Lacy gloves

My sister and I. We were born 2 years and 7 months apart. We both have flaming red hair. A matched set.


For Easter my mom got us matching dresses and right now I wish I had a copy of one of the hundreds of pictures of us so I could share it. I'm always standing there with my head tilted to one side, my weight shifted in the direction of my little sister. My arm is unfailingly wrapped around her skinny shoulders or neck, a comfortable 4 inches lower than mine. My hair is straight as a stick and shiny while hers is a crown of unruly curls. She stands staring straight into the camera with a genuine smile from ear to ear, beaming with unadulterated joy. I'm in charge and she loves that fact.


We are both wearing our prized possessions.....a small perfect pair of lacey gloves. Our usually dirt filled fingernails are clean and encased in dainty, ladylike accessories. My mother kept these gloves special for Easter. She kept them in a cupboard by her bed too high for little hands to reach. We both pined after these gloves and impatiently waited for the special day we were allowed to wear them. We were only allowed to wear them to church where red licorice and pink Koolaid were not allowed. For those 3 hours we were perfect grow-up ladies, not little girls.


Now that I am a grown-up lady I wish I had some gloves to wear on Sunday so that I could feel like a little girl.