My infamous sister, the life-wrecker. Formerly a perfectly normal girl by the name of Lucinda Banks, this girl became the devil incarnate when her surname changed to “Reagan.” She is still considered Public Enemy #1. Wanted dead or alive, but preferably dead.
Just kidding. I’ll always love her to some extent. I think it’s probably impossible, when you’ve grown up with someone, not to love them, even if it’s in a twisted way.
Today though, I’m not focusing on our relationship as it is now. I’m focusing on it as it was back when we were kids. I have three stories about Lucinda and me, so let’s get started.
1. The Car Ride
I think everyone who has ever had a sibling has experienced this. You know what I’m talking about: Those interminable car rides when even breathing on each other was annoying. I’d usually “solve” the problem by drawing a line with my finger and threatening that if she ever crossed it she’d be dead.
The particular car ride I’m talking about was a visit to our grandparents’ house. Lucy (her nickname) and I were sitting in the backseat of our station wagon, trying as hard as we could not to touch. I was seven, so Lucinda must have been five.
We were all hungry and tired. My mom, my dad, and I voted to go to Wendy’s, and Lucy wanted McDonald’s. She broke into a crying fit, so we eventually gave in. I still remember that both Lucy and I got Happy-meals and that she got a toy in hers and I didn’t. That’s childish jealousy for you, huh?
When we got back in the car, Lucinda played happily with her new barbie playset and I lay back and stared out the window, my eyes glazed.
Suddenly I heard a retching noise beside me. I whipped around, and saw Lucy throwing up into her happymeal box. She looked at me beseechingly.
“Oh, I’ll tell them to pull over,” I said, as she vomited again, “just give me your playset.” She glared at me but nodded weakly, still retching. I quickly screamed to stop the car, glorying in my own cunning.
They pulled over, checked her out, and decided to take her to a hospital because she didn’t look like she was just carsick. Thankfully, there was a hospital not three blocks from where we were. We drove there slowly, careful not to upset her.
By the time we had her checked in and being looked at, I was feeling pretty guilty about blackmailing her into giving me the set. Not guilty enough, however, to return it to her. I know, I was an awful child.
About thirty minutes later, the doctors announced that the cause was food poisoning. Apparently McDonald’s wasn’t the best choice to go for a meal. She was crying when she came out with Mom. Something about no food for the next day.
Finally, I felt bad enough to give her the playset back. When I did, she hugged me and told me I was the best sister ever, which was all it took to make me feel completely fulfilled.
Until part 2, this is Lollipop, signing off!