Sisters We

In my house, in my bedroom, there are two beds.
One is made, corners tucked, pillows fluffed. Neat and square.
And you know this one can't be my bed at all.
Mine's all rumpled, pillows askew, and there's usually a dog asleep there, one ear flopping over the edge of the foot post.

The one bed stand—beside the neat bed—all its books stand straight, every pen in place.
The rumpled bed stands near the bookshelves, the floor around it piled with yarn and half finished crochet projects. There's a guitar I only half know how to play, and a camera bag, and on the night stand there's a picture frame, framing words I wish I could remember automatically every day. There's a book mark box, a journal, and Rose Under Fire leaning onto the treasure box. There's bits of lost yarn tails lying about, and its probably dusty.

The room I share with sister is divided into two halves.
Her side.
My side.
It's not hard to spot the difference between the two.
Her's is the neat side.
Mine's the perfect side.
Glorious in all it's messiness!

Sister and me, we were born 14 months apart.
Sister and me, we've shared a room for all of forever.
I'm tall, she's short.
She's neat and I'm untidy.
She's brave, I'm not.
And it's not fair because she can tell stories out loud and I can hardly put two words together to make a sentence sometimes.
We love chocolate and The Imperial Chinese Restaurant.
Watching cop shows and Earl Grey tea.
We won the three-legged race at the Awana Olympics when we were ten and nine.
We played with dolls until we were in high school.

And we're like two opposite people.
Even sister's clothes drawers are neat!
I can't move one single item underneath her bed without her knowing what I did.
She has photographic memory concerning the position of the pens on her nightstand.
She can always find something in her size in the clearance racks.
She's an EMT.
She's a leader.
She's amazingly brilliant.
She has her own car.
She's unlike me in most everything. And that's a good thing!
And she is turning 23. Tomorrow.
How did this happen?
How did she move ahead of me in life and become this wonderful person, better than me? When all our lives we lived right on the same level? When did I stop growing?

I love the person she's become.
I wouldn't change her for a second. Not one of the differences that separate her from me.
I don't understand her all the time, but that's okay.
We still watch cop shows in bed together.
And she still shares her chocolate with me.

Happy Birthday, lil sis!
Love, me

P.S. Don't forget to enter the giveaway for the Terry Dodd quote mug!
Ends Friday the 19th at midnight!