MATURATION

My sister, 8 years older than I, argued, fought, all the way to maturity. Mom’s voice still rings in my ears, ‘Stop it you two or I am going to get Dad’s strop and stop it my way.’ Josie would fly from our third floor shared bedroom to the street before I would have time to pick up half her junk still laying on the floor. Her pals would be outside. Mine were invisible.

Daddy would give us each 15 cents on Saturdays, 10 cents for the movie and 5 cents for candy. Josie was smart and bought the candy in Dominic’s, next door to the movie. They sold it 3 for 10 cents. Josie never asked what I wanted and bought what she liked.

Mom and Dad lectured us a lot, told us we were sisters, (no surprise to us) and that we are supposed to love each other, not fight all the time. We did improve but it wasn’t easy and took so long, I just about gave up. I can still see the scar, 22 years later, that Josie cut on my wrist. She apologized, told Dad and Mom it was an accident. I didn’t believe her then and still think she extra cut me. Josie said she took Mom’s big knife out of the kitchen table drawer because she was Black Beard and I was a lowly, bad sailor and had to be punished. Whammo, I saw her hand fly at my lifted arm to scare her away–and that is when she got me! Josie was punished. Dad gave her no allowance for two weeks and she could not use the phone at all. That made her madder at me than ever so we argued some more.

It took five years and Mom getting cancer to settle us down, stop fighting, be sweet, be nice, never mean in front of her. She suffered enough without our quibbling. In the evening Josie and I sat near her bed and she tried to tell us funny stories about the times we were young and stupid. They weren’t funny then or when she recalled them.

Josie was 22 when Mom died. She worked in an office and helped out at home in the evenings and part of the week-ends. I cleaned, even ironed my own clothes, did my homework without being told. Once in a while we’d bring up old hurts and were able to lay them to rest forever.

Years grew zephyr wings, flew so fast, as did I. Josie and I moved a thousand miles apart, almost as far as our childhood love was. It was the night before Yom Kippur, 2002, the holiest night of the Jewish year, the time to cleanse one’s mind, one’s soul, to ask god’s forgiveness for past sins, to ask to live another year. My phone rang and I heard Josie’s familiar voice. I gave her a warm friendly, ‘Hi! How are you? The family?’ I detected a slight delay in her reply. I gabbed to break the ice. She told me to keep quiet. ‘Rhon, I have to tell you something I’ve never told a single soul on earth. Just let me get it out!’ I am shaking. Is she ill, getting a divorce, but do as she asks and keep quiet.

‘O.k. Here goes. It’s Yom Kippur and either I do it now or die with it buried in me. Remember when you begged Mom to let you try on her diamond wedding band and all of a sudden it disappeared? My, lord, how we searched the hallway, into the kitchen, down the stairs in case it rolled down. We never found it. You were only 5 or 6 and Daddy punished you. I am sure that was the only time he hit either of us with his strop. Your little hynie was black and blue all week.’ ‘How could I ever forget that, Josie? I couldn’t see my hynie. You could and laughed, told me I looked funny. Criminy, why are you telling me this now?’ I wait.

‘Rhon, you are still my little sister, I found the ring and never told. I have kept it in my own wedding ring box all these years and want to send it to you. Mom would want you to have it, not me, the thief. May I send it to you? Can you forgive me, Rhon?’

‘I hurt. I can’t believe that you have had the ring all these years while I have talked myself into believing I dropped it.’ I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully. ‘Sister, you did a terrible thing to let me feel guilty and Dad and Mom hold the loss against me. Please don’t ask me to forgive you. It is not my place.

Go to Shule Friday for Yom Kippur, ask god to forgive you. Ask him to grant you life for the coming year...and when he does...come visit me, my Abe and your 2 nieces. Bring me the ring.’