Brothers and sisters grow up arguing, screaming, and fighting from dusk until dawn. The arguments range from talking on the telephone, sharing the bathroom, to who gets dibs on the car. These confrontations appear to be the norm between siblings. In reality, when one comes face to face with losing a sister, all the arguing, screaming, and fighting seem of little importance. I realized this during a blistering hot July afternoon sojourn at the beach.
The long drive felt like a never-ending adventure. Instead of cool air, the air conditioner blew air from the gates of Hell. My sister and I sat in the back seat of the ever-shrinking Toyota Camry arguing and hitting each other until dad threatened us yelling, “Don’t make me drive this car into a telephone pole!” Mom sat on the other side with only two jobs, control the radio and navigate us to the beach. Both were done very poorly, giving us static from the radio and forty-five minutes on a road with no name. After hours of driving, which felt like an eternity, we finally arrived at the beach.
Running toward the ocean, I felt the cool sand squish between my toes. The water was clear and inviting, seashells cover the bottom, and rolling waves punctuate the surface. My sister and I went into the ocean, diving through the waves and swimming as quickly as we could. We rode enormous waves into the shore on our raft and then swam back to catch more. We enjoyed ourselves for hours until I was totally exhausted and headed into shore. My sister stayed by herself...