As told by Anonymous.

“Today was the loneliest day of my life.”
I was surrounded by empty boxes and mutilated Command hooks, I sunk farther into the polar bear of a bean bag that my Yia Yia had surprised her with for Hannukah years ago. I thought of when we used to be small enough to curl up and sleep side by side on that gargantuan thing, using all of our might to lug it onto the cold tile bathroom floor. I thought about the stories that the worn skin of the tired chair must hold as she chatters away about God knows what with Lucy and Lucy and Harper and “Kitty.”
It took me nearly my whole life, but I know now that I am little more than a stranger in her life.
I sat on the dilapidated seat of fake white fur and stared at the cracked eggshell ceiling and thought that this was the loneliest that I have ever, ever been. Harper was showing her most recent tattoo as she hung her craft-center masterpieces above their matching beds. A pang of jealousy as my sister gushed over the red and black simplistic design, the two of them already planning their first joint inking excursion.
“Where is my matching tattoo?” I mused as I watched them gab about the local parlors they took note of on the drive up.
All I could think as they continued their plans for tattoos, animal etchings, and what designs they would print onto their tote bags Monday night, was that she never wanted to do arts and crafts with me. And by Monday I am going to be long gone, back home, alone on the cold tile bathroom floor with no bean bag and no gossip partner, making arts and crafts on my own.
All the while someone else will get to make her breakfast in the morning and will get to learn her favorite Yerba Mate flavor, so they can buy it when they stop for gas even when she says she isn’t thirsty. And someone else gets to stay up late watching Coraline and talking about boys on the bean bag and go to pilates and share clothes with my sister.
My sister.
And, don’t get me wrong, I’m endlessly happy for her, and all the Prince Pucker’s Organic Ice Cream she’ll get to eat and all the cute boys across the hall from L.A. she’ll pretend to ignore.
I sat in a Thai restaurant, filled with picture-perfect Oregonian families, and thought of my own, my parents on separate sides of the booth, the dorm, the house, the town, with no one to attempt and bridge the gaping hole with me.
“This is the loneliest I have ever been.”