pencil-thin lines, stop eating. Your mum praises my
slim body, makes fun of your moon face and
chubbiness in lycra.
I graduate. I move to the other side of the country,
return for a few days each year and stay in the
spare room, reading Nabokov and Greek tragedies.
You go to a Catholic high school, wear the kind of
uniforms I always wanted. You get Facebook. You’re
popular in a 1,000-plus-friends sort of way that
baffles me. I scroll through photos of you at dance
recitals, gelled and glittered; at a wedding in
Indonesia, dressed in pastels; in ’90s-inspired
festival-wear, peace-signing the camera.
You get your P-plates. I stick with trams and
walking. You finish school. You start your law degree.
You drive to the library, study in groups. You turn 18.
Every weekend, you dress up like a baby goddess.
You know how to contour, wear your hair in
double French braids, eyebrows on fleek. You dance
to music I don’t know, learn to like the taste of cheap
pints as well as cocktails.
You pour Cokes, scoop ice-cream. You’re good
at saving. You book a flight to my city and text me.
I’m so glad to meet you here.LAURA ELIZABETH WOOLLETT IS THE AUTHOR OF THE LOVE OF
A BAD MAN ($27.99, SCRIBE PUBLICATIONS)A FEW WEEKS AGO, my middle sister called
me just after 9am. I don’t usually hear from her
during the day as she’s busy with work so I took
the call and immediately knew something was
wrong. Her voice was higher than usual and she
sounded upset. She’d just come to grief on one of
Sydney’s busiest freeways – caught up in a truck
and van crash, she became the victim of a trailer
that had come away from the tow ball on the van.
My heart was in my mouth. Obviously she was
speaking to me, so that was a good sign, but I could
hear her fear and distress. Thankfully she was in
one piece, but still, I had to get there as quickly
as possible. Instinctively I was in big-sister mode
and she needed my help.
I’m the eldest of three sisters in my family –
no brothers. Our dad liked to complain that even
the dogs and cats were females. We’re neatly
spaced apart, three years between each of us. Our
birthdays fall within three weeks of each other and
we’re all Pisceans. We don’t always agree, we don’t
always get along, but when push comes to shove,
we always have each other’s backs.Being a sister can be
complicated. When we were
young we competed for our
parents’ approval and
attention, we argued and said
mean things, we hid each
other’s toys and laid blame
where we shouldn’t have – but we always made up
at some point. As a united front we were powerful.
We had lots of fun and went on great adventures,
often setting off on our bikes early in the morning
and returning just before dark. We frequently
fought the neighbourhood bully together and if
one of us got hurt, there were always two others
to pick up the pieces.
I remember when our youngest sister had
a really nasty operation on her toe. It resulted in
her having a stainless-steel pin sticking out of the
end of it for several weeks while the bones were
straightened. I can still hear her screams in the
hospital, and remember that feeling of helplessness
that there was nothing I could do to make it better.
My middle sister had a knack for breaking arms
and the first time she broke her elbow clean off.
When they were hurt, I felt hurt, and as we grew up
it wasn’t just about the physical pain – there was
the mental anguish of school and exams and boys
who broke their hearts.
Interestingly, in my books I write about two
characters who are only-children, and yet they have
incredibly strong bonds of sisterhood with their
friends. They look out for each other, feel each
other’s pain and are stronger as a group than
individually. I don’t really know why I didn’t give
them any siblings. But one of my protagonists,
Alice-Miranda, goes to boarding school, and during
my past career as a teacher, I’ve had the pleasure
of seeing lots of girls make incredibly strong
friendships in that context – friends for life and in
some ways uncomplicated by the blood ties that
siblings have. These girls don’t compete for the
affection of parents but are bonded by common
experiences and adventures.
Today, my sisters and I are in our forties and
we’re still far from the perfect siblings. We argue at
times and sometimes old wounds can be hard
to forget, but I know when things are tight
we’re there for each other. We love each other ]132 ELLE AUSTRALIA
“We argue
at times and
sometimes old
wounds can be
hard to forget,
but I know
when things
are tight
we’re there
for each other”