“Stop being so stupid. You’re SO DUMB right now.”
“OH. My. God. Shut up or I will seriously hurt you. NOW!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
“Ughhh, just leave! Whitney, you are soo annoying and stupid!” is the sneering reply I receive, which she yells at the top of her lungs, right before I see a door slamming full speed towards my face.
For anyone who has one of these people in their lives, they know what I mean. No, she’s not my mortal enemy. She’s isn’t some girl who tried to steal my boyfriend, or who spread some nasty rumours about me. No. Those types of people never really elicit this type of response. For anyone who has been in this type of situation, you know who she is. She’s my little sister.
She’s the only person who I find myself fighting with one minute, and then the next minute we’re laughing at YouTube videos or having a Britney Spears or Miley Cyrus-fuelled dance party in my room. Other than my parents, she really is the only other person I fight with. Only it happens with her much more, and the reasons are much more trivial. Like being annoyed with the time she takes to get ready, or having to knock one too many times on her bedroom door before she answers, or not allowing her to borrow one of my shirts, or not watching the TV show she wants to, or… well, you probably get the idea. But I think that’s the luxury in having a sister; she’s the only person I know who I can freely, without any type of fear or censorship, tell “You’re being a loser. Stop bugging me.” Of course I would never say that to any of my other friends. But with my sister, it certainly helps clear up the arguments quickly without any awkward tiptoeing around the subject.
Ashley is two years younger than me, and she’s in her second year at Lakehead University. And to top that off, this year, we’re roommates. I’ll admit that I did have some fears about being her roommate, but it surprisingly seems to be going quite well.
A sister is the kind of person you can call silly nicknames (our most recent are Wooty and Aooty), or stay up late with, or take funny pictures with. One night last summer, she brought her blanket and pillow into my room and asked me permission to sleep on my floor.
“Can we have a sleepover tonight?” she asked as I was already lying in bed.
“Yeah. But I have to wake up early. I have to blow dry my hair in here and you’ll still be sleeping.”
“That’s ok. I wanted to get up early anyways.”
“All right, I hope you’re serious. I don’t like how you get in the mornings!” I said wearily.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go downstairs and make food… Do you want any?”
And so began the summer of continuous sleepovers, my bedroom floor covered in sheets and pillows, and gourmet late-night snacks provided by Ashley. She’s worked in a restaurant for the past four years, and she’s picked up a few tips. She also isn’t afraid of experimenting, so she mixes anything to see if it tastes good. It nearly always does.
However, despite the giggles and snacks at night, every morning I was annoyed again.
“UGH. Why do you set your alarm on your iPod if you don’t plan on getting up to it? It wakes me up too, you know!”
“Sorry… I… I don’t know… Ughhh Whitney...” she’d say some other stuff too, but it got muffled as she turned her alarm off and rolled back into her pillow. When I got up to get ready for work in the morning, she was still sleeping, hiding her face under the pile of blankets and pillows and making barely audible sleep sounds that I assumed indicated annoyance.
Sometimes I asked her to leave, to clear her blankets out so I could have a clean room for once. However, it was only a matter of days until she came back into my room. I was 20 and she was 18, but that didn’t stop us from having sleepovers like we did in elementary school with our friends from class. Except now, I know that my sister can be my friend, too, even if sometimes she feels like my only enemy.
Yesterday, I realized that even though she’s the absolute best at annoying me, she’d also do just about anything to help me. There was a big windstorm and the power went out in our townhouse for at least half an hour, just as I was getting ready in the morning.
“Oh no! I was just about to take a shower! It better go back on soon. I don’t want to take a shower in the pitch black,” I said as I sat on the floor outside the bathroom, wearing only my towel.
Walking out of her bedroom, she said, “Well, I could sit outside the shower and hold up a flashlight.” She started laughing, but her facial expression didn’t indicate sarcasm.
She stood outside the bathroom door and waited until I got into the shower. Then, she balanced three flashlights in her hands, varying between holding them straight up to light up the ceiling, and holding them directly up to the frosted translucent shower curtain. Finally, after about five minutes, she whined, “Woooooty, my arm has been held up for five solid minutes! I need to stop!”
We laughed, and I finished up the shower as we provided our own powerless entertainment by singing songs as she waved the flashlights around the bathroom. For reasons like this, I’m glad I have a little sister. For the price of a few fights a week, I get my very own personal chef, flashlight holder, and best friend.