Alice would have turned 41 this Saturday, March 26, and we're planning to fly the butterfly kite in commemoration of her birthday. In the meantime, I'm feeling like writing, so I'm going with it, gratefully.
So much happened during our recent visit to Los Angeles, I'm still struggling to organize it all.
One moment remains with me more than others, and of course it has to do with Alice. Upstairs in my mom's home, L was headed to the "girls' bathroom," then stepped in. I followed after her as she was closing the door. I still tried to walk in, regardless of her effort to slam the door, and in a flash I was 8 and Alice was 9, on the other side of the door, keeping me out.
Except it was 2011, and L was pushing the door closed, on my face. I accepted it, and walked away, sulking, as I typically did back then.
While I miss Alice incredibly, I don't miss the frequent scuffles we had, where I was usually blocked out. My recollection is that Sophie or Alice forever excluded me from their activities, as was their prerogative.
And now L reminds me what it felt like, with one swift shutting of a door.
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