Our caving blue beach tent, her fingers brushing the sanding floor.

Leaning on Dad’s arm, learning how to solve his Rubix cube.

How I was really only looking in his eyes.

Arguing that my tee-ball team beat his when I didn’t even remember playing them.

Blankets and TV parades and turkey perfuming the house.

A sleepless night after stealing an action figure from the Catholic school’s toy bin.

Coach parking a sacred Starburst in my palm after winning my first race.

The girls hugging each other on the storytime rug, laughing when I asked for one.

Showing up to the principal’s office with her son because he took my doll and said my pants were on fire!

Solving mental math with Dad under the portico as she took tennis with the other kids.

My eyes wide, listening to every word Uncle Mike read to me from Third Grade Angels.

Sleepovers on birthdays being too loud and sneaking upstairs to watch TV with their parents.

Leaving for Maryland each month because there they had doctors to treat her.

Throwing cereal in the sink and racing to my room when the company arrived.

Being pulled on the lake by Grandad’s boat, gripping her hand on the bodyboard for dear life.

Keeping my belt undone until reaching the living room to show our babysitter how well I could fasten it.

An origami bat hanging from the ceiling by a string, rocking in the corner of her room.

When fifth graders looked like a warped screen at the movies when you sat in the first row.

A polaroid tacked to her bulletin board, Takis on her eyebrows and her slanting handwriting below: “You’re so Taki!”

Riding home from school, watching my thighs bulge like dough on the seat.

Sleeping in the guest room downstairs until the derecho passed, playing my DS with her under the Superman blanket.

Arms trembling at the bar with no weight on the ends, Coach saying it’s gonna be okay.

Dad holding out her old rackets, asking if I would use them.

The doorway like a picture frame, Dad holding her wrist and stinging a vein with her syringe.

Her hair, tentacles splayed across her pillows, beneath the ceiling, tormenting fog.

Approaching her, a face turned away from mine.

Sitting against her back, combing her hair in my fingers.

Her lashes soothing wet skin.

Her lips, thin, slipping, and shaking.

Watching the ceiling from her bed as the world caved in our ears.