Sign up now for a
Free Email Account &
your own Online
Writing Portfolio!
Username:
Password:  
Sponsored Links

Click Here To Bid  

Read a Newbie
Badges
Mentor
Presented To:
mars

Testimonials
Tell a Friend
Know someone who'd
like this page?

Email Address:

Optional Comment:

Who's Online?
Members: 293    
Guests: 4836    

   
Total Online Now: 5129    
Writing.Com Time

Thursday
May 31, 2012
3:03am EDT


  >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Family >> ID #1342863  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
Ode to My Big Sister (Darla)
An account of growing up with my sister...
Rated:
E
by
Avg Rating: (3)
I love my older sister, Darla, don't get me wrong but I think we started fighting sometime around the day I was born.  We basically didn’t stop until she abruptly moved to another state with her fiancée and high-school sweetheart.

We were arch rival enemies, ready to pounce, plunder and fight at the smallest provocation.  Or not.  We were sisters, we didn’t need a reason, we just needed a place.

I think my sister had been in the military in a previous life because she was too good at the art of war.  She was a mastermind of the ingenious, a strategist, skillful, stealth and adept.  She could cruise past the most sophisticated radar at top speed undetected.

I am here writing this now by virtue of default alone.  It only means that at some point at least one of her schemes to eliminate me failed.

However, somewhere in the dark recesses of her keen mind she had to know that such shabby treatment would compel me to chew the feet of her Barbie's.  I was a nervous wreck, who could blame me?  I wasn’t allowed to smoke so I took up Barbie feet instead.

I learned quickly, I had to.  It was this same sister who taught me to draw a five point star on a chalkboard.  She stuck with me and instructed me until I finally succeeded.  But lest we get too misty, she was also the big sister who never allowed me to play Barbies with her claiming I didn’t play right, all I did was say, “knock, knock, knock, can I come in? ”  I think that was really quite mannerly of me, after all, I could have just barged in...

Maybe that was why, instead of playing Barbie's one day I decided to play Beautician with her favorite Meg doll.  I cut off all her hair, right down to her soft plastic scalp.  Meg looked more like G.I. Joe by the time I got done with her.  It’s a good thing she kept her shape – but those feet – just gawd-awful!

My Mom panicked when she found out what I had done, I remember that.  Darla was at school and my Mom knew Meg was her favorite. You know, sometimes no matter how hard you try you can never glue or tape fake hair back on again.  It doesn’t grow back, either. Take it from me.

Growing up Darla always cast a shadow, too.  Everybody liked her, she had all the friends, she was good at everything she did, and she was smart, older, sophisticated and worst of all charming.  Her favorites were Split Pea with Ham Soup, Strawberry Ice Cream, “Ben” by the Jackson Five and her boyfriend, Bobby Rubideax.  When she went to see him I couldn’t go along because it would, “turn him off”. What the hell did that mean?  Oh the suffering and mysteries of the older, more mature sister.

From the girl I never glimpsed the forthcoming woman.  Somehow, despite every obstacle, heartbreak and setback, she shines.  She’s my best friend, my mentor, confidante and adviser.  In spite of everything I love about her, there is still one question I must ask yet again, whose answer, even to this very day evades me:
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
“Knock, knock, knock, can I come in? ”

© Tamryn Nieves - 2007
© Copyright 2007 Tam I am (UN: cheyennesmom at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Tam I am has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log In To Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!

All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!