Memories
My memories are like photo albums full of snippets of my life. There are some images I've taken with a camera and store in a shoebox under my bed. "Shoebox" images of my earliest memories are a blessing. For example, Katherine Emily arrived three days after my third birthday. On the way to the hospital, my father and I stopped at a petrol station and purchased my mother sweets and cola.
On that particular day, the camera caught her holding one of the nicest birthday presents ever with a little smile only a big sister could have. As I cradle Katie in my arms, I barely occupy half of a blue hospital chair. The white blanket she's wearing makes her look like the tiny angel she truly is. Sky blue spots and a crimson triangle come out from under the zipper of my white, hooded sweater. Third person: My mother's wrist-banded hand is visible holding Katie's head in the air. That work was too much for my tiny arms to handle.
I had never posed with Katie before that day. There are so many other photographs of Katie and me that I can't help but think of when there were no cameras with film or batteries ready to go. These are the memories I'll never forget.
Before Katie and I went to school, we spent our days in the tunnels and caverns of cardboard boxes and the secret hideaways under the kitchen table. Boxes have always been a favorite toy in our home, where there were six children born before Katie and I were born. My back didn't even touch the "ceilings" of our tunnels and forts as I slid through the long corridors. Katie, on the other hand, had an easier time, but she still required the use of a flashlight on occasion. Blankets and comforters hung from the ceilings of our cardboard cities. On the other hand, the less light we had on the inside, the nicer it was. My memory camera does not have a flash.
We had a system of "Picture Sales" in which the children's money came from. In our capitalist society, the stakes were high. When I was younger, Jake was three years ahead of me and Katie was three years ahead of me, but we all competed with each other to sketch and decorate our rooms as well as attract customers. At the end of the night, we had a lot of fun tally up the money. It was not uncommon for Katie and I to pool our resources in an effort to take over Jake's firm. Crayon drawings were neatly arranged on our walls. Supportive parents and elder siblings bought from all of us, despite the fact that we had everything from flowers to persons in stock.
Summer walks with Megan, our elder sister, were always a joy for Katie and I. At Winkler Elementary, hanging out with her elevated our "coolness" factor. We loved to rush ahead on our way to the park, beach, or the Hunny Tree gas station for pop and candy. Megan would let us go as far as the next telephone pole or two before making us stop and wait for her to come back to our car. When Queen Anne's lace flew by in the ditch, it made the telephone pole appear farther away. I can recall numerous instances where Katie and I were running late for the bus because we slept in late. One of the most humorous turns in my "memory reel" is that I ended up running cross-country while Katie went on to play poms and football.
Katie is the eldest of my six sisters, and she's frequently been my most reliable company during family gatherings. When the family gets together or goes shopping in the van, we're frequently the only ones in our twenties. So, now you know why Katie and I are such skilled mimes. We spend a lot of time in the car with our younger siblings Scarlet and Michael when we go shopping, and we spend even more time in the car when we go to Minnesota to visit family. I chose the back seat when Katie and I boarded the van one time. The two people in the front seats and I developed an invisible barrier after about 10 minutes of being irritated by each other. Perfectly flat, sound-proof surfaces were replicated to the tiniest detail. Finally, there was a picture of Mom telling us to stop.
In terms of distance, Katie and I traveled to Niagara Falls, Canada, and New York City last year, which was our closest experience. During the same week as our joint 16th and 13th birthday bonfire parties, my sister Sara and I spent several days crammed into the back of her car with her 1-year-old daughter, Hannah. Hannah sobbed the entire while Brad, our quiet brother-in-law, was behind the wheel. I could have made a feature film out of that trip, but I only have a shoebox photo of Katie and myself in front of Niagara Falls to show for it. We look exactly the same as we did in the photo shot 13 years ago. Although our hair is pulled back in identical ponytails and pale pink bandanas this time, we're both wearing dark blue pants and gray sweaters. Niagara Falls rumbles in the background, rather than a still hospital corridor. A rainbow of autumn foliage fills the air as the American Falls erupt on the other side of the rainbow. Horseshoe Falls, which can be seen in the distance on the right, is slowly emerging from the mist. Katie and I lean on the railing and against each other, swaying back and forth in our seats. We're all wearing big, bright smiles, just like we did on Katie's first birthday.
They are just two photographs from a shared photo album that includes every cake, joke, and sweater we've ever shared together. Katie exclaims, "Hey, that's my shirt!" as I'm searching through the collection.
"I'll lend you some of my things," I say.
"Not unless you ask," says the rep.
In the span of three months, "You had my black skirt."
"I requested it."
Because I didn't want to leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth, I let the battle die down. In the future, Katie and I are going to have a lot of hair-pulling, name calling, and heated situations. For now, I'm going to put my film away.
