Soror

Our esteemed teacher has declared today, "Free-Write Friday-" we may blog as we please on any subject. Therefore, dear readers, permit me to tell you about my sister. My sister is the best sibling in this or any other world. That's not a boast, but rather a statement of fact. You wish you had a sister this fantastic, and will soon go home to your lesser siblings (who I'm sure are nice in their own ways) and weep for your lot. For blogging purposes I'll call her Isabel, though that is not her real name; I don't want any of you being driven to insanity by her greatness and trying to stalk her. Isabel is 12 years older than me and a few inches taller, blue of eyes and chestnut-brown of hair. She is a musician and songwriter extraordinaire. She writes hilarious stories, draws photorealistic portraits, and gives excellent advice. Upon first meeting her, you are like the Titanic before the iceberg. Now, don't think I'm being insulting; it's nothing you can help. "She's sweet," you'll think, "but so shy and retiring! What an innocent, delicate young lady." I forgive you, but you're being an idiot. True, Isabel is reserved with strangers. True, she seldom swears or raises her voice or causes trouble. But when you look at her and see a shy, retiring flower, you couldn't be more wrong. My sister is not a Victorian maiden so much as a 1950s starlet. To those who know her, she is witty, wry, and outspoken. All that glitters she adores; her closet is stuffed with red, black, and gold clothes in slightly daring cuts. You know the titular practice of Audrey Hepburn's character in "Breakfast At Tiffany's?" My sister has done it, munching a bagel from Panera Bread while browsing cases of diamonds she could never afford. Our mother often says our personalities got switched before birth. I, with my tiny stature, preference for delicate jewelry, and pale coloring, am bold, sarcastic, and outgoing. Isabel's flashy rhinestones, curvy figure, and torch-singer voice bely her shyness. But in spite of our differences, we get on wonderfully; I can never remember a time (even when, as a child, I hit her for no reason) that I haven't loved my big sister. So, here's to Isabel: the older sister you never knew you always wanted.