The Sisters

There are probably two things you should know about the sisters before you meet them. One, Tara values peace but will never back down from a fight. Two, Samira will never back down from a fight.

It was a Saturday morning which means you could sleep in, right? Wrong. The thing about being in high school is that your body will naturally sync up so you’re up before the sun is. Tara dragged her slippers across the cold kitchen tiles and tightly wrapped her red fuzzy blanket around her body as she made her way to the cabinet. Samira had already beaten her to the punch with a poured glass of orange juice. She advanced to the fridge and reached for the milk. She gave the carton a little shake and it made a light swish. The type of swish that tells you that there’s only enough milk for one bowl of cereal. Both girls looked at their bowls full of dry cereal—innocent standbys on the countertop.

Miss, you’ve just been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for your groundbreaking work in the psychology of teenage aggression. Please, accept this fully paid for vacation on a private island in Hawaii where you’ll be accompanied by the best version of every man you’ve met combined into one person, said the octopus in the tuxedo.

Tara immediately advanced towards Samira, blocking her path from the cereal bowls. “Samira,” she said seriously. First line of defense was negotiation. “We can both share.”

“I got here first,” Samira replied, pulling the carton an inch closer to herself.

“Well, we’re both here now,” Tara replied, holding her ground.

“Yeah, a little too late for that,” Samira said as she scoffed. She tried to sidestep Tara’s blockade to get to the counter. Her attempts were futile as Tara predicted her movements and walked along with her every time she sidestepped.

Tara took a deep breath, tried to negotiate one more time, and in a calmly restrained manner said, “Samira, we can both get a little milk. Just pour back the extra cereal and if we’re still hungry, just have a bagel.”

Samira hesitated for a moment and replied, “You’re right.”

Tara tried to hide her astonishment and said, “Makes total sense, doesn’t it?”

A little smirk crept across Samira’s face as she yelled, “Ha! In your dreams!!”

“That’s it,” Tara exclaimed, throwing her fuzzy red blanket to the side. Defense had turned into offense.

“AHHHH,” Samira screamed as she started to bolt towards the living room, carton still in hand.

The turtle who drove her to her hotel prepared a magical bubble for the rest of her vacation so she wouldn’t have to set foot on the ground. It informed her that her bags had already been brought up and a massage was awaiting her. It drove away with an unnecessary screech, but she was in paradise. It didn’t matter.

Tara cornered her, squatting in a football stance, ready to tackle, and whispered, “What are you gonna do about it??” The girls were in an intense staredown. Samira doubled down on the most evil stare she could conjure up in the moment as she regained her composure. Without warning, Samira launched herself through Tara’s stomach. Don’t go at her, go through her she thought to herself. Her attack move ended with her pinning Tara to the ground, carton still in hand. She triumphantly raised her trophy to collect her congratulations until she shrieked.

In the middle of her massage where she was -- “my cereal bowl”-- anointed with oils that could only be found on Jupiter. Her masseuse seemed to be keep dropping --”MILK CARTON”-- the oils. But she was in paradi--”You’re FUNNY if you think--OH YE--Ouch! What was--”. Dream’s over.

If Samira thought she could do surprise attacks, Tara had a few tricks up her sleeve she’d been dying to try. She slapped Samira’s arms together and caught the milk carton and quickly overpowered Samira. The tables have turned and to claim her victory, Tara raised the carton in her air until she yelped. Both girls were flung to their sides as their golden retriever, Coco, jumped into their tackle to see what all the excitement was about. The milk carton lay out of sight as Coco weaved between the sisters, wagging her tail. “Coco,” they both exclaimed in their adoration of puppy love. They both cuddled her as she smile-panted and asked for a belly rub.

“Girls,” a yell echoed from the bottom of the stairs. A series of thudded footsteps were heard until a woman in a fuzzy bathrobe with hot pink hair curlers appeared in front of the living room. With her hands on her hips, furrowed eyebrows, she demanded, “What is going on here?” She gestured to the messy living room. Tara’s red blanket was not the only thing that had been thrown. Their impromptu wrestling match had also tossed pillows and magazines to the side. Cups had been turned over. Makeup supplies were scattered all over the floor.

In a single breath of air, Samira blurted, “Tara wouldn’t let me have milk for my cereal.”

Tara, quick to defend herself, said, “Mom, I told her to share! We could have had bagels after. I was totally compromising!!”

“You could not drink milk? This is what all this is about?” their mother demanded, hand still on her hips. Both of them remained silent. She stomped towards the kitchen and moments later, she came back holding an unopened, can-fill-up unlimited cereal bowls for the foreseeable future milk carton. “Seriously,” she exclaimed.

Tara still a little heated, cried out saying, “Oh my god, are you serious? I swear, Samira, this is what you get for gatekeeping.”

“ME?”

“You were the one at the fridge, duhhh.”

“YOU COULD’VE CHECKED FOR YOURSELF!”

“Why would I check when you’re acting like it’s the last carton of milk you’ll ever see??”

“You’re actually being so freaking extra right now.”

“Whatever.”

“ARE YOU FREAKING-- ”

“GIRLS,” their mom roared. They both silenced themselves and stared with widened eyes at their mother whose hands had once again returned to her hips and hair rollers coming just a little more undone. She slammed the fully filled milk carton on the table. She started to walk away, shaking her head, and before heading up the stairs, she said, “Just please, shut the fuck up.”

“Will do,” Tara said quietly.

“I love you, mom,” Samira cried out.

“I love you, too,” their mom groaned back.

Coco’s leash jingled as she trotted towards through the living room to follow their mom up the stairs. “Woof,” she barked.