Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Sisters (2 page)

During two-hour lunches, we indulged in praline dessert pastries and cappuccino refills. With no appointments to race to, we focused on one another as we pondered hormone replacement therapy, our aging parents, her upcoming teaching position and my writing career. Thirty years ago while I struggled to keep a horridly unattractive pink picture book hat perched safely on top of my head, my mother pointed out to me: “Even if your friends come and go, your sister will be your friend forever.” Those wise words not only fortified me for my walk down the aisle in front of my sister, the bride, but have also served as a reminder that our relationship is lasting and the confidences we share are secure.

Under fluffy white comforters in our hotel beds, we chatted long into the night and even saw the sky brighten with daylight before we closed our eyes. In the morning, I felt exhausted after a cup of espresso but sweetly fortified for the next sixmonths. Certainly we would figure out another respite with one another. Just the other day I received an e-mail from my sister. While accompanying her husband to New York for a business meeting, she had wandered around Soho by herself only to discover a new hotel for us, one which could possibly be more perfect than the last.

Betsy Banks Epstein

A HOLE IN MY HEART

I
was just three and half years old when my dad was killed in a helicopter accident. Even though I do not remember him, I have always felt that his death left a hole in my heart. I have never known how to describe how I feel other than to say that a space was left in my heart that no one else could fill.

A few years ago my mother remarried after being a single mom for a long time. My brother and I were really shocked when she said she wanted another child.

She and my stepfather went through a lot of hard times with infertility to have a baby. Finally after many months, my mom found out she was expecting.

I was not sure at first how it would be with another child in the house because it had always been just my brother and me. My mom chose not to find out if she was having a boy or a girl.

After what seemed like a long time, my mom had a little girl named Bella on Valentine's Day. I had secretly been praying all along for my mom's baby to be a girl. The minute I looked at my little sister I knew she was something special. I think she was a gift to us to bring our two families together.

I realized after a very short time that Bella filled that big hole in my heart that had been there for so long.

Krista Allison, age thirteen

DOUBLY BLESSED

I
was sitting in a play yard at a McDonald's restaurant. What little food my five-year-old daughter was going to eat had been eaten and all that was left was the playing.

A handful of children scampered before me. My daughter was somewhere in the mix. After a few moments, she rocketed out of a pit of balls, scattering them everywhere.

“Natalie, be careful,” I muttered. She squealed in delight, not hearing a word. She ran toward me panting, “Did you see them?” she asked eagerly.

“Did I see who?” I cringed, nervous I was about to have one of those “my kid said
what
?” type situations.

“Them!” She pointed at two little girls about her age. “They're the same kid twice!” She announced.

“They aren't the same child twice,” I explained, smiling.

“They wear the same clothes,” she loudly noted again. “And the same face!” She bellowed completely elated at her discoveries.

“I think they're neat!” she hollered over her shoulder as she ran off.

“Me, too,” I said, more to myself than anyone.

“Thank you,” came a voice next to me. I turned and realized she was the mother of the twins. She smiled. She seemed unoffended by my daughter's gawking.

In silence we watched them play, my one and her two. I couldn't blame Natalie for being fascinated. They were interesting to watch—and extremely cute in their matching pink outfits and identical haircuts. Even their eyes were the exact same color.

With amusement I noticed that within just mere minutes of retying one of their shoes the other limped over with her laces hanging. And almost in unison their matching barrettes seemed to plop from their heads.

I shrugged. If God could manage the miracle of bringing two identical beings into this world within minutes of each other then simultaneously falling barrettes and untied laces were nothing.

“They really are beautiful,” I commented.

She smiled proudly. “Thank you.”

We watched in silence a few minutes more while concentrating on the children. The play yard had now emptied except for us.

“They want me to separate them,” she announced. I faced her. We weren't parallel talking anymore. We were talking to each other.

“Who?” I asked.

“The school,” she frowned. “They go to kindergarten next week and they think it's best for them to be in separate classes.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I want them to be together,” she sighed. As I turned to face her I saw tears welling up in her eyes. I felt bad for her.

“They want you to but they can't make you, right?” I asked, not meaning to oversimplify but instead trying to clarify her situation.

“No, they won't make me. They just ‘strongly suggest,'” she said, emphasizing the words. She sighed, testifying that she had been struggling with this for awhile.

“Well, a lot of people ‘strongly suggest' a lot of things.”

After a small silence she said, “I'm just afraid I'm leading with my heart.”

“Well, what else are you supposed to lead with?” For a second it was as if we were old friends. Mother bonding is a special thing.

“You know,” she laughed, “psychology and . . . and . . . and . . .” she couldn't think of anything else. We laughed together.

Relaxing, we watched our children play. I couldn't help but notice their mannerisms were the same. They hopped on the same foot, chose the same hiding place, held the same pose for freeze tag and giggled the very same giggle.

All of a sudden I cared deeply about them staying together. It would be wrong to separate them.

I faced the mother. “Think of it this way,” I said. “We spend our entire lives trying to find someone like us. We spend our entire lives looking for a best friend. Someone who likes and dislikes the same things we do, someone to be there for us, someone who's known us from the start,” speaking hurriedly, grasping now for anything that might move her. “Heck, someone to sit with at lunch.”

“It looks to me,” I said, “that they were born with what the rest of us spend our whole lives looking for. If you happen to be that blessed, why should you change it?”

She faced me. Her eyes were wide. I had touched her.

“Are you a twin?” she asked.

“No,” I said shaking my head.

“You have a sister?” she pressed, sure that I did.

“No,” I said. As I spoke the word, I realized that I had learned something about myself I never knew before. Something I had kept hidden inside my own heart.

“I'm just someone who always wished she had,” I explained. A lump formed in my throat and my eyes filled with tears.

There wasn't much left to say. My mind flickered back to memories of my childhood when I would play in my closet with my make-believe sister. Memories I had long forgotten.

We watched the kids a couple more minutes. Then almost together we checked our watches and said, “We better get going.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. I could tell it was from the heart.

“Girls,” she called them. They ran to her. One at a time they scampered to her side. She turned them toward me.

“Tell the lady ‘thank you'.”

Dutifully, having no idea what they were thanking me for, they mimicked her thank you with such an exact pitch that it sounded as if it were one voice.

I laughed. They were amazingly cute.

“You're welcome,” I answered. Leaning down to their level I whispered loud enough for their mother to hear, “Stick together.”

“They will,” she said, smiling at me.

Walking to the car Natalie asked, “Will I ever have a twin?”

“No,” I said, buckling her into the seatbelt. “You have to be born together, remember?”