SISTERS: ON LILA

Photo: Lovely Lila

Feral green eyes with that brown hair-- just to fool you. No, there is nothing ordinary about her. She writes of wolves, Little People, and darkest chambers. She has seen the little green man. She dares to ask, “Who am I?” She sang for me, and taught me “Pig Latin” and read and recited poetry-- with feeling! She took me places and kept me ever safe. She made me feel and think, and as her little sister I wanted nothing more than to see inside her mind and find all the secrets of the universe lounging there.

I was convinced that she could teach classes on Courage 101, give lessons on “How to be Hidden When You Want to Be”. She taught me to pray, and sing, and believe. And I knew that no one, no one, could ever draw Snoopy like she did!

She brought me gifts of cattails, burrs, and ice cycles. When I could not go to the world, she brought the world to me. She opened it up and bid me, “Look inside. Touch it. It won't hurt you. I won't allow it.”

She fed me half-done potatoes and corn on the cob. She put cucumbers on my eyes. And I loved it all.

She brought me cowboy ghost stories, and the fun of roller skates, and the magic that only a record player can bring.

She let me watch her jump like a deer. She believed that one day I would jump like that.

She valued me enough to send me letters before I was even able to read them. She listened to me when most people didn't even look my way.

She taught me all her quirks as well. We still eat ice like candy and sound like one person. We are drawn to kittens and barns, cats and tombstones, poetry and faeries.

She is deathly afraid of heights and rodents but I know, even when she doesn't, that there is no threat she would not face for me.

She is cinnamon Dentyne gum and concentrated orange juice, Ovaltine and store-bought milk. She is the wind in your face on a summer night, the sights and sounds of a country fair, and midnight picnics by the river. She is yogurt and chicken-n-stars soup. She is a long draw on a menthol cigarette while a woman contemplates the universe. She is flower power, hippie clothes, and ink on your jeans. She is the sharing of “The Notebook” and “The Mirror”. She is hot fudge cakes, and veggie sticks. She is the wild sea and the summer storm, silent snowflakes, and crunchy autumn leaves. She is much that I long to be and the root of so many things that make me me.

My Sweet Sissy