I look at my face in those pictures and see my innocence: How I thought things would stay that way forever, sharing a journey with Etty, sharing our lives.
When I opened my closet the night before first grade, the scent of Downy Rose, powder-like, drifted from the shelves. Two starched shirts, two green cotton sweaters, two plaid uniform skirts, two pairs of patent leather shoes, smooth and new.
It was like a picture of our lives, my big sister Etty and I. Neatly lined up, matching, in pairs, fresh, happy, and better-together.
I had friends throughout the years and they were great, but Etty was always first. We dangled our feet off the matching trundle beds, spun identical fantasies as the late afternoon sun spilled gold across the carpet.
Etty was slender, dark hair, creamy complexion. Soft-spoken and delicate, she spun through life on feathers, swathed in pastels and grace.
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