My sister says she’s planning a visit again this summer. Since she lives in Phoenix and travels rarely, it will be a wonderful reunion.
When she last visited several years ago, we met in Missouri to take an adult look at where we grew up. Even though she’s five years younger than I, we discovered a lot of common memories.
There was the house we lived in when I was in the eighth grade and she was a lowly third-grader. She fell off a neighbor’s swing and broke her arm, and I sat up with her all evening providing comfort and funny stories. She didn’t remember it that way.
“You laughed at me and said I looked like a zombie with my arm sticking out in a cast.” Well, I thought it was funny.
We took a look at the street where I rode my bicycle. I used to take her with me sometimes, letting her perch on the crossbar. She did remember that.
“My butt was bruised from the rough ride,” she recalled.
Then, there was the swimming hole. On hot summer days the guys would ride a hot, dusty five miles into the country for a refreshing dip in a rural stream.
“You never took me along,” she sighed. Of course not, it was all guys and we didn’t wear swim suits.
“Well, I used to see you …”
“Never mind,” I say. “That was different. We were family.”
I remembered taking her with me to see Bambi at the local theater.
“You ate all my popcorn.”
“I bought you an ice cream cone after.”
“You ate most of that too.”
“You didn’t like chocolate.”
“I asked for strawberry.”
I used to walk her to school too.
“Only because Mom said you had to.”
“It was fun.”
“You would hide behind a tree and jump out at me.” Like I said, it was fun.
Years later Sis and I found ourselves going to school together again. My college entry was delayed by military service, so we wound up attending the University of Missouri together. I used to drive her home on weekends to visit our folks.
“You had so much junk in your car that I had to sit in the back seat. What was that stuff anyway?”
“School things, camera gear, research materials.”
“It looked like junk. And it smelled.”
“That was my hunting boots.”
Like I said, we had a lot of common memories. She adores me, but this time, I think we’ll skip Missouri.
