The doorbell rings, disturbing the silence of a lazy Sunday morning. I tear myself from the movie I am watching and rush to open it. I don’t have to look to see who it is. I have been waiting for that bell, anticipating the arrival of the person who rang it. It has been an entire week, maybe more, since I last saw her. So many things can happen in a week. There is so much to talk about, but as I open the front door I realize that I don’t know what to say.

My sister is fourteen years older than me. She was out of the house by the time I was six. When I was little, I didn’t mind that my sister was so much older. I was proud of it. We never had those sibling arguments about sharing toys and demanding our parents’ attention. I used to show her around to my friends with pride as if she were my glistening trophy. She was cool a teenager, with her own car and boyfriend. Most importantly, she was my older sister and I could hang out with her whenever I wanted to. But as years went by, I saw her less often. When she did come over, I didn’t know what to talk about. There were very few days when it was just me and her. The connection between us dwindled to the point that I barely remember having a bond.

“Where are we going?” I asked my sister, who was sitting in the front of her Jeep. I liked calling it Jeep the Creep. For a nine-year-old, it seemed like a cool nickname for the large, hatchback car.

“Marine Park. It’s a beautiful day to be outside,” she answered. I smiled when I heard the name. There was always a warm feeling associated with all the nature and the fun things to do there. Indeed it was a beautiful day. The sun was out, and as we stepped onto the pavement, the entire park seemed like a bright painting. People were picnicking on the soft grass and children were playing on the giant playground. A gentle breeze blew my sister’s dark hair around as she opened the trunk. I knew we were in for a fun day as she pulled out her rollerblades.

We spent the afternoon roller blading and I climbed in the playground. I wasn’t used to moving around on wheels, but my sister held out her hand so I would feel confident. I held on to it as I slowly moved forward. She smiled encouragingly as she tightly clutched my arm and I knew I wouldn’t fall. I loved seeing the joyful twinkle in her dark brown eyes as we laughed and told stories. While rollerblading, we came across a metallic pull-up bar. Neither of us were too athletic, but I was proud that I could do more pull-ups than my sister. The score was 2 to 1.

After that amazing achievement, my sister said that we should head for her house and make some dessert. I watched the slowly darkening sky as we drove to that familiar apartment. Its large living room, white-tiled kitchen, and long corridor are inscribed in my memory. I sat on the burgundy leather couch watching TV as my sister prepared the brownies. The smell of chocolate drifted from the kitchen, taunting me. When the brownies were finally ready, I rushed to the table, wanting to enter the welcoming world of chocolate. But as I took a bite, my eyes lost their enthusiasm. It wasn’t the taste of the brownies that made me not like them. There was a hint of bitterness amid the sugar-coated sweetness. That bitterness was the knowledge that this was just one special, fun-filled day. It was coming to an end so quickly and I didn’t know when there would be another like it.

I didn’t appreciate the fun I had or the wonderful times I spent with my sister. It seemed that I would have that time forever. But time passed and we got older. She got married and has a family of her own so now there’s not much time available for a younger sister. Sometimes, I wish I could live that day again. I wish that I could have those brownies.

My sister and I grew apart. When my parents ask me if I would like to come along with them to visit her, I often say no. That connection that I felt as a little kid is not there anymore. I love my sister and I know she loves me, so what’s wrong? Perhaps it’s the memories of all the good times we had that stops me because I know that I won’t have that anymore. Perhaps it hurts to see how everything has changed, how fast my sister grew up. Perhaps I just miss her too much.

I know I may never get another Marine Park day but I still have my sister. She may not be there with me physically but she is there when I need her. I find myself in situations where I need assistance with homework or am stressed out about projects. She is the one who comes to the rescue and helps me out. She doesn’t have all the time in the world for a younger sister because she has her own life and little children to take care of who need her more than I do. And I must come to accept that. This time I’ll be the one ringing the doorbell and I’ll know what to say.