Sorrows and joys of sisterhood

My sisters Bethany and Vanessa are some of the VERY dearest friends I could hope to have in this life. Vanessa and I have shared a unique relationship through life because we are a year and a half apart and are the youngest of the family, always known as “the little girls” growing up. I remember doing our best to relinquish this family nickname at the ripe ages of 11 or 12, “We’re not little girls anymore!” Now I wish we were still referred to that way. I am extremely close to both of them (Bethany, pioneering as the first to wed of the family, was naturally hated as was her husband to be for some time for breaking up our sisterhood). However, Bethany is 3 years older than me, and when you are little that seems like so much. I tried to establish dominion over and over again over Vanessa as “the older sister,” of us two. I would ask her things like, “Don’t you just want to be like me so much??” but in one way or another, her response was essentially the same- she always sucker punched me and ran in the other direction. Therefore, to my disappointment, I was forced to accept her fairly early on as my equal. We tried to tag as much as possible with Bethany and her older friends and the older cousins but when it came to really playing as little children it was Nessa and me; climbing our Nana’s birch tree on 9th street, picking raspberries and currents from Grandma Berta’s huge raspberry patch, running constantly around the neighborhood with Dana and Daesha from across the street, biking down to the Kwik shop with whatever money we could scrounge, buying all the candy possible and then taking it back and sitting proudly around the pile of loot on our trampoline. We now talk on the phone multiple times a day, sometimes for hours, sometimes just sitting silently on the line with nothing to talk about. Ok not that last part about silently listening to each other breathe (creepy), but you get it. Close sisters.

This kind of relationship lends itself to embarrassing behavior as adults. The reason is because, no matter how poised and mature we may seem to all of you who know us personally (yes, I know it’s true) when we are around each other particularly in family settings when everyone is together, we revert directly back into the 7 and 8 year old versions of ourselves. This usually includes the necessity of at least one get-it-out-of-our- system fight that includes personal insults, threats of physical violence, crying , and then hugging and more crying when we make up. Christmas of 2007 (all three sisters were pregnant! watch out!) was a particularly memorable one. I think you’ll understand better the embarrassing behavior I speak of as it’s illustrated in the following account.

A few years ago we were both working at the University of Phoenix here in Provo. We were both in college… keep that in mind. It was fun but sadly our shifts only overlapped for a measly hour. One day we were delighted to know that all the employees had to go up to the corporate salt lake campus for a training seminar. We got to spend the day hanging out at “getting trained” and getting paid for it!

We were sitting around our table with 3 or 4 other employees. We had trusty notebooks in hand waiting to furiously scribble. I wanted to run to the bathroom before we started, but my time was short. I tried to stand up, only to have Vanessa with brut strength shove me back down by my thigh under the table. So I get about half way there and fall back into my chair. First time is kinda funny, so we sort of chuckle. I endeavor to rise again, and was yet again bounced back into my chair. I shot her an icy side glance, “Don’t,” (so only she can hear), and I politely smile at the fellow employees seated with us around our table. So I get up; lights are flickering on and off in preparation for the power point presentation, and much to my fury, I am slammed back down into my seat for a third time. This time was just too much. The rage broke loose inside of me. If I were Bruce Banner my eyes would have burned yellow, my skin turning green and I would have started ripping my clothes off in a frenzy as my body contorted. I reached under the table and gave her the look of death, while taking hold of the smallest portion of flesh that was available on her hand, and squeezed with all my might, “DON’T.” Her expression I’ll never forget. Her mouth gaped open in sudden horror, eyes saddened and immediately fillied with tears… she whispered, slowly and deliberately, “ouch….” All the while maintaining eye contact with me while her chin started to quiver. She rushed out of the room while starting to cry from the bitter sting of the ant bite that I had brutally inflicted, and I immediately followed her, suddenly bursting into tears myself from complete and utter remorse. I felt so bad. Oh sissy! I’m sorry I didn’t mean it! Please don’t cry!! I heard the words in my head. My feelings of regret were intense. Our time spent in the bathroom was a sob fest on both of our parts, (I still can’t think about the look on her face without getting a little misty) that quickly turned into a complete laugh attack that echoed between the stalls. We went back into the training, eyes red and puffy. I remember being glad that the lights were dim because I could not turn off the water works. Can you imagine someone we worked with asking us what was wrong and giving that explanation??

Can you believe that ridiculousness? Will we be doing the same things to each other when we are grandmas? I guess some things you never grow out of- she has always and will always taunt me and I in turn have always and must always torture her. Never were there such devoted sisters.