Sistersong

Happy Samhain!

Today the year essentially begins anew for the pagans of the world as the great Wheel turns and the God passes into the underworld, to be born again at Yule. The Mother rules the winter, which I am slowly coming to enjoy: snow days and buttered rum, my little family coming together to decorate the tree while the Christmas music plays, trips to Papa's farm with its pungent smell of evergreens and falling asleep in the backseat on the way home, safe and warm and happy.

Biz an' me decided to ring in the day with a B-grade horror movie marathon. As anyone who knows us well will tell you, when we get together to watch movies my living room becomes the set for a particularly cheesy session of Mystery Science Theater 3000:

"Wait, wait. Stop. 'Katana-wielding half-vampire'? Must watch."
"Oh, he's so totally dead."
"Can't outrun a vampire, you poor bastard."
"She's half-vampire, nimwit. get it right."
"Shut up, jerkface."
"Oh! There go his glasses.Dramatic fall of bad 70s glasses? Obvious indication of death."
"DUN DUN DUN."
"EEEW!
"Cool. Rewind that."

It's not your typical Samhain, I know. No bonfire, which is sad -- we have yet to be able to have a fire. We live in the middle of town; it would definitely be frowned upon. We'd probably get arrested.

"No, officer, you don't understand! It's a religious ritual!"
"Yeah, what the hell? We're trying to worship here, dammit!"
"Hey! Don't we get a phone call?"

It works for us, though. We even went trick-or-treating this year: two twenty-somethings in velvet cloaks with hoods, kicking up leaves and singing show tunes on the way down the street.

"I feel like a moron."
"What the hell for?"
"I'm almost 26! I shouldn't be trick-or treating!"
"Don't worry; you have a babyface."
"Oh, gee. Thanks. And I was going to say you look hot as hell in that corset."
"Next year we should go as Butters and Awesome-O."
"Totally"

It comes naturally to us. The banter. The easy exchange. The deprecating humor. We play a game of put-downs:

"Bitch."
"Whore."
"Slut."
"Herpes sore."
"Dyke."
"That was lame. You lose."

We never mean it, though. It's a game, poking fun at our individual tendencies to dislike ourselves. Most of the time, we reassure each other:

"I'm so fat."
"Shut up, stupid. You are not. You're hot as hell. If you weren't my best friend and also my sister, I'd have you naked in two seconds."
"That's cool. But it would be weird."
"Really weird. But you know half of Lock Haven thinks you're my lover anyway."
"Because we kiss each other goodbye? On the cheek?"
"Because people need a scandal."
"Well, then let's give 'em something to talk about."
"Is that a dare?"
"Double dog."

Sometimes I stop and think: This is the best friend I've ever had. I knew we were destined to be best friends during a Dungeon and Dragons game one night after I first moved here, when I complained that my chest was too big and she told me she thought I had a great rack. From then on, we were inseparable. She'd spend nights at my place and we'd stay up till 3 a.m. talking about everything under the sun. We had similar shitty childhoods, so we bonded a lot over that:

"Your mother is a demon from hell."
"I know. Your mother needs to be punched in the face a few times."
"I know. Wanna go on a retribution road trip?"
"I'll get the baseball bat."

Then we discovered we both had an interest in alternative religions. Then that we both liked reincarnation theory, astrophysics, string theory, quantum foam. We'd order Chinese delivered and sit on the floor in my living room debating the nature of reality and the validity of past-life regression therapy. She taught me how to cast a ritual circle completely in my head, how to form energy shields, how to make myself invisible in plain sight.

"If you want to be unnoticed badly enough, you can make it happen. Think like a fox. Think like a feather."
"I'm too in-your-face to be invisible. The chair? The ... solidity?"
"Stop calling yourself fat. You are a feather."

Biz and I can talk about absolutely everything, from whether or not our clothes look okay to whether or not it's a good idea to sleep with so-and-so. We kiss and tell, and then we snort diet Pepsi out our noses laughing about it. Our secrets are safe with each other. Even before we were considered sisters, we felt like sisters. She coordinates my clothes because I suck at it; I scold her when she forgets her keys and ends up locked out of the house. If she calls and says, "I'm sad. Can I come over?", my door is open. If I call and say, "I'm having nightmares. I'm afraid to sleep. Can you spend the night?", she shows up with a bag of clothes and sacks out on the couch. We have our petty fights, but we can't stay mad at each other for more than fifteen minutes. One of us always breaks the tension:

"I'm sorry. I could've put that better. I was being a bitch."
"Yeah, you were. But so was I. I'm sorry too. I overreacted."
"We're cool?"
"We're cool."

We've both said it: You're the best friend I've ever had. We even have plans for when we are old: when Biz gets her inheritance and becomes a millionaire, she's going to buy a huge house and have it split into two separate apartments. I will live downstairs with half a dozen ferrets and a full-fledged Maine Coon cat the size of a cougar; she will live upstairs with three pugs, Charlotte, Maria, and Alfonse. When we get lonely, we will tap out a code on the adjoining door and have another movie marathon or something. If I die first, she will ensure that I am buried with a supply of Reese's cups, in order that I may begin my next life in a blissful orgy of chocolate and peanut butter. If she dies first, I get the rest of the money. (Haha Biz, haha.) Hopefully we die on the same day at exactly the same second, so neither of us will ever have to mourn the other.

Sometimes, you just know that someone is supposed to be in your life forever. It's like that with Biz and me. If one of us moves away for some reason, we will still make time for each other. Travel back and forth. Call. Video chat. There's a theory we have: no matter how many times they've been around, kindred souls find each other in every life: I have known you before. I will know you again. You are the best friend I've ever had.

You are my sister, and I love you.

Everybody's looking under your mattress
Seems they can't wait to find that pea,
Maybe you were never quite the princess
Everybody was afraid you'd be, 
And all these endless presentations
Must affect your concentration,
So I will stay with you tonight
In case this corset gets too tight,
And I will keep you company,
'Cause that's what a sister should be.
                     -- Rachael Sage, "Sistersong"