When my sister and I were younger, it seemed we were ages apart.
We are not quite two years, and she is really my best friend; so much so that it seems the only thing separating our ascent to doing everything together is her inability to legally drink in bars. She is my best gal pal, if not slightly on a protective sisterly pedestal. I start gnashing my teeth and cracking my knuckles when my boy friends talk about her sex appeal or whereabouts.
As in its 10 p.m. and we're all 5 shots deep and my charming neighbor inquires, meaningfully: "Sonia, where's your sister?"
Or, "Sonia, you're sister's so hot...Where is she?"
So, yes my sister is hot. And yes, if you try to hit on her in front of me I am immature enough that not only will I cock block you to Hades, I will also defriend you on every social networking platform, ever. I know, terrifying. Testosterone is quaking in its boots.
But anyway, when we were younger our two year span seemed more like four. We were different, and disagreed on many things. One large nugget of dissension was the welfare of our mother. My sister was very protective, she didn't condone any roughhousing like chicken fights in the pool or that weird game where you swim around, pushing your opponents head down into the water, trying to drown each other.
I on the other hand, was older and had an attitude. I saw myself as an equal opponent to my mothers head-dunking abilities, and would challenge her. When my 8 year old core strength failed, I would get mad, exact revenge, and cling onto my mother's neck like an enraged koala, hoping for an advantage.
My mother would laugh, my sister would cry, and then my attempts at winning the drowning game would be thwarted as we'd all have to stop to calm Sasha down.
But there is one moment in my sister's brief career as my mother's bodyguard that truly bested me. My mother is athletic, and growing up she coached quite a few of our sports teams. When we lived in Virginia, Sash and I were just starting to play soccer, and my mother was the coach for my Under 8 soccer team, dubbed "The Geckos."
It was one of our last practices. All seven year olds want to end every game or practice by throwing water or Gatorade on their coach, because it is hilarious and adults look funny wet. Exactly the kind of physical humiliation, however, that my sister did not allow in our house. The instant Sasha caught wind of my team's giggly plan, her protective instinct kicked in.
Meanwhile, I was deviously unscrewing the cap of my water bottle, chuckling to myself.
During our post practice huddle, all the girls are looking at each other, mischievously, clutching their water bottles. My mother knew what was coming, and began jogging away as 13 Geckos took after her, shrieking.
I hung back a bit, wanting my dousing to be just me and the coach, for full hilarity. As I began jogging towards the pack, something felt off. I began to hear a vague buzzing sound, getting louder. I stopped my cleated pursuit, and turned around to face the growing hum...
I was full on flattened by my midget of a sister. She sprang up from kicking my ass, wailing in fear and sadness, and took off like a demon towards my mom. I sat up in disbelief as I watched the back of her pigtailed head cover the field alarmingly fast.
"Mom! Sasha hurt me!" I immediately complained. I wasn't even mad, I was more humiliated that my awesome water throwing moment was ruined by a shrimp wearing a Winnie the Pooh shirt.
My mom couldn't really feel sorry for me, considering she was busy comforting my sister/bodyguard as well as holding back laughter at the grass and dirt in my hair, evidence of my ass beating.
It was the first time I was taught never to underestimate my younger sister. Though I may have height and 1.75 years of life experience, she assess situations in a different, and often far more bad ass way than myself. But now I feel like her protective instinct has grown to encompass me, and I am her quarterback instead of, er, the other team. She protects me, just as vehemently and insanely as she protected my mother that fateful day on the soccer field.
She was just giving me a preview of her services.
I miss you, Sasha.