Notalgia Marcea Phidd

Nostalgia Marcea Phidd 2nd Place in Prose, Student Contest

Gray. Gray sky. Gray trees, grass. Gray neighborhood and gray air. Hints of color would splash here and there, like the ugly purple/blue couch my sister was lounging in … my noodles submerged in warm yellow broth. The inside of the house itself radiated a warm, velvet, purple, a contrast to the monotonous colors outside. And inside the cozy little house, my sister and I sat. Kyia - enraptured with some cheesy anime, and I - with my bowl of golden noodles. As the anime of some boy and some girl falling in “love” drawled on the television, I sat and halfheartedly watched alongside my sister. I craved a violent and gory anime brimming with action and fight scenes, but if my kid sis wanted to watch this disgusting love shit play on screen - then dammit, that is what my eyes shall despairingly watch. The code of siblings written long ago in ancient times states - If Thou does not have the remote, then Thou does not get to chooseth the show. So. Rolling my eyes at one scene that contained a ceaseless amount of tears and brummagem music, I swallowed the last of my food and belched, grabbing the attention of my sister. Her eyes zeroed in on my empty bowl and content face. “I’m hungry.” Kyia was too lazy to make her own food and wanted something instant and cheap. Walmart was the destination for our little adventure. Thus began the prepping ceremony of mascara, lashes, highlighter and layers of clothes. With a grab of my wallet and keys, the shut of the door and intense shock of light hitting our eyes for the first time of the day, out into the streets we went. It was gray. It was cloudy. It was cold. It was a long … ass … fucking walk. As I strolled next to my adorable and beautiful pink nosed sister, I couldn’t help but gaze at her. My sister. It was the high school years and I was the older sister in school while Kyia was the younger. It was an impossibly annoying position to be in high school with her. She wasn’t annoying - the classmates were. The daily comparisons that my sister and I had to go through every day was infuriating. And it wasn’t I who was bothered, it was my little sister. She was a fresh eyed freshman. And her older sister was there at school with her! To hang out with her and check in on her (which I would creepily do by peeping in the classroom windows, trying to spot the little rascal). It was great! And then it wasn’t. Because every day Kyia would have to hear her classmates and random ass people state some dumbass comments like, “Ah, your older sister is so pretty! Prettier than you …”

or have questions thrown at her like, “Why is your sister so much curvier than you?” “Why is your sister taller and cooler than you?” It sucked. Terribly. Throughout the school years, before I graduated and was able to leave that godforsaken place, I watched my sister wilt under criticism from her “friends” and classmates. Her self-esteem was deteriorating. And it was partially my fault. I was the one who she was being compared to. I was the one that my sister looked up to in such a toxic way. I was the one who was dismayed that my sister, my little sister couldn’t see how beautiful she was and how much I wanted to be just like her. I admired, and still do admire her, so much. And I want her to always remember that. To never forget how much of a role model she was, and still is, to me. And so, when winter break finally arrived, there my sister and I sat, watching anime, slouched on our couches. It was just us. There was no one around to make snide comments. No one around to ask dumbass questions that were obviously hurtful. No one around to pressure my sister into believing that she wasn’t one of the most beautiful, kind, hilarious people to ever grace that stupid high school. No one. But us. Just us sisters, or “stisters,” as Kyia likes to call us. I was happy. I was happy to just be alone with her. I was happy to be walking alongside her. Tall, long, skinnier in the places I wasn’t, and cooler and goofier in her likeable open personality that I sure did not have - walking with her by my side … joking and screaming and singing and peeing in a ditch (that was me.) I admire her. A mop-top of curly hair and her trademark dimples, her pink button nose and highlighted cheeks. My younger sister of a year and half - my “twin,” my role model and the person that I want to be as I grow up. As we walked amongst the asphalt and rocks toward Walmart, I held onto my sister’s arms and grinned, shoving my cheek against hers. “Stister. You so cute. I love you.” “Ehhhhhh Matea! Augghhh get offfffffffff …” I love you, baby sister. And I always will.