More than arm's length

My sister and I haven't been the best of friends.

Maybe it's because we have everything in common, including an all-to-familiar impatience for one another.

As children, we shared and argued over our parents; we clashed over the values of attentions paid and spent; we even argued over an invisible white line drawn down the center of a small, pink bedroom we at one tIme shared in their ranch-style home. 

My sister, who diligently and dutifully works at a grocery store, still lives in that same house with our 80-year-old Dad.

They care for each other, as well as a nutty little Corgi, who, as they both will tell you, "isn't wrapped too tight."

I know I don't have to tell you how terrifying it is when the phone rings these days.

Not the least bit because of the mouthy little dog barking in the background.

We all have someone out in the world we have to put at an even further distance.

For all the years, I have put words in this space under a byline; my sister has proudly directed the people she meets in her checkout line to read them.

I'm not at all proud to admit that it embarrassed me.

Me, the introvert writer, realizing that she was the intrepid reporter of the family all along.

We have both connected with so many people over the years, one item at a time. But she has done it with genuine curiosity and candor.

She knows you all. She asks what you do and what you think about your car. She asks if you have any pets.

She loves hearing your stories and sharing how the lady ahead of you got forty pounds of shrimp! Can you imagine? That's going to be some party.

She knows more than most how much we're willing to tell strangers. 

I wonder if you know how much she cares about your families? How she worries about your coping mechanism in whatever ails you; a determination she's made by the grocery-to-alcohol ratio you load into your cart. She's heard your sorrows and worries, and she gives you the advise people like me are always telling folks to keep to themselves.

I have tiptoed around myself, often trying to be someone else, while she just puts herself forward, which is different than putting herself first.

She is who she is: a tiny mensch with opinions she's entitled to share.

And while some of us have been unkind to her, some of you have been amazing.

You have shared with her more than just simple answers about paper or plastic in monotone. You have sent her flowers and cards when she's been injured or ill. You have passed along praise to her bosses when she's just been herself, doing the work the way she thinks it should be done … not just because someone is paying her to do it.

You know what she's doing, and you are grateful.

And lately, even those of you who may not have noticed her as you shop in a panic, share a few squirts of hand sanitizer from your stash when her store's supply chain hasn't been able to provide.

She is so grateful, she calls me up and tells me all about it. For that, I am grateful, too, because I am looking forward to being closer than arms' length.