My Oldest Friend

     When Sarah was little, I once convinced her that she was adopted; I told her that I couldn’t remember her birth, and so therefore our parents must have gotten her from someone else.  Sarah cried, and I got grounded. 

     We ran away together, once; we both decided that our mother was being terribly unfair by making us come inside from drawing with chalk on the driveway, and so we packed up all the clothes and toys we could carry.  Sarah and I brought Racheal along with us, deciding that it really wouldn’t be fair to leave our youngest sister home alone with our parents.  The three of us headed down the street, to our second cousin’s house, on the other side of the housing tract in which we used to live.  Unbeknown to us, our dad followed us the whole way there; Racheal got a ride back to our house, but Sarah and I had to walk.  We had to carry Racheal’s stuff back, too.

     Sarah and I used to have the same re-occurring nightmares; we’d dream that millions of insects were crawling all over us, eating us alive.  I hated those dreams.  When I woke up from them, I could never manage to fall back asleep in my own bed because I was always convinced the bugs were hiding in between my sheets.  Sarah’s room was safe, though.  Regardless of what time of night it was, all I needed to do was creep into my sister’s room, gently wake her up and whisper “Bug dream,” and Sarah’d skootch over and make enough room for me to sleep in her bed for the rest of the night.  And there were plenty of nights where she’d end up sleeping with me under the same circumstances.

     Sarah is my oldest friend.  She has been through nearly all the rough stuff with me, and we’ve survived it together.  It’s been a privilege to watch her grow up over the years, and to see her turn into a young adult since she’s gone away to school.   I am blessed to have her for a sister, and to have been able to share secrets with her.  Sarah has always been able to make me laugh.  She gives off a sense of strength and beauty that overwhelms me.  Sarah knows what she wants and where she stands on things, and she doesn’t let any body push her around.  I admire that about her.  She is a blessing to me, and I am more grateful for her than she can ever know.