Fragments Of Time

The girls

I was sorting through some photos from our childhood the other day and I noticed something which hadn’t occurred to me before. There are hardly any photos of just me on my own, or you on your own. It's always the two of us. You and I sitting on the sofa, our legs so short they didn’t even reach the edge of it, you and I on the first day of school in our navy uniforms, you and I at a birthday party with cake smeared all over our faces. We were always together, to the point where everyone- mom, our grandmother, the rest of the family, teachers at school, just referred to us as ‘the girls.’

Even when mom (to our embarrassment) put us in matching outfits, complete with matching hair ribbons, we always looked so different. I had dark, frizzy hair escaping out of its ponytail, and yours was long, nearly down to the ground, white blonde. It used to shine so brilliantly in the sun- still does. I was scared of everything. The dentist, the doctor, climbing trees, roller coasters. You would always say ‘I’m not afraid' and run ahead of me, even though you were half my size. One time I had a bad dream and I tiptoed into your room to sleep in your bed. When the light from the hallway fell across your face, I saw that you still sucked your thumb while you slept. I never told anyone.

I was there beside you when the drama teacher called out who would be playing the roles of the orphans in Annie, and one of them was you. They made programmes and everything and printed your name in it. I told anyone who would listen. ‘My sisters in a play!’ I remember your voice ringing out through the auditorium as you said your lines, with not a hint of nervousness. I was so proud that the world got to see you like I’d seen you my whole life.
Last year, I sat near the front of the theatre and cheered too loudly while I watched you play a leading role, and okay fine, maybe a few tears slipped out when you first walked out on stage. You were a young woman now, you weren’t the tiny child with a crooked fringe and no front teeth. When you took your bows at the end I saw your eyes scanning the room, until they met mine. You smiled.
‘Did you cry?’ you asked me after, a glint in your eye, already preparing to make fun of me.
‘No I didn’t. Shut up.’

There are some memories I have that you don't remember at all. Most of them are insignificant- the stray cat near our old house that we used to feed ham to, the old video store that used to smell like popcorn before it became a supermarket.

There was one night when the fighting between mom and her boyfriend got really bad and I covered both your ears with my hands while shutting my eyes really tight trying not to listen. I remember the feeling of your hair, it was like silk. We were both scared that time. I hope that's another one of the memories you forgot.

We never hugged each other much or brushed each other's hair, like you'd expect sisters to. We didn't need to. We knew we loved each other without having to say it. Even when I was going to the airport to go abroad for four months, the longest we’d gone without seeing each other, we didn't hug each other goodbye. We waved at each other until the bus turned the corner and I couldn't see you anymore. That was enough.

I’m not sure what the point of this letter is. Maybe one day I'll actually give this to you. I’ll wait for an important day like your wedding, or some kind of milestone birthday like your 30th. It would be a bit strange to randomly give you an envelope, like I’m handing in my two weeks' notice to my boss. You might get your hopes up and think I'm giving you some money, and then you see that instead it's just me reminiscing for a page and a half, and you’ll probably leave it aside, telling yourself you’ll read it later. It's okay, I’d do the same.

I know we don't say this often, but I love you, and as Claire said in episode six season two of Fleabag, ‘the only person I'd run through an airport for is you.’

Love, your big sister.

P.S. I want my shirt back.