There are a couple of habits from my childhood that I refuse to give up. One is my love of wearing headbands. I have thirty-five in all. Some are a little much, but most are your basic headband fare and are used to keep my hair out of my face, whether I wear it down or up, in a pony tail or bun. I like to look fresh and ready. Head bands help to always give the impression that one is put together, whether you just had a panic attack, just ran a 10K, or rolled out of bed and didn't bother to wash your face or put on deodorant before leaving for work. The other childhood habit I refuse to retire is talking to my reflection in the mirror. Talking to yourself in the mirror is great for: gaining confidence, yelling at someone you really wish you had the guts to yell at, or revealing to someone that you have romantic feelings for them and wish they weren't a movie star and dating a hot model so you could finally just be together.
Thus, when I get home I do both. I know I was feeling pretty good in the cab ride home, but as soon as I get home to an empty apartmentâreally, it's empty except for a couch and a lot of boxes I have yet to unpackâI realize I have no chips or wine to partake in and Jimmy is a rerun (apparently he is on vacation). Weak, Jimmy. Seriously? Vacation is for people who aren't in demand. It's called The Tonight Show, not Here's One of Last Week's Shows. Enjoy . . . or Don't. What Do I Care? I'm On Vacation. I haven't been on vacation since I went to chemistry camp in the 8th grade, and that was actually a hell of a lot of work.
So, I finally decide that Dr. Strong had something in his eye and didn't actually wink at me. I eat some frozen wontons that I picked up at Trader Joe's last year and embark on my version of double therapy: brushing my hair and changing headbands while talking to myself in the mirror. Getting it all done in one.
"No matter if you get the most important surgery of this decade or not, you are awesome. You have a life, despite what Mark says. Sure, it could use some improvements, but really your life is acceptable. Amazing, really. So if you don't get this surgery you'll surely get something down the line, making all the sacrifices, lack of friendships, lack of any one boyfriend, lack of sex or fun in general worth it in the end. You got this. Now, walk away from yourself before you undo everything you just said. Please, walk away. Please."
Walking away from a mirror conversation with myself is like leaving chocolate fudge at the bottom of an ice cream sundae. There is just so much more left to dig into.
BUZZZ! BUZZZ! BUZZZ!
I drop the brush and duck. Oh, it's my front door buzzer. I look at the clock. It's eleven-thirty at night. Someone is dead. I just know it. I run out of the bathroom and to my front door.
"Hello?" I yell into my intercom, trying to sound serious in case it's just a crazy person trying to get into the building.
"Katie?"
"Lacy," I spit out almost immediately upon hearing my baby sister's voice.
I buzz her in and open the door to the hallway. As I wait for the oldest elevator in Manhattan to transport my sister six flights, I realize I haven't seen her in an entire year. I missed Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the summer vacation in Maine she took with our mom and dad, because, well, I don't vacation.
My sister Lacy is twenty-five years old and the most naturally beautiful, free-spirited person I've met. She's kind of the exact opposite of me. Must be why I like her so much. When she said she was going to study pre-med in college, I couldn't help but be flattered. She was following in my footsteps. Her admiration for her big sister had turned into inspiration, and she wanted to join me in the fight against disease and premature death.
"Oh my god," she squeals, as she hurries through my open door. "I swear, I'll only be here for two, maybe three weeks." She's giggling now, twirling through my living room and adjoining kitchen. No joke. "We're going to have so much fun!"
Finally, she stops twirling like Mary Tyler Moore (Google it) and drops her bag dangerously close to my bare foot. She looks me up and down, settling on my hair. "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere," I mutter, as I try to dissect everything she just said in one breath as she spun. I'm pretty sure I heard the words "stay" and "maybe three weeks." Did I miss a phone conversation?
"Why is your hair all fixed and tidy?" she asks, tucking a couple of unruly hairs behind my ear. "And you're dressed. Were you going out? Ooh, let's go out!" She's squealing again and spinning. I'm sure she is going to throw up.
"Why aren't you in Ohio?" I ask her with concern, trying to get to the bottom of this three-week commitment I don't remember agreeing to. "Don't you have classes? Wait, please don't tell me Mom and Dad are coming to the city? Is that why you're here? A forced family vacation where I live and work?"
"No! They are snug as bugs in Ohio. Their interest in you fell when you moved to New York, thus they are obsessed with my life now. Thank you very much."
She pulls a bag of chips and a beer from her bag and opens them both. I have to hand it to her, she's prepared.
