Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Sister, Sister

I dreamt of my sister last night, in all her tawny wildness.  She was always like that, not quite tame, not quite knowable.  Fierce and ferocious, tender and soft, all together.

Yesterday she turned 31.  She wouldn't talk to me to hear me say, "Happy Birthday" to her, though I do wish it for her.

In the dream, we raced through a verdant meadow.  "Wait til you see, Mandy," she cried over her shoulder at me, long blonde hair flying in the wind, dimple gleaming.  We raced and raced, never tiring, and the sun matched our pace, always sunset, orange and crimson on our dusky summer skin.  She stopped suddenly, and fell to the ground in a graceful heap.  She was always like that, too.  Beautiful as she moved, easy in her own body.  Me, I was never graceful like that.  I couldn't stop, I kept going, and she called at me to stop, not go too far.  The far end of the meadow was dark, a dark gash looking like a toothless mouth in the side of cliff face.  A golden mountain lion appeared, and screamed into the dying sun.  My heart stopped for a moment, truly stopped, and my sweat turned to ice on my skin.  My sister lay in the tall grass, and she giggled softly.  "I told you, Mandy" she said in my head.  I turned to run, and again her voice in my head, "Don't run.  They'll see you.  They'll chase.  They'll have to."  Wise, so wise.  "Come and lay in the grass.  Lay so still, and you'll see."  I dropped down near her, the native grasses swallowing us both whole.  We lay as still as dirt itself, warm in the sun.  Soon, a musky scent filled our nostrils.  I almost wiggled, but her voice in my head stilled me.  "Wait."  Wet sandpaper against my skin, purring so loud it rattled my bones in my ears.  The lions had come.  "I told you," her husky voice said, in my head, and I was in bliss.

I think you must both be a sister and have a sister to understand the particular torment they inflict upon each other.  A true mystery, how you can love someone soul deep, and hate them so bitterly, at the same time.  A bright mirror, and a dark one, two halves of a whole.