Ode to Sisterhood

Ode to Sisterhood

The following piece was emotional for me to write. Based on true events, this is a story of the truest kind of friendship. And sisterhood. And mostly love. And it is raw and real and at times sloppy.

The room was cold and loud. Beeping alarms triggered in all directions. A sleeping beauty lay before me. My best friend. Sisters through blood, friends by choice. What should a person feel when the hero status disappears?

All of my life, I have walked in her shadow. Smaller, sadder and mostly more afraid. Afraid of falling, afraid of failing. I chose to keep behind in her shadows. Always trying to be better than I was, but never better than her. She sat on a pedestal, and I stared up from the ground below. Smiling, waving, forever proud. The wind would sway the pedestal, but she had never wobbled.

Then one morning, I woke up to a call. The pedestal had fallen. The hero knocked off. She was sick. Very sick. And in one split second, I felt my world shatter. How could I, the weak one, the sad one, help to pick up the pieces? How could I fix this? I wasn’t the fixer. That was her. The strong one. The tough one. The protector. I was meek. Scared. Emotional. And yet, at this moment, I was being called on to be more. 

So, what happens? 

I lay my head down on the railing on her bed. Reach out and squeeze her hand. "Tell me what to do Layla. You always tell me what to do."

She squeezes back. And I sit up and look at her comatose face.

"Stop squeezing my hand. I'm sick, not dead," she mutters.

And in that minute, I laugh and I know. It is time for me to step up.

The strength happens. The power within happens. And suddenly the small scared sister becomes more. 

**********

Two little girls sit giggling in the corner. Plastic animal masks cover their tiny faces. A pillow case lay before them. Mountains of candy from an array of homes. Halloween night.

“Twenty five. Twenty five pieces. Oh no, that’s an odd number,” Layla says, finishing the count.

“Ooh give me, give me.” I say grabbing the last bag of skittles.

“Go ahead sis. Eat up.”

I look up at my older sister. Always giving in to me and my tantrums. “Best sister ever!” I yell as I rip open the bag and orange and red skittles scatter under the couch.

**********

“Layla, wait up!” I yell, as we scuttle down the steps of the school bus. She got down faster today and had already begun our short walk home. The neighborhood boy, Tom, got off right after me. 

“Sally, come here for a second,” he called from

Behind me.

I turn to look at him and instantly regret my decision. He has picked up his sneaker laden foot and kicked it directly into my left shin. I fall down hard in pain, grabbing for my lower leg as I go.

“Nerd!” He yells as he runs home.

Tears sting my eyes. “Lay. Layla!” I yell through the tears.

She hears the scream in the distance and begins a jog back to me. 

“Sal, what happened?”

“Tom kicked me. On purpose. Hard.”

“He did what?” Layla asks, kneeling beside me.

“He kicked me here,” I say pointing toward my shin.

Layla stood quickly, searching the road ahead for Tom. She moved stealthily and reached his back. Layla grabbed his shoulder and flipped him around.

“Next time you feel the need to kick someone, kick me. But I’ll kick back, so think it through,” Layla roared at him. Tom visibly shook looking her up and down. I was scrawny. Skinny arms, dangly legs. Easy to pick on. Layla was sturdy. At only 12, she was the tallest girl in the elementary school. Nobody messed with her. “Now go say you’re sorry to my sister. And then never talk to her again.”

Tom flew to my side. He bent down and grabbed my hand, helping me to stand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered quickly.

“Now scram!” Layla yelled. And he did. Layla came beside me and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “Ready to limp home,” she asked.

I looked into her eyes and smiled. My best friend. My hero.

**********

I ran up the stairs and slammed my door shut.

“Sal, come on. What happened?”

“He said he didn’t want to hang out anymore. Am I so awful? Why?” I yelled through the door.

Layla slowly pushed the door open, careful not to be too harsh, knowing I would be sitting against it.

“He’s a jerk. I told you he was a jerk.”

“I liked him. He seemed sweet. He made me laugh,” I sighed, realizing my expectations were pretty low.

“Yeah and he looks like a rat. And has no job.”

“And he stole my headphones,” I blurted.

“He did what now?”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid. I lent him my headphones. My favorite ones. And now they’re gone forever.”

“Oh hell no. Give me your phone.” Layla grabbed my phone and found his number.

“Listen here, jerk. Sally let you borrow headphones. Now that “hanging out” is over, I want you to bring those headphones to this house by Friday afternoon. Or I will be coming with some of my most favorite football friends and waiting outside your door. Until I get them back.” Layla hung up.

“What did he say?” I ask.

“He’s going to drop them off Thursday. To me.” Layla responded. 

I nodded, “Good idea.”

“Oh and Sally, never settle for imperfect. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve everything.” Layla said, hugging me.

**********

Heads bent down, foreheads touching.

“This is a big day for you, Sally. How do you feel?” 

“Scared. What if I cry walking down the aisle?” I ask.

“Seriously, that’s your biggest concern? You got this girl. Go get your Prince Charming.”

“ How does the dress look?” I ask, looking for her approval.

“Like you are a princess. Fit for a crown,” she says, placing her veil onto my head. “I am proud of you Sally. You have become the woman I always knew you would be.”

“Thank you.” I look into the mirror one last time. Layla is beaming at me from my side. “Ok, let’s do this!”

Hours later, the DJ has the crowd dancing to some awful music.

“We are going to slow things down for a few minutes. Can I have the bride and her sister, Layla on the dance floor? Sally would like to dedicate this next song to her sister. For always being by her side, no matter what.”

I pull Layla to the dance floor. She is rolling her eyes at me as Bette Midlers’ voice begins.

“You know this song is true right?” I ask her. “You have always given me strength to soar. You are my wind,” I say, as Layla wipes the tears from my cheek.

“You have your own wind Sally. I just help it blow once in a while,” Layla laughs. 

I squeeze my arms around her waist tight.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says as she squeezes back.

**********

Two girls, always together, even when they are apart. A phone call to check in on work. And relationships. And nieces and nephews. Visits and vacations. Never too far away. And me always staring up at Layla standing strong on her pedestal waving to us little people below.

**********

So you see, when my hero gets taken down by Kryptonite,  the whole world implodes. I am left on my own to figure it out and pick up all of the pieces. And while I’m scared, she’s got it one hundred times harder. And everyone wishes they could just fix it. But there is no easy fix. And that reality hits everyone hard. Because there are supposed to be fixes for everything.

So we hold her hand. And suddenly, our belief in religion returns. And we pray that God still hears our prayers. And we talk to her. And we make her laugh. And we listen. And we realize our hero has not fallen at all. She may be down for the moment, but her strength continues. And her wisdom is solid.

“Just breathe everyone. I will get through this. And when I do, I’m going to kick all your asses for ever doubting it!”

And we laugh. Because it is true. And we all know it.