Sister
There is a particular kind of sibling relationship that never quite settles. It doesn’t resolve into affection, nor does it collapse into outright hostility. Instead, it oscillates. Love with teeth. Admiration sharpened into resentment. Loyalty laced with competition. If you’re the older sibling in this arrangement, especially the older brother, you tend to notice it first. The younger sister often pretends not to. I think my sister hated me almost as much as she loved me. Which is to say, passionately. She grew up in my shadow. That’s the family myth, anyway. I never cast it deliberately. I wasn’t standing on a hilltop blocking the sun. I was just there first. Older. Smarter. Apparently competent. The sort of child adults smiled at and said, “He’ll go far,” which is the most dangerous sentence ever spoken within earshot of a younger sibling. To her, I was the benchmark. The reference point. The irritating standard against which she was constantly measured, whether she asked f...