Friday, April 7, 2017

A couple of days ago I had a dream about my sister.  I was visiting her.  Presumably wherever she is now.  The afterlife's visiting area looked a lot like a prison's, and I'm not sure what kind of Catholic bullshit THAT is, but whatever. 

When she came in, we weren't allowed to speak.  The room was full of people sitting across from one another at small tables, quiet, motionless.  Liz looked like she was about sixteen.

I was frustrated; I had questions; it was too quiet and too still and I remember knowing it was a dream and being annoyed that my subconscious was this pathetically unsubtle.  I threw my hands up in disgust.  And Liz smiled at me, and with her right hand, made this little sister gang-sign gesture I knew a long time ago.  When we were kids, it was the sign we'd flash at one another over the dinner table -- that universal signal to make an escape, go meet somewhere else, find something fun to do.

And then I woke up. 

I don't know how much stock I put into ghostly visitations.  Mainly I feel like Liz was just too practical for that kind of nonsense.  But whether it was from her or from me, the message was pretty clear.  It's time to get up from the table.  Death is boring for those who aren't dead.  It's dinnertime conversation with your dad when you're ten years old and The Tracey Ullman show is on and your sister is waiting for you. 

And in many ways, not much has changed anyway.  She still keeps my secrets, and I still keep hers - the same way sisters have been doing since the beginning of time. 

So I'm getting up.  Going to go do something fun.  I strongly suspect Liz would say it's about damn time. 


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