Sisters

I have two sisters. One looks like Pocahontas and one looks like a middle school music teacher, which she is.
The Pocahontas one is my little sister, Daeylnn. A lot could be said about her, but mostly she is very sensitive to you if you are in visible distress but isn't so sensitive about consistent little things, like a phone call. But I have accepted this and also I should add I don't consistently call her either.
My favorite memory of Daelynn, or at least the only one I can think of right now, is when she jumped out of the tree in the front yard. She was always a climber and fearless of heights (although I have been suspicious of this. Is she really not afraid or is she just showing off? Does a three year old show off by climbing to the top of a gigantic tree?) and this time I think she was probably about five. She had little brown arms and legs that were about the same diameter, her legs were just longer. She would use these skinny things to maneuver her way up anything: slick, ridgless rocks; door frames, trees. I think trees were her favorite. Daelynn spent a good portion of her childhood perched in the branches of various trees, like a cute creature that you didn't know where she was going to jump to next.
I don't remember details exactly but I remember her hanging for a second and then---DROPPING. And then she was on the grass, knees bent in a squatting position, smiling. Now, lest you think I am a wussy and this was no big deal, she dropped far. Like I wouldn't have let go if I were even half as high as she was.
After I witnessed this I decided to try dropping out of trees a couple of times. Why? I'm not really sure. I must have thought Daelynn looked cool doing it, or maybe that she was stepping over the little-sister line. Like I was supposed to be the bravest. Or at least Deana (the music teacher) was. And she definitely wasn't dropping out of trees.
I never liked it though. I really freaked out getting on the branch; I freaked out even more as I hung from it, my fingers straining to stayed curled and holding on; and falling and hitting the hard ground felt horrible on my eight year old knees, like somebody just whacked them with a bar.
There was a time when I thought I had to do everything Daelynn did, even if it hurt and I never seemed to get the same thrill she did. I never smiled when I landed.
This stopped, however, when she started jumping off cliffs into rivers. I finally came to, realizing that if she wanted to take on the role of the bravest sister, that was fine with me. Sunbathing in my bikini on top of the cliff gave me enough of a thrill.
And Deana? Deana was a little tough to grow up with. A little edgy, a little controlling.
One day she came home from school and cornered Daelynn and I behind the piano. She said she learned something really cool and proceeded to force our small, virgin knuckles to crack. Then she did our toes. We conceded to this torture in the way little siblings do, wincing in pain but thinking it a necessary part of life.
To this day, Daelynn and I are both socially inappropriate crackers, and we crack EVERYTHING: necks, ankles, elbows, hips. Backs. This drives Deana nuts, especially in church. I even crack my toes while I am driving.
But over the years I have really grown to like Deana. She is quirky and extremely fun. She gives good advice normally and is open to change, and grow. She will run all over the house pushing Ethan in an empty box, and he absolutely adores her. Sometimes after a visit its the first thing out of his mouth when I go into his room to get him out of bed, "Deana? Deana?"
My sisters are my very best friends...connected by our past, and blood.