A moment of mistaken identity bridges the miles between two sisters.
I was sitting on the balcony trying to fan off the heat wave, the taste of sweat in my mouth and a carton of strawberries spilled out on the table in front of me. Thousands of miles from home, thousands of miles from the people that knew me. Then I saw my sister. Green hair moving in a blur, too far away to make out her face—but I knew her. I knew that hair color; we sit in the bathroom once a month as I slather it over her head and she warns me not to get it on the floor. Our shower is covered in little velvety dots of emerald. Juniper Green by Lunar Tides—she has to have it shipped to our apartment.
She was walking along the canal, head bent with that green hair covering the details of her face, and I stood. And then she looked up.
It wasn’t her.
Of course it wasn’t her.
Why would it be? She can’t afford the plane ticket, she wouldn’t leave her job and our cats just to come see me for an afternoon. I would be back in a few weeks. There was no reason for her to fly 3,940 miles to meet me.
But for that split second, my sister had come to visit me. For a moment, I let myself believe it too.
About the Author
Sydney Taylor is a second year English Literature student at Miami University in Ohio, where she lives with her sister and their four cats: Charlie, Moby, Puddle, and Nifty.