along with each other. But there were times that I just couldn’t imagine how my life would be without her.

We used to share a room with bunk beds, and every year on Christmas Eve, I would climb up top and we’d share her bed. Even years later, when we had separate rooms; she’d still make room for me on her bed. It’s still a tradition of ours, along with getting up the next morning at 4:30 to sort out the presents and awaken our parents at 5:00.

Sometimes we’d try to stay up all night, lying side by side, by having ten-minute intervals where one slept and the other waited until their time was up and they could sleep. We never made it, mostly because of me (I’m the young one, I couldn’t help it).

Of course, there was fort making. We’d take her giant comforter and drape it over the dining room table, then draw stars on its underside with glow-in-the-dark markers and camp out. But we always found it too uncomfortable and went back to our beds.

By day, we were mortal enemies, but at night, all that just faded away, and we were the best of friends.

But when she entered high school, things changed. We stopped hating each other. We had the same group of friends, and we would end up hanging out together a lot. When she started driving, we’d cruise along, listening to music we both liked from her iPod, until we stopped to pick up her boyfriend; then I’d climb in the back, to my designated spot for times like that. Her current beau always got shotgun.
Now, she’s a freshman in college, and it’s my first year alone. And yet, we’ve never been closer. It’s strange, but I really, truly miss her. She won’t ever read this, and I haven’t told her that, but I’m pretty sure she knows. And feels the same.

This article is short, but it does have a point. Cherish your sisters. And I mean your real ones, the ones that are related to you, not your close friends that you consider sisters (although these also are extremely important). Even if you never got along, a sister is one who is always there, fair and foul weather. I hope I have done enough to inspire somebody, and your sister.


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