sisters

Talking with my sisters is like talking with another version of myself (uh... albeit a slightly more bronzed version). When I call them, there's no need for the pre-requisite greetings. We skip over preemptive stuff and jump right in where we left off.

Aud picks up her phone, and I say, "I need the recipe for that thing you made that night." If I were to call Dani tonight, I wouldn't say, "How are you?" I'd say, "Steven!" Then she might rip into me about how much she hates that I made her read a book with such an unsatisfying ending. (It's about the journey, D.) "How are you?"'s are irrelevant and take too long.

Bruce says he always knows when I'm talking on the phone with one of them, because my voice reaches unearthly pitches. And when he asks me what we talked about for two hours, I say I don't know. Not because I don't know, but because it's too exhausting and pointless to explain all the unsaid between the lines that he will never understand, because he didn't grow up with pink walls and mango rooms.

Will my sisters and I still be squealing emotionally over life and circumstances and little brothers when we're 50? Strong possibility. We are all three very different, to be sure. But threads of sameness exist in the deepest parts of our souls. You understand each of us better by knowing the others. And especially once you meet the madre. It all becomes painfully crystal clear then.

So when I tell them that I have a huge crush on Zac Efron now after watching 17 Again, my sisters won't judge me. They won't. Because deep down inside, they know they feel it, too.



Today's track: Real - Plumb