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Memoir of Perspective
Carolyn was the older sister, which in title means of course that she was the tallest, the smartest — often the bossiest — the responsible leader, the overachiever, the first to do anything and everything, the “mature one,” the bravest of all — or at least, the most impulsive. Yes, Carolyn was a typical “oldest child.” In most cases Carolyn was the top of the food chain: she was the mob-boss of the family, and all owed their respect to her. She was the one to look up to — she was the example to follow.
I, on the other hand, was merely the younger sister — the smaller one, the daydreamer, the inexperienced, the follower, second in line, the shadow to my older role model. The first time I laid my eyes upon the ocean, I was much too young to understand the torture of a summer day at the beach, but I diligently watched my sister with intense curiosity as she approached the large expanse of water, teaching through her example.
It was a hot and miserable day for Carolyn, who I observed squinting painfully at the sun, her eyes mere tiny diamond slivers of translucent blue attempting to see something through her long lashes. As she lowered her gaze from that awful ball of gas she was bombarded by an even fiercer attacker: a supernatural flash of light emanating from some point ahead of her, apocalyptic in nature, and yet the world around her miraculously was still intact (probably…
