‘Hers was always the strongest, the fastest, the A-team…Still is in many ways’
A Little Story
My Big Sister
I.
You know I’ve been watching her, have always watched her.
My whole life.
To see what she would do and how I could copy.
I’ve stood-up, stood tall, tippy toes next to her, still shorter but trying and happy to be standing.
Next to her on tippy toes.
I’m not sure that she noticed.
Maybe she pretended not to notice.
That sounds like something she would do.
When My Big Sister was little, when we were children, I wanted so much to be like her.
Once when we were really small we were gifted a t-shirt each, from an auntie who had recently been on holiday. I remember they were identical and written across the front it said:
‘My auntie went to Malta and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’.
It had fringed seams; little tassels tied with beads that rattled when you moved, like a little maraca in t-shirt form. I loved this t-shirt beyond belief, partly because, well – MARACA!
And mostly because we both had the same one and My Big Sister liked hers too. Because they were identical I believed it meant – if briefly – that I was like her. That she and I were ‘in fashion’ together.
This absolutely thrilled me.
Of course My Big Sister would NEVER wear hers at the same time as her little sister and was absolutely mortified at the thought! She believed this to be an infringement of her human rights – crimes against her satirical identity!
My Big Sister was always that cool.
Quick-witted.
Self-assured.
And I was not.
In no way.
Certainly not to her.
But I loved that t-shirt with all my heart and considered it my prized possession.
I still do in many ways.
In addition to the t-shirt, I loved it when she let me play games with her.
And she didn’t always let me; happy with herself, her own friends, she never needed the company, never wanted it. Not really.
Not like me who always needed her company.
Needed her.
Especially when she didn’t want it, or me.
My Big Sister.
She didn’t naturally incline towards her little sister. But that didn’t stop me trying.
Every. Single. Day.
And night.
We shared a bedroom which meant I got extra trying time! Laying in the dark, telling little jokes, trying to make her laugh, trying to please her.
Trying.
Trying.
Trying.
All the time.
And sometimes she would make the effort. Actually sometimes our mum would tell her to make the effort and I liked to think she enjoyed my company.
Once she got used to it.
Anyway on these days we would play and it would be magic! Imagine.…being allowed to play hop-scotch with your IDOL! Although I never had the natural agility she has and sometimes when I was trying too hard to impress her I would trip myself up and fall over.
I fell over a lot.
And she always laughed.
Partly because it was funny to watch me trip, but mostly because she just didn’t give a shit.
I was the jester, the little sister there to amuse her. I never resented it. I was just so happy to be part of her team. For hers was always the best team; the strongest, the fastest, the A-team. The Ivy league – Ivy Leigh – team of the playground.
Still is in many ways.
Sometimes, when she allowed me only to hold her bat (because I wasn’t fast, strong or competitive enough) I would consider it my greatest achievement: ‘Chief bat-holder: Ivy Leigh’.
I still do in some ways.
‘The luckiest day of my life’
The ‘best’ however was when we were six and seven years old and played a game ‘out the backs’. The game in question was a spicy little number which involved me doing what I was told and My Big Sister holding me by the hands, spinning me in a devil-may-care helicopter manoeuvre.
It didn’t end well.
Maybe she ran out of steam.
Maybe my hands were sweaty – a fear response to being used as a human propeller…
She dropped me.
Obviously.
And as my little body hit the concrete slabs I didn’t even bounce.
Landed with a THUD.
Just lay there.
In shock and then agony.
In full knowledge that something bad had happened.
She laughed.
Then froze.
Then picked me up.
I knew then that something really bad had happened.
I cried. And cried. And cried.
She told me that I was ‘fine’ and we should ‘stay out’.
‘Maybe call on her friend?’
‘If I wanted to?’.
I couldn’t believe my luck!
Ignoring the pain I took her up on her offer.
Honestly?
I should have known then that I was in big trouble.
We set off.
My Big Sister looking pale and fearful.
And me, hobbling behind her smiling like it was the luckiest day of my life.
Now, anyone who has ever decked-it against a concrete slab will know that no-one, but no-one comes away unscathed.
That shit really hurts.
Something I realised later when our mum started panicking. Pointing at my knee-cap it was clear it had been knocked out of place.
Again: My KNEE-CAP had been knocked out of place!
That which usually sits neatly in the centre of my leg was now leaning heavily to my left – AWAY from my body.
Panic ensued.
Hospital.
Screams.
Tears.
WHO? What? When? Where?
I just cried and said nothing.
Didn’t tell.
Didn’t grass.
Not on her.
My Big Sister.
I wore a cast on that leg for three months, the whole summer was ruined.
Swimming at Butlins – out the window.
Theme park rides – not happening.
And I didn’t even care.
Not really.
It was worth it.
Hobbling behind her like a grateful little servant.
For one whole day.
The luckiest day of my life.
With My Big Sister.
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Woman in Conversation 