Sisters

The summer before college was a pivotal time in my life. A week into what I thought would be the most fun summer of my life, my parents strongly encouraged me to get a job. I didn't want a job. I wanted to enjoy my last summer as a kid. However, boredom, peer pressure, and parental pressure won out, and I begrudgingly got a job with a company that was a client of my dad's. I was particularly unenthused because my sister, Sarah, had been working there for just over a month before I started, and didn't exactly skip off to work each morning. Also, she would basically be my boss, a role she had tried to claim for most of my life (how many times did my mom say "Let ME be the mom!"), and one she would relish. I wasn't excited.

I don't mean to make it sound like we hated each other--quite the opposite. We played well together as kids, and were pretty good friends. Of course we had our moments, followed by my mom saying, "Be nice to each other--you'll regret this fighting some day." (We don't--looking back, those fights are funny!) But by junior high and high school, we had our own sets of friends, and she was 3 years older and therefore much cooler than I was. Since we shared a room, we'd talk about boys, school, etc., but would never hang out together on weekends. We were sisters, we were friends...just not great friends.

That summer changed everything. Because we were working on a super secret law suit, our boss had us hidden in an office and we couldn't talk to anyone about what we were doing. Sounds exciting, huh? Basically we had to organize countless boxes of thousands of discovery documents (seriously--by the end we had hundreds of 3" binders full of documents), index, tab, and then create a database. It was tedious work. But through that tedium grew a friendship, one with silly inside jokes, stupid songs about tabbing (we still sing it occasionally), conspiracy theories about our Jelly Belly-hoarding coworkers and their large underpants, and laughing so hard about our anonymous departmental complaint box and fighting to regain composure when our boss walked in. And yes, we were the only two people in our "department."

I think that was when we realized that we genuinely liked being with each other, not because our parents made us, but because we had fun together. That friendship grew as we went to school that fall, and though I lived in the dorms, I spent a fair amount of time with Sarah both on campus and just hanging out at her apartment. We even took a French class together (ma BONNE soeur!), we'd go out together, she'd let me tag along with her friends, only it never felt like "tagging along."

I used to roll my eyes when my mom would say we'd be best friends someday. But I can admit when I'm wrong, and I'm so glad I was wrong in this case. Though I wish we lived closer, I tell myself it's for the best, as our shared love of food and TV would leave our kids neglected and our posteriors enormous. Sarah is one of my best friends, someone I can call when I want to vent, whine, or just chat. She has an enthusiasm broadcasted by the color of her hair, and I can count on her to celebrate my joys with more enthusiasm and mourn my difficulties with more sadness than I do. She makes a good time better. Happy birthday, Sarah.