For the Rest of Our Lives
Thirteen (2005)
Sally starts developing boobs before I do. She also gets her period before I do, and while she's been complaining about both, I'm jealous. I want to be like her. I want to start becoming a woman as well, but I'm not there yet. Mom tells me that she was a late bloomer as well. I might not start until I'm thirteen or fourteen. I think that just sounds weird.
Sally and I are on my back porch, and she's no longer colouring in the drawings of colouring books. She's colouring the drawings that she has drawn herself- and they are only getting better and better as we get older. The art teacher has praised her countless times, and I'm still stuck drawing cartoon-y bats with too-big teeth. I smile anyway, watching Sally draw and colour.
Her hair is starting to get darker, but only by a little bit. Her beautiful light eyes almost seem to glow in the light of the setting sun. My smile grows warmer, and I return my attention to the family of bats I've been working on.
Sally eventually pauses her artwork, leaning back and shaking her wrist out. She looks over to me and parts her lips as she watches. She scoots across the deck, until she's at my side peering over my shoulder.
"Aw, they're cute," she says, grinning. Her teeth are a little crooked- her aunt says she needs braces, but her dad keeps refusing to get her them. I look up and Sally and grin back at her.
"You really think so?" I ask. "I'm not an artist like you."
"I really think so," Sally says. Her smile falters slightly, and then she appears to regain herself. She shakes her head and ruffles my messy hair. "Just because you think I can draw better than you, doesn't mean that your drawings aren't any good. I like them. I think they're pretty awesome."
"Okay," I sigh. I look back down at my family of bats. "Thank you."
"Have you named them yet?" Sally asks. So I point at each one, naming them off. In the future I plan to draw a comic revolving around this little family of bats. Sally thinks it's a great idea, her words only ever encouraging and supportive. I think I wish Sally was my sister, but I'm not sure. Part of me never wants her to be my sister, but I don't quite understand that part yet.
Sally and I are on my back porch, and she's no longer colouring in the drawings of colouring books. She's colouring the drawings that she has drawn herself- and they are only getting better and better as we get older. The art teacher has praised her countless times, and I'm still stuck drawing cartoon-y bats with too-big teeth. I smile anyway, watching Sally draw and colour.
Her hair is starting to get darker, but only by a little bit. Her beautiful light eyes almost seem to glow in the light of the setting sun. My smile grows warmer, and I return my attention to the family of bats I've been working on.
Sally eventually pauses her artwork, leaning back and shaking her wrist out. She looks over to me and parts her lips as she watches. She scoots across the deck, until she's at my side peering over my shoulder.
"Aw, they're cute," she says, grinning. Her teeth are a little crooked- her aunt says she needs braces, but her dad keeps refusing to get her them. I look up and Sally and grin back at her.
"You really think so?" I ask. "I'm not an artist like you."
"I really think so," Sally says. Her smile falters slightly, and then she appears to regain herself. She shakes her head and ruffles my messy hair. "Just because you think I can draw better than you, doesn't mean that your drawings aren't any good. I like them. I think they're pretty awesome."
"Okay," I sigh. I look back down at my family of bats. "Thank you."
"Have you named them yet?" Sally asks. So I point at each one, naming them off. In the future I plan to draw a comic revolving around this little family of bats. Sally thinks it's a great idea, her words only ever encouraging and supportive. I think I wish Sally was my sister, but I'm not sure. Part of me never wants her to be my sister, but I don't quite understand that part yet.