I’m in pink. She’s in blue. I was born in 1965 and she was born in 1966, just sixteen months later. You might imagine that we grew up braiding each other’s hair and playing Barbies together. You might picture us whispering secrets from our matching twin beds covered with pink chenille bedspreads. You might think I am lucky to have a sister so close in age.
You’d be wrong.
My sister and I have never been friends. Sure, we were housemates for seventeen years, but never, ever friends. I had little patience with her when we were girls. I didn’t want to play with her–she did not follow rules, she was a slob and she couldn’t fold a blanket into a neat square. She whispered at night, keeping me from sleep. She left sandwiches under the bed. She bit me more than once.
By the time we were in…
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