Shred Sisters

by Betsy Lerner

The curtains had parted, and our family was yet again in the middle of a play we hoped no one else could see.

Less than a minute later, the door opened. I hoped it was my mom come to soothe me,

I didn’t want to harm myself, I wanted to be someone else.

I could have told him a million different things: that I had a sister who haunted me, that I’d never been kissed, and that science, the religion I prayed to, had excommunicated me.

I wanted my sister; I just didn’t know if I wanted Ollie.

The illusion, if nothing else, was comforting.

Mom had claimed that we would be best friends when we grew up, which struck me as a bit ambitious.

“Everyone loves you when you’re dead.”

I never viewed my ability to be alone as a strength. It was more of a default.

No one will love you more or hurt you more than a sister.