"Didn't you get my email?" she asks me, pieces of chips falling from her lips. "I thought no response meant, sure, come stay, I've got plenty of room. Which you do." She continues blabbering between swigs of her very large beer. I watch her eat, drink and ooh, and ahh, as she wanders around my very awesome and very expensive two-bedroom apartment. One of the perks of being a brain surgeon is making a lot of money. Yet another reason to avoid becoming involved in a relationship: the off chance that my boyfriend decides that my money is his money.
"Wow, maybe I should go to medical school," she yells from my bedroom. "Is that the original brick?"
"Yes," I answer with great pride, "and that is original crown molding. Twenty feet high, so I never have to dust."
And then I become self-conscious about all the unopened boxes lining the walls and being used as a makeshift coffee table. What kind of adult am I? I quickly shove some boxes into an empty closet. "I'm still getting settled," I continue, as if I need to apologize to my sisterâthe only person I know who followed Dave Matthews Band around the country one entire summer and is now . . .
"Wait," I blurt out, hearing what she said to me two minutes ago. "I thought you are in medical school."
"It's midterm break, silly," she laughs, exiting my bedroom. "So I thought I'd take the opportunity to see my big sis in the Big Apple!" She hugs me so tight my headband pops off.
"Look, it's kind of late and I have an early surgery tomorrow morning. Why don't you sleep on the couch and we can talk about all of this tomorrow evening?"
And then I see the lip pout and eye brow tilt. She always puts on the puppy-dog face when she feels she hasn't been included.
"I'm sorry, you didn't know I was coming. I probably forgot to hit send. I'm a little all over the place. I'm . . . I'll go."
This is Lacy to a T. She is going to stop just before she gets to the door.
I watch her grab her bag, open the door, and leave. Oh my god, she just left. I run to the door and fling it open. She is headed toward the elevator. The one time I'm lucky my building's elevator is old and slow.
"No, it's fine," I say, grabbing her bag from her loose grip. "Please, stay. Make yourself at home. You probably have a lot of studying to do for mid-terms. Sleep, and we can catch up tomorrow evening."
"Awesome," she yells, hugging me again. I never tire of my sister's hugs. She hugs like she means it. You know those lean-over-bending-at-the-waist-hug people? Not Lacy. She gets in there. She hugs you with her whole body and it feels great, like you are in the safest place on earth.
"Did you wear that to work?" she asks, pulling away and eyeing my pink flowery headband.
"What if I did?"
"Nothing, it's just . . . adorable. You look the same as ever."
I'm unsure if she is complimenting me or judging me. It's late, so I'm going with compliment.
"Thanks, new headband," I say, dragging her bag back into my apartment. She is slowly disrobing as I leave her bag by the couch and grab an extra blanket for her to sleep under.
"I'm beat."
And with that, I turn and watch my fully nude sister climb onto my couch, wrap herself in my blanket, and fall asleep.
I must remember to wash that blanket tomorrow and get sheets for the guest bed. Maybe get the couch cleaned?
As she begins to snore, I turn off the lights and head to my room. My sister is in my apartment in New York City. I dreamt of this happening, I guess I just got so busy working that I forgot to invite the most important person in my life to visit me. She's my little sis, thus I can't help myself. I return to the couch and kiss her forehead. I watch a slight smile curl up on her lips. I suddenly have a fantasy flash through my mind of our faces gracing the cover of Medical Advancement Today. The headline will read: "Sisters who have changed the world through science." It's going to be so exciting.
I climb into my king-sized bed, the very expensive bed that the sales lady at Macy's insisted a professional like myself deserved to have. Problem is, it is so big that it makes me feel like I'm sleeping in an ocean, causing me to wrap my entire body around one of my pillows like it's a life vest. The other ten pillows act as weight, so I don't wake up in the middle of the night wondering if I've died or am floating in space. This is where my mind goes at three in the morning.
But tonight the moonlight shines through the large window, and I can hear the cars and pedestrians about six stories below, accompanied by the snoring of my sister. That's when I realize how safe and confident I feel now that Lacy is asleep in the next room. Just having another living, breathing human being in my home has relaxed me. I feel like no matter what the outcome of tomorrow's meeting with the chief of surgery may be, I have someone in the next room who loves me no matter what.
I climb over the pillows, rush to my door and open it wide, inviting Lacy's snores into my room at full volume. Then I run and jump back into my ocean, grab my life vest, and let the sounds of my sister's presence lull me to sleep like the crashing of waves on a sea wall. Whatever works, right?