A few summers ago, I lived in a room with my sisters. We made this work by setting up triple bunk beds, which made getting into and out of bed interesting. The youngest had to climb up a veritable jacob's ladder every time she wanted to sleep. The middle child had the bottom, where she couldn't bring her knees up without scarring them on the undersprings of mine. My bed was just high enough that I couldn't climb in gracefully; it was a sort of half-hop roll thing that left me sprawling like a beached whale. What I'm saying is, once we got into our beds, we weren't going anywhere very quickly.
This was the summer I tried to get in shape, and while I do that every summer, it almost seemed like it was going to stick that year. I rolled (quite literally) out of bed to a horrifyingly cheery alarm every morning at 6:15 and dragged my sisters with me, and we blearily leapt around the living room for about 40 minutes to the smooth sounds of nineties work-out videos. We had a short worship together after that, and then there was usually time to watch an episode of something before I left for work.
Of course, three girls in proximity of that sort has always been a recipe for disaster, particularly when two of them are just far enough apart that they will never agree on anything. My middle sister and I got into so many pointless arguments. The two younger ones got into so many irritating fights. The youngest and I knew better than to start anything with each other. Peace and harmony did not reign more often than chaos and discord, but we did manage to stay alive, and so did all of our belongings. I suppose that counts for something.
My most distinct memories of those few months, however, weren't the ridiculous fights, or the 6:15 work-outs (though my sisters profess psychological scarring from my phone alarm to this day), but the times we spent in our triple bunk bed, going nowhere fast because no one wanted to get up, but not sleepy yet either, because it was the middle of the summer, and the sun refused to set.
It was on one of these occasions that we decided to write a story, each telling one piece at a time. We started off having no idea where it was supposed to go, but it rapidly devolved into my vision versus my middle sister's, and the youngest just listened and nearly cried laughing.
Our story was about a princess on her wedding day, and her dress (said my sister) was hot pink, accessorized by shining silver shoes. Hideous (I said) said the princess, and discarded it out of the window, where it landed (said my sister) on a stable boy who looked longingly up at the window. He was the princess's riding instructor, and the two of them were madly in love. Unfortunately (I said), the princess was to be married to someone else in just a few hours' time. The stable lad was mooning under the window for nothing. Their plan (said my sister) was to run away together. She sent her lady-in-waiting (I said) to tell the boy they could never be together, because if she didn't marry her afianced, her family would be destitute. He sent the lady back, saying (said my sister) that their love would find a way to come through. He would come for her. The lady-in-waiting (I said) told the princess what he said, but she also told the princess that the two of them should probably just accept their lots. She thought the two of them were empty-headed idiots, and she was tired listening to them and carrying ridiculous messages. Nevertheless (said my sister), the princess had faith that her love would save her from a loveless marriage.
It was finally time for the wedding. The ceremony went through (I said) without a hitch, and soon the new bride was packed up into a carriage with her husband and sent away. (To this news, my sister reacted rather badly.)
(Resultingly, we never did get much farther with our story.)
I wonder, sometimes, where our princess would have ended up if we had finished it. Probably with her stable boy. I had given up on her as a character already, anyway. I was more interested in her lady-in-waiting, who I had in mind for the nefarious husband. He was really just a cursed prince who needed to inherit the princess's property to free himself from an eternity alone. Much more fun than a sappy stupid stable boy, I thought. I was probably wrong.
We haven't written any stories together since. After that summer, I went back to school, and when I came home the next year, I had my room back, and my sisters and I got along much better. Most of the time.
I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I think it's probably just to preserve it somewhere, and maybe a little bit to prove that in spite of the impression I may have given, my sisters are pretty great.
I love this.
ReplyDeleteThank you.