On the eve of Christmas Eve, my older sister and I shared my red blanket with the Colorado flag printed on it while murmuring quietly in my dad’s basement. A family argued on the television about how old you have to be to date and drink, but neither of us paid much attention. The new heater my dad bought warmed me into drowsiness, but I help conversation with my sister for a while before my mind begged me for sleep.
That was the first time my older sister and I ever hung out and talked in that house. By the time we moved to the northern end of Colorado Springs, she was almost out of high school, and back then we weren’t friendly towards one another. She, obviously, was older, and therefore cooler and uninterested in sibling love. When we did talk, it often led to bickering, as well as the occasional hole in the wall. Our little sisters like to have sleepovers in each other’s rooms and often fall asleep to giggles and whispers. If Mia and I ever tried to share a bed, one of us would inevitably be hurt by morning. She might have given me a bruise on the ribs, or I might have kicked her “unintentionally” in the face. We, in other words, were not friends. Our little sisters, however, are best friends. I like my sister being my sister, though. It’s a very different sort of relationship.
After a difficult night of sleep on the basement soda, I joined my dad in the kitchen to make breakfast. He prepared it all, but he had a doctor’s appointment–still cancer free!–so I cooked. And, to the younger girls’ pleasure, we opened every single bag and box beneath the pre-lit artificial tree. Later that evening, I underwent the same ceremony at my mom’s.
At this point, I would like to wish you all happy holidays, and I hope your 2015 starts out right!
On Christmas day, my mom and older sister boarded a plane headed to Oregon, and I drove from Colorado Springs back home. On my way through Denver, I started noticing the heavy black cloud with a curtain of white hanging below it. On my way out of Denver, the curtain blinded me. For an hour and a half, I drove at at a painfully slow rate to avoid sliding off the interstate as so many other vehicles already had. Half an hour of snow, and people’s bumpers were buried in ditches.
I was perfectly safe until hitting the exit ramp. Foot down all the way, nearly at a stop, and the ice slid my car into a stranger’s. It was a miracle I hit the nicest woman on the planet and did no damage whatsoever. Once I got home, though, I was shaking violently with anxiety-driven adrenaline. Wrapping me in his arms, Rob made me take a deep breath, and he calmed me down. The rest of my Christmas was leftovers and Bond films.
Now, I am happy to say I have some time to myself. I spent the day cleaning my apartment(which gets surprisingly disgusting if I leave my roommate to his own devices), I read a good chunk of John Dies at the End, and I’m just about ready to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
Be well, readers!