New Earth Wisdom

My first sister came along when I was feeling so alone at age eleven. To be perfectly honest, it is an awkward age as it is.

I had been almost isolated with my nose in a book for some time of the year. I had withdrawn any ideas of friendship and felt more like an observer, studying the odd behaviors of those around me. Not to mention I had been through some serious trauma and didn’t feel like a soul in the world could understand me.

I would sit outside under the Cherry Tree that Spring in 1995 and watch as two girls who looked nearly identical would create some wind in my direction as they rode their bicycles around the court I lived in. This happened several times a day, in fact.

I still had friends in my neighborhood that were much younger than me, and sometimes I would play with them outside. Often, we would go down by the weeping willow that sat nearby a path behind the houses that led from one neighborhood to another. In time, I sat there alone with my book. When people came around, I would scurry up the tree which hid me completely and went very high and find a branch to rest and read on.

One of these Spring days, one of the girls who had been on the bikes came through the path. She spotted me before I could scurry away, and walked toward me quite quickly as though she was an Olympic runner. I looked around for an exit plan but I didn’t see one.

Lisa, was her name, I found out. To my surprise, Lisa was so interesting. From the moment she spoke, we became instant friends, as though there was a secret code that only we could understand. I don’t quite know how this happens, but it does. It’s like falling in love at first glance, except, with a friend.

Lisa and I turned to see a group of sixth and seventh graders coming along the path, acting incredibly cool, I might add as a fifth grader. We both had the same idea: scurry up the tree.

As we sat there holding hands, we listened to their conversation and tried so hard not to laugh when they were right underneath of us. Our invisible tree bubble was so nice, we could observe and not be seen!

As instant friends, Lisa and I spent every day together, finding out that we not only had so much in common, but we were great at inventing and creating ways to have fun that gave us even more in common.

One day I asked about her friend and the bike, knowing Lisa and I biked everywhere together. I found out her name was Layla, and Lisa biked with her but that was the extent of the friendship. No common conversation or excited giggles were had by the two. I understood, knowing I had “friends” like this. I always wondered why it felt a bit cold in those relationships.

Our families instantly became family. We had so many cherished memories, so many good fights, and oh, this one time.. we decided to pick pocket the many, many jackets in my house. Jackets that had not been checked in the pockets! As we gathered more and more change, we started to sing, “we’re in the money!” over and over. In 1995, that was a lot of change! Even the Pennies counted! And we had plans for this money. My Father would take us to a Country Club where he would dismiss us for the day. It was the perfect place to get as much junk food as we could muster back into the bunk beds at Lisa’s house that night.

We had backpacks and bags of candy. My Father was suspicious but easily fooled.

As Lisa and I tumbled into bed to watch movies, we ate candy like combining Halloweens. Our stomachs hurt for hours! But not once did we regret it. In fact, we laughed so hard through the hurt at each other and ourselves atop a mountain of candy wrappers.

One time, I broke my toe as Lisa and I wrestled down the stairs. I felt this intense pain, so Brenda, Lisa’s mother, who was such a comfort, put on a movie and rubbed my foot. I eventually fell asleep, but found the next day I couldn’t walk. Lisa, in all her glory, came up with an ingenious plan: she would transport me on a skateboard to my house as I held a jumprope for her to pull.

No one could believe Lisa got me up the biggest hill which led from one house to another. Sweating and near passing out, she stopped many times but refused to not get me home for evaluation.

Finally, the day came. Lisa was moving. Back to Alabama.

I cried in fury and sadness. And for about six months, I suffocated that feeling with reading and sleeping, and wearing a shirt Lisa had designed for me.

I was now a sixth grader who didn’t care about relationships or boys but missed my friend.

Finally, the fateful day came. Lisa was to visit. As the phone rang in the morning, I barreled down the stairs to see that the caller ID showed her parents’ name, and I gleefully picked up the phone.

Lisa had a big question and our parents had to talk. We both got nervous, being unable to talk ourselves because back then, families only had one telephone line.

We found out that Lisa would be living with us. Her Father had died, and her Mother, being a flight attendant, would need help.

Lisa and I were both so happy. Life was just as we imagined for about a year. We had big fights with crying “I love you, I’m so sorry”‘s afterwards. We had fun missions and creative endeavors, and with Lisa there I didn’t have to be at the mercy of my parents who wanted my attention. I was free to have fun! To be a kid!

That year, we watched the snow fall higher than we had ever imagined. We had months of snow that year, and we built an igloo and an ice castle. We took care of rabbits, birds and my dog together. We were sisters.

Finally, Lisa had to leave. I didn’t express how hard this was this time. I had so many memories up until now. My parents were getting a divorce and so much happened that year, it wasn’t until much later that I could recall just how close we had been, and how fun that year of my life was.

Lisa and I couldn’t visit as often as she had her children early, but she never lost that beautiful light that was always inside her.

When I heard she had passed at age 33, I dropped my keys in front of the door I was unlocking for work. In fact, I forgot about work. I wandered over to CVS and told a stranger that my best friend died.

Over time, I was able to cope much better. I still hear her laugh at things she would find funny, and at times I am sure she is laughing with me from where she is. Lisa brought me laughter and love.

Lisa was my first sister. To this day, I hold a great big space in my heart for her.

For Lisa Melanson, mother of 2, my best friend. 1983-2018