My older Sister came to visit me this weekend and I'm still basking in the warm glow of her visit. Not that we did much, or anything at all, actually. One could accurately say our weekend was a marathon of eating, watching reruns of The Golden Girls, Kath and Kim, and anything else we deem as being "warmie."
In defense of our laziness, a Noreaster had hit the city, bringing with it windy, cold rain. Although had the weather been balmy we probably still would've lounged about, for in the words of my hubby, "That's what you guys always do when you get together." And why not?
My sister is my oldest and best girlfriend, someone who was waiting to play with me before I was even born. In short, I couldn't wait for her to arrive and I blubbered like a baby when she left.
Sissy has put up with her fair share of crap over the years, such as the time I peeled off her extensive sticker collection and stuck them onto the pages of her sticker book. These were nice stickers, too...remember those oily stickers? Fuzzy stickers? Scratch and sniff stickers? What about those Michael Jackson Thriller stickers? I peeled and stuck all of them without offering up any explanation. It was a senseless act, to say the least.
There was also the incident where I prodded and annoyed her until finally she exploded, only to realize I was capturing the whole episode on tape to later play for my parents. Of course, she didn't get in trouble, I did. That tape is now a cherished artifact of our youth, part of the million terrible little things we happen to know about each other.
I suppose I'll always feel remorseful about the time...
I had made it to Kindergarten. I was four years old, soon to be five, and it was finally my turn to ride the big girl bus to school with my older sister. The feeling was nothing less than exhilarating. I had arrived!
One day I was sitting at the big wooden table in our cozy kitchen when I overheard Sissy tell Mom she had a crush on Stephen H., the boy who lived up the street. Well, not even a crush, I think she actually only said he was kind of cute. In any case, I had heard all I needed to hear. This was something good, something juicy, something I could really work with!
Me: So you like Stephen H?
Sissy: No, I just think he's kind of cute.
Me: Do you love him?
Sissy: NO!
Me: Do you want to marry him?
Sissy: NO!
Me: Do you want to go on a cruise for two with him?
I'm not sure where someone under the age of five even learns a phrase like cruise for two, but learned it I had, and I suppose something like that begs to be put to good use.
My Mother stepped in. Under no circumstances was I to repeat this information to anyone outside of our home. Hmmm. I think I could try and zip my lips...
As we waited for the bus the next morning, I found myself filled with exceptional glee, nearly bursting with the knowledge I had happened upon the other day. Keeping a big girl secret was going to be trickier than I had anticipated.
The bus arrived and all of us kids started to pile on. I couldn't help myself, it was too much, before I knew it I had bellowed out: "My sister is in love with Stephen H!"
Oh dear. I had said it. And now everybody was...laughing! Well, now that I had a captive audience I could hardly quit here, could I? This was exhilarating!
I felt compelled to continue: "She loves him, and wants to marry him, and she wants to go on a cruise for two with him!"
The bus erupted into more rowdy laughter. I was a hit with the big kids, and only at four years old!
Poor Stephen H. looked like he was going to swoon. Both he and my sister were simmering in an inferno of third grade hell.
Looking back on it, this event really jump started my lustrous career in the art of big mouthery. It's in my nature to discuss things (a euphemism for being unable to keep a secret, although often times I can and do.)
My loved ones have learned that all juicy tidbits must be prefaced with "now don't tell anyone this..." I think I may be lacking that piece of my brain that instructs me not to blurt things out sometimes. The inner voice, the custodian of all things secret, if you will.
I asked Sissy over the weekend how the Stephen H. episode had made her feel at the time and she recalled the incident as being "completely humiliating."
Sorry for that one, Sister. Truly, I'm penitent to this day.
As I meandered up 53rd street after dropping Sissy off Monday evening, the inevitable, involuntary tears sprung to my eyes. A minute ago she was here, and now she was on a bus on her way back home. I've lived in NY for seven years and I guess at some point I thought this would get easier, or at the very least not make me cry. But I guess this is the way I am, and maybe I'm just going to have to accept it.
I know I'm lucky to have people in my life who I love so much it makes me sniffly, or, as I like to say, people who know me and love me anyways...
PS- For anyone who may have wondered...you can totally cry on the subway here and nobody will say a word. They won't give you their seat, either. I tried. Dirty bastards.
:)