92 Days

For the last 92 days, My sister and I shared my bed. I don't have a guest room, and I didn't want her to have to bunk on the couch for an extended period. I didn't mind at all. I understood when I proposed that she live and work with me in the city that this is what it would mean. I, who am usually so insistent on space, welcomed the invasion of another person and her stuff into my limited square footage because I knew we were going to have a blast.

Having her here was God's providence. Literally, on the morning of her first full day, the news of G's engagement broke. I remember thinking...no...knowing that God, in his grace, had allowed that information to be held back until I had the balm of my sister's presence and her sage advice and counsel. She is not yet 20 (but will be this Thursday), but her insight is resonant and seasoned with a compelling wisdom. And she is just silly.

Over the course of the summer I came to see her as a kind of 'evil genius.' Her acerbic running commentary on the inanity of the world, her dead-on impersonations of people, the ongoing comedic monologues she would do from the perspective of celebrities or just random people we'd see on the street was both arrestingly funny and indicative of a keen intellect.

With few exceptions, we ate lunch together every day at 11 a.m. Several times during the day, we visited each other's desks on official business (our departments were exclusive, so this business was the officical business of being sisters), and on truly silly errands. Occasionally, she would IM me to do her bidding (bring me some water!), or she would happen by my desk while I was away, and leave non sequitir-ish post-it notes. I need Coffee! Come see me Immediately! Her notes always bore a skewed happy face... the quasi pissed, somewhat surprised face.

I know I annoyed her with my insistence on punctuality, my obsessive planning for every contingency. She'd just look at me with not a little pity, and explain to me that she was going to do things her way, and still they would turn out all right.

I did not insist that she start packing on Friday night, or Saturday, or Sunday in the morning after brunch. This is one time, I fully encouraged her procrastination. Finally, the time came, though.

The dog and I went down to say good-bye to her, my mom, and my mom's friend. Then Babygirl and I walked on, continuing on our evening jaunt. She kept looking back for Caryl to join us. Then, once back at home, she trotted through rooms looking for her heart (that is what Caryl is to this dog; they adore each other), sniffng the hardwood as though trying to catch the remnants her scent.

"She's gone, baby," is all I could think to say.

I woke up this morning with baby curled up by my side. She'd edged closer during the night, I guess, taking up the space my sister occupied for the last three months.