Sisters – A Memory to Keep

Published on July 11, 2010 in Babies, Nostalgia and Queen Me. 28 Comments

In the big wooden bed they lie, curled like a closing quotation mark. The room is mauve and lilac. Pushing past the tropical foliage the light through the window is insistent.

One of them makes an unladylike noise and the other rolls over, eyebrows raised. The offender opens an eye and giggles. They both do.

They could be 10 and 11. The quiet, the comfort, the naughtiness, the illicit mirth induced snorts feel like it, but they aren’t. At 31 and 32 they have just eaten steak sandwiches on the front lawn, on plastic backed blankets; champagne bubbles tasting of a Karratha Winter (which is anyone’s Summer) tickling their nostalgia and beckoning for nap-time.

Thousands of miles away from the memory’s home, the Little One asks the Big One if she remembers them sharing the bed that came to stay just before Gran from England did. The Big One doesn’t at all and the Little One reminds her what a terrible memory she has. The Big One is always indignant. She has a very good memory thank you very much. It is funny how shared histories merge and diverge.

They say that if they were their mother, at the age they are now, they would have a Big One of 6 and  Little One of 5. They can’t imagine how she survived it, no matter how long-haired, blonde and sunny, brunette and shy,  yet altogether endearing they were.

Without wanting to wish away their younger selves or their future babies, they marvel at, and are grateful for the years they have had with each other, alone. The Big One wonders if, however, they are being punished for waiting; the time, the money, the career. Is this why it is taking so long for their own families to arrive?

But whatever happens, the Big One loves the Little One and the Little One loves the Big One and they cherish their time, just as sisters, visiting in this red-earthed town.

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