there’s this moment from many years back that my sister and i share.
something to do with cinnamon altoids.
i don’t even remember the whole joke, but every time we say the punchline — “cinnamon altoid?” — we both laugh hysterically.
this is usually followed by a conversation in which we both explain how we tried to re-tell the moment to someone outside of the joke and received blank stares instead of laughter.
and then we both laugh again, this time at the giddiness of sharing our own private joke that no one else can have.
it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s these little moments that define my relationship with my youngest sister.
when we get together, we talk about slug foot. and jc chasez. and special spaghetti. and flying toenails. and most of the time, it’s just a single phrase that launches us into a thousand giggly hysterics.
but it’s not really the phrases that construct our sisterly association.
it is the moments just before and directly after the phrases.
when our synapses fire and emit the same memory with the same emotional trigger. our mind-gears click, rock, spin in perfect time and tenor.
she’s there. and i am there. and we get each other. and no other words are needed.
it is the relationship that i adore most. because the in-between parts become a super-charged consolation.
and even when the phrases aren’t there, she is there. her spirit hugs mine.
and i never forget my way back.