I have not seen my sister in over ten years. Last week she sent me a text message to say she was coming to my state. Literally, she was in a truck that was pointed in my direction, and at that moment, she was coming to me.

“To do a job.”

I ask PD very few questions, because they result in answers that make little more sense than that.

She wasn’t there always, like your sister maybe was, and we don't have blood to bind us. Blood is nothing. We have every thing else. She knew the old me. She knows the stupidest me. She took the rap for me a few times and never ratted me out. She remembers things about me I don’t recall. We didn't choose eachother anymore than you chose your sister, but we sat in the same time out corner, and hid secrets from a common enemy, and have scars from eachothers nails in our skin. We could not stop being sisters now if we tried.

Today we took the train to meet her. A minute before the stop I tried to brush out the mess my little girl had made of her hair. I wanted her to be presentable, at least for a minute, the first time she met her aunt. The way she squirmed and fought the brush reminded me, and I smiled a little, of the times I was charged with the task of combing out my sister’s hair and she behave in the same fashion.

Time moves so strangely. Here I was, a real mother, nervously tidying up my child to present to the grown child I had pretend-mothered years ago. Then and hour later, my sister and I were together and 11 years old again.

I was scared to see her and then, we were laughing and I was calling her “Pete” without thinking.

She laughed at me at lunch because I had my elbow on the table, and was tilting my head to the side resting my forehead on my left knuckle as I ate; she says I have always done this when I eat. I think she is right, now that I think about it.

She led me in to a dressing room with nothing to try on, the shop girl’s face was white (mine, I am sure, was red) and showed me the tattoo of some name on her tush. The last time I had seen that fanny, she was climbing on a brick wall outside of our apartment, holding on to the stucco ledge above, and crying that she was going to slip. She didn’t slip but somehow lost her pants (hee hee...jr. high was the age of 'pantsing', what can I say?).

She reminded me of the nude/singing incident she loves to remind me of. I reminded her of a certain pool/Thanksgiving dare that the mention of used to embarrass her. She laughed and told me that she was recently thrown out of a pool for a similar incident. She mentioned a fence is hard to climb over with no pants on. She won. She has always beat me.

After lunch, I told her to quit giving my kid chocolate. PD broke off another piece and told Lil’ E she could only have a small one because her mother is mean, then she shot me a look I knew well; it was the same as when she borrowed my things (while I watched) without asking and dared me to stop her.

She seems to really love this guy she brought with her. He was nice. He made us laugh.
He told me he had a job he could have done near home, but PD had insisted he take the one in my state instead.


After saying good-bye, on the train on the way home, Little E rested her head in my lap. I stroked her hair and drew my fingers along her neck and back. That’s how I used to keep PD quiet in church, back when PD was a skinny, freckle-faced, blue eyed brat that argued with me about every thing.

(yeah I know the pic is lousy...I forgot to take my camera and had only a camera phone to capture the moment)