The Life of Bon: I miss her

Thursday, October 06, 2011

I miss her

This was taken the day Mar Mar started her mission in front of Pizza Factory.  I don't know why I thought an oversized Element Tshirt was appropriate attire for that day.

Meet Mary. 

She's my lil sis. 

And here's the deal. I adore Mary. I really really do.

There's something magical about sister relationships.  Something about them that is so special you only find it in a sister-sister bond.  Think about it: there's no one else in the world who I could possibly already have more in common with.  We share: parents and genes and experiences growing up and hometown and gender and siblings.  The moment she comes out of the womb, this girl is automatically my best friend- I mean, we've already got so much going for us!

She's gone now.  She's out to teach the good word to the peeps down in the southern hemisphere.  If there's one thing besides Mary that I absolutely love, it's the people of Argentina.  So I suppose that I'm quite jealous that my two loves are about to meet for the first time and they didn't bother to invite me.

When we were little, Mary and I used to sleep outside on the trampoline on summer nights.  We'd laugh and jump on the tramp and tell scary stories and scream until we heard my parents' voice coming from their open bedroom window, "Girls!  Quiet down!"  Then we'd whisper and giggle until we decided we were hungry and one of us would "sneak" back into the house ever so quiet, and make cinnamon toast to bring back out for a little midnight snack.  We were quite the sly ones, getting past my parents like that.

When I was 15 and Mary was 11, my parents left us alone for 10 days while they went to Europe.  I didn't have my driver's license, but I drove all over the town anyway, often with Mary in tow.  (As you can see, my driving problems started at a young age)  I made her promise not to tell the parentals.  She never did.

A few weeks after my dad died, Mary called me several times one Friday night.  I was playing cards, goofing around with my friends, acting normal as can be, but inside I was hurting.  Mary said she was just thinking about me and wanted to come over to hang out.  So she played cards with us all and we laughed and joked and acted like we hadn't seen a sad day in our life.  And when the neighbors went home and the roommates went to sleep, Mary slept over with me.  And we laid in my bed and cried and cried because we missed our dad and we didn't understand.

This wasn't the first time we slept in the same bed.  Growing up we had separate bedrooms, but I always wanted to sleep in Mary's room with her.  We'd laugh and tell stories and giggle late into the night, knowing that the next day was school and we'd be so tired.  We'd try to discpiline ourselves, coming up with quiet time and "sides" on the bed so that we wouldn't cross over and distract each other.  We made punishments and rules and the whole system was quite complex, but when it came down to it we just broke all the rules anyway and stayed up late laughing.

One summer night a few years ago, Mary and I drove down to St. George to meet our family.  I told Mary the only way I would let her drive was if she went at least 90 mph all the way down.  If I ever looked over and the odometer was below 90 we were switching drivers immediately.  I didn't want to be in the car all night, for crying out loud!  And Mary was obedient and went exactly 90.

My first day of college I was homesick and rethinking the whole decision.  I sat on my dorm bathroom floor and unpacked, scared as can be to be all on my own.  As I unloaded my bathroom supplies, I found a note, tucked underneath shower gel and tampons.  "50 reasons I'll miss Bonnie" the title read, and underneath were 50 things Mary would miss about me.  And the tears silently rolled down my cheeks because I'd never live with my little sister again.

Every Sunday growing up, Mary and I would do "Half Hour".  I was real busy those days turning 12 and all, and I hadn't had as much time for her as I used to.  So I invented "Half hour" to give us some quality time together.  Every Sunday Mary could choose whatever activity she wanted and we'd do that for half an hour together.  That was the idea anyway.  When Mary chose trolls or polly pockets they were quickly vetoed for more superior activities, like Barbies or Monopoly.  And even though I said it was only 30 minutes, we'd play for hours.

We've watched countless hours of Jeopardy! together.  I had long suspected that Mary might be just a hair smarter than me, but I had never said it out loud.  Just days before she entered the MTC, we sat down with pen and paper in hand and played Jeopardy!, to settle the matter once and for all-  who really was the smartest?  What is ribosome?  What is Old Man and the Sea?  What is Indonesia?  Mary answered em all.  After 22 minutes of trivia, she was the uncontested winner, and I admitted what I had long known- she was smarter than me (not an easy pill to swallow, folks.)

When I was living in Hawaii, Mary was in high school and she would call me and say, "Bonnie!  Mom and dad are so mean!  You are the only one who understands!  They are always so mad at me just because my room is dirty!"  And I did understand because I used to keep a dirty room myself and if there's one thing my mom hates, it's a dirty room.

The day before my wedding I visited my dad's grave with my mom and sisters.  Hours later when I couldn't find my keys, I figured I must have left them in the graveyard.  Mary came with me at midnight to search for them.  We bundled up against the cold and braved the elements, flashlights in tow.  We searched and scoured and while looking Mary asked "Can you believe you're getting married tomorrow?  I'm happy for you.  But kind of sad for me."

And when I was 17 and Mary was 13, we performed a piano duet at the stake talent show.  Something went terribly wrong and we couldn't get back on the right notes.  We were up there for the whole world to see, pounding away The Barnyard Dance hitting wrong note after wrong note, giggling uncontrollably.  And we laughed and shaked and hit more wrong notes and laughed harder.  Mom was turning the pages as we massacred the music and hissed, "GIRLS!"  And you better believe that shut us right up.  But we laughed for years after, always chiding each other for inappropriate behavior by yelling, "GIRLS!"

And now she's gone and I miss her at our family parties and I miss her random texts throughout the day, and I miss our inside jokes, and I miss having my BFF around.  I know we'll be ok because we already endured such a separation when I was down South, but it doesn't make it any easier.  Argentina doesn't have a clue in the world how lucky they are.