She used to steal my beanie babies. But she wouldn’t ever own up to it. She’d say she was “trading”– replacing my pristine tag-intact collectors for her dog-chewed slobbery tagless ragamuffins. I never said a thing to her though. We were kids. And she was one of my best friends. And I wanted the best for her. Even at the expense of a busted early retirement as a beanie baby guru.
We grew up together. I drove her around town in my old jeep, and we screamed out our windows at smokers. We’d yell things like “YOU’LL DIE EARLY!” and other entirely dramatic things of the sort. Her dad would pay me to tutor her in algebra, but our tutor sessions always happened to end up in a local cold stone spending my earnings on cake batter flavored deliciousness. We really couldn’t keep things professional.
Nearly every family vacation she went on, I was packed for. They brought me everywhere. We wore out the springs of hotel mattresses, jumping on the bed didn’t ever seem to get old for either of us. Everything we did together was the best of life. She was one of my closest of peoples, the no-drama-ever kind.
She’s quick to give. And even quicker to forgive. She hugs really tight. Doesn’t usually get jokes the first time. She laughs when you laugh. Cries when you cry. She loves music but doesn’t usually know the lyrics. She’ll spend her entire day off at the dog shelter if you let her. And she’s a sister to me.
I can’t believe she’s found love this thick. I mean, I can. She’s so incredibly lovable. But, to see her, as an adult, giving of herself and her future to this man… it rocks me in the best way. It’s the promise fulfilled of what we prayed for as kids. It’s everything she told me she couldn’t wait for. And it makes me a big cry baby to talk about. Because she’s genuinely happy, and she’s genuinely loved. And that’s all a sister could want for another.