Shred Sisters

by Betsy Lerner

No matter how desperately I always wanted Ollie to choose me, I resented it when she summoned me.

She had left a trail of hurt, all in service of her restless, fevered, formidable mind.

For Ollie there seemed to be an unlimited cup of possibility, a bank of brilliant clouds against a perfect blue sky, a taut ribbon flickering in the distance.

She threaded her arm through mine. “Benefit of the doubt?” “Sure,” I said, and we picked up the pace.

She found herself talking and singing to her baby, eliciting smiles that on their own might have changed Ollie’s brain chemistry.

I suspected our relationship was more of a bridge, two people biding their time, waiting for something better or, in my case, a way back to the land of the living.

“I love you, little sister. I hope you know that.” When I failed to respond in kind, Ollie returned to her assembly line, filling the last of the goody bags. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know you love me, too.”

The past was the past; she loved being at the center of the festivities, her cynicism shelved, making her family happy and proud.

The emotional current was overpowering, and for a moment all the joy and sadness in life pooled inside me and I longed for everyone I’d ever loved.

Our failed marriages became badges of honor: we were soldiers on the battlefield of love, burned, battered, but still here, or so we said.

Then, hugging me tight, she whispered in my ear, “I remember the second thing my therapist said: you have to forgive yourself.”

I walked out the door for the last time and knew that whatever I did next was up to me. I left the door open.