Sisters (The Apology)

When I sit down to write, I usually go with what my most pressing emotions are at that particular time.  Today?  Well, besides being pissed off at my husband’s incessant nagging about my smoking (I literally smoke between two and four cigarettes a day.   I literally have nothing else left after sobriety cleaned me out.  No booze.  No Oxycontin.  Even my suboxyne is the very lowest dose, so, please excuse me if it makes me crazy.  Most days, I am fine.  But there are those other days, the ones that tear your heart out-I am releasing a life time of pain, and facing the scary monsters I drank to avoid.)

I can tell you that whilst in the shower this afternoon, I knew I would be writing about two things:  my sister and gratitude.  I don’t know about you, but writing cripples me emotionally.  There is the nervous, stomach churning fire in your belly-you know you have a blog coming, but there is so much exposure.  You feel naked.  But that, my friends, is what the rush of writing is all about.  So, after seeing today’s challenge posted on Michele W.’s blog concerning writing about an apology that meant the world to you-the synchronicity was perfect.

Growing up with Courtney was one laugh riot after another.  Beginning with the day she bit my underarm, (OUCH, it really, really hurt) we have had an intense, emotional and truly comic sisterhood.  She, the baby, and I the eldest; there was often a great amount of jealousy on both parts.  By the time my parents got around to raising my sister, they were so much cooler, more relaxed and well, more Ozzie and Harriet!

I was raised to go to CCD, a catholic girl’s biggest nightmare.  By the time my sister came of age, I had put my foot down after one of the nuns grabbed my brother and put him up against a wall for waving at me while in line.  I have never, ever put up with people’s crap.  I love that saying, “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” because the idea of NOT being in the middle of some ridiculous drama sounds really nice.  A girl can dream.

Courtney had it all.  She was beautiful, slim (without dieting, she could eat whatever she wanted and as much as she wanted and nothing would change the fact that she had washboard abs and some hot guy on her arm.)  Please don’t get me wrong, the love was always there, but I had to swim 250 laps a day in our backyard pool, just to not gain.  My anorexic diet included a hard boiled egg for breakfast and a burger for dinner.  There were days where, shall I say, I could have pushed her into that pool and walked away.

When we were both in our twenties, we spent every weekend together.  We would party our palookas off and then stumble into my apartment, laughing at the way my fiancée would scream “Get Out!!!!!!!” when we had taken it too far with our antics.  No one, not a soul on this planet, can make me laugh like my sister can.  The Elkins clan has a very esoteric, and some may say dark, sense of humor. Like the time my fiancée did kick us to the curb after I apparently threw a beer in his face (I did not receive this information until the next afternoon, so we were puzzled all evening.)  Courtney ran for the shower, as she hated bar smoke in her hair.  We were both stoned and we were starving.

“How about we go to the 7 eleven when I get out?,” she asked.

Now, in the state we were in, we should not have been going anywhere.  Even a quick ride up the street was pushing it, but we arrived at the convenience store anxious to bring home Doritos, ice cream and chocolate.  We were already giggling about something stupid when I realized she was suddenly very tall and I was looking UP at my sister, who is 5’4″ in heels.

You forgot to take the towel off of your head!!” I screamed in delight.  I fell onto the floor in a pool of tears from laughing and crying.  I have yet to see anything as funny as the site of my beautiful, thin, younger sister wearing a towel on her head at 3 a.m. in a public place.

My sister and I suffered a strained relationship for years following my fight with depression and subsequent alcoholism.  The best apology I ever heard came out of the mouth of babe:  “I am truly, truly sorry for our miscommunications.”

And in turn, I am sorry for everything I didn’t say or said.  It breaks my heart to think of you as anything but happy.  And I will make it up to you.

“How about we try zip lining this weekend?  You can wear your turban…….”

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