The Favorite Sister

Jessica had always been the favorite sister. It was sometime late July, the summer before sophomore year, that I realized. It was just like any other day, music turned up to full volume, the sun ablaze in the cornflower-blue sky. According to Mother, even the trees rose to this occasion, standing tall, donning their best verdant hues, as if they would be chastised for not living up to their leafy potential. I had always yearned to see the magic of summer, but I never truly understood the appeal. In the stories, the birdsong drifts as well as any lingering summertime pollen and comes as magical as the deep south jazz, always bearing gifts of wonder. To me, the air was always sticky and heavy, like a forgotten jar of honey left in the sun. The oppressive sunrays, much like my life, seemed to smother any semblance of joy, turning laughter into a mere sigh. Yet, Jessica was the very embodiment of summer: dancing on the breeze like fluttering butterflies. This summer, as I delicately tread behind Jessica, curtsying to the rhythm of her laughter, I keep dreaming. Jessica was the summer I longed to understand.