On being the younger sister.

I remember how fun it was being the younger tomboyish sibling to a nervous and bookish sister. My 'big' (she was actually always smaller than I was) sister was a squeamish nervous girl. Her mind was always filled so many important nonsensical things (alligators under the bed, a mysterious skin peeling that reminded her of leprosy, snotty substances in her food). Her idiosyncrasies made her an easy target for a simplier younger sister. I would love to slam into her in the hall, or jump out from some back door, or sneak up behind her back and yell suddenly or just shout BOO! She would leap as high was her small roundish feet could lift her and scream. Oh what a scream she had, it was a high pitched and loud and utterly piercing scream that would quickly remind me why she was a soprano in choir. My dad would come running. My mother would scold me. I knew I was not their favorite so who cared? The nervous bookish sister who needed them most is always the favorite.

I would also go through her personal things, writing "I was here" in the pages of her diary or leaving wood cockroaches among her trinkets. I could hear her yelling upon discovery of my evil deeds even as I bicycled down the street so far away.

I also remember waking up some mornings and deciding it was a nice day to refuse to talk. My sister would ask me a questions and I'd stare blankly at her. She would hate this silence even more than my meddling voice. Of course some of my antics would extend to school. I would not talk in class. I remember Cindy Amacker saying "She's being quiet just to get attention", but no, I was practicing the art of driving my sister simply mad.

My sister is 2000 miles away. I have no one to torment. No one.