Carol

– “They’ll call her Carolina.”

I hugged that belly from when I knew you were living in there. They didn’t ask my opinion when they choose your name, but if they had I would probably suggested Mulan, Ariel or another Disney princess name. I was just a seven-year-old girl.

When you were born I was afraid to hold you. My arms had never held anything as precious as you. In that moment, I had everyone’s lives in my hands. Your lashy eyes sealed in mine and I knew I was destined to protect you forever.

In 1998, the world cup cheered the summer and Ricky Martin released the musical anthem, “The Cup of Life.” This was the first song you performed in your diapers, on the bed, with your brown curls and chubby belly swinging.

I taught you how to fold the kitchen cloths and tighten your shoes, using the bunny hears method. Whenever we were home alone, I would bring the baseball bat to our side and the three of us would watch cartoons. I wouldn’t know how to use it, if necessary, but I wanted you to feel protected. I felt like a giant by your side and no one could hurt you without destroying me first.
But I was caught off guard.

On a cold winter night, the ambulance’s blue and white lights lit up our faces. From the last room we heard a scream and a terrifying cry. You looked at me frightened. We hung in the corridor, two children of six and thirteen, when the angel of death left our house. I held you by the hand, ran to my room and knelt. We prayed that our grandmother wouldn’t get lost on her way to heaven. I was gasping for air and you hugged me with your little hands full of love. I promised never to lower my guard in front of you.
But I lied.

In pain we grew together and as teenagers we shared unbelievable memories. Photoshoots, dress swaps and the Harry Potter’s annual marathons are still frequent activities. And despite our differences, we stand together. I’m a storyteller, you don’t speak that much. You are a Master Chef, I cook by obligation. I make ways to distract ourselves and you always go along. Even if you roll your eyes and wonder how I am seven years older and seven times crazier.

Seeing you growing up is strangely pleasant. You swapped the milk bottle for a glass of Gin. Gave for adoption the Barbie’s, The Sims and the Teletubbies. You were a fan of Hannah Montana, Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey (I confess I was embarrassed when we watched Mr. Grey performing). But even if you’re a grown up, all your boyfriends will be kindly threatened by me. It is difficult for someone to fulfill the requirements I have chosen for you. So, I will leave that to you.

We have already hurt each other, after all we are sisters, it happens sometimes. The truth is that we protect so much who we love from others that we forget to prevent them from our temperament. But the distance brought us closer and eliminated unnecessary things.

The last time we said goodbye, my heart sat down gluing the pieces into which it had fallen apart. I promised I wouldn’t lower my guard again, but you made me fail. We were alone in the kitchen, I sitting on the kitchen counter and you by the stove, with a wooden spoon in your hand, remember? I was leaving Portugal the next day, we were going to be away from each for nine months. The only other time we were apart that long was when I waited for you to be born.

Anxiety made our chest heavy, smiles were forced, and eyes avoided contact. Until you dropped the wooden spoon, walked in my direction and buried your head in my chest. You cried compulsively and so did I. For long minutes there was only silence and gasping breaths. I kissed your face and whispered:

– This will be over soon Carolina, I promise.

You don’t need more failed promises. However, I want you to know that your middle sister, the one with the big eyes, who taught, distracted and defended you with a baseball bat will never give up on you. Even if you are over there without me and I’m here. A lot here and a lot without you.