to my Taffy

“Thank you for being nice to me when no one else was. I did notice. It’s just that your mom was so heinous that I’d already decided that you were too. You’re the type of person who usually bullies me, or looks right through me. But you didn’t. You actually went out of your way to try to tell people I was part of your family. You really actually wanted me to be your sister. You are, you know? You are my sister. You’re a great person, Taff. And I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you.” - Lisa Frankenstein

I never felt like I really fit into our family. I always felt like an outsider, standing in the doorway asking for someone to invite me in like a vampire. So so close, and yet inherently different, wrong. Constantly one sentence away from being the odd one out, the embarrassment, the black sheep.

I envied you. There is no one I wanted to be more like than you. You were put-together, responsible. You spent hours in the bathroom but came out looking like prepped perfection. Not a strand of curly hair out of place or frizzy. You laughed when it was appropriate and carried yourself with grace that I don’t even know if you know you had. You were smart and kind. You listened to classic rock but didn’t make it your whole personality. When I was younger, you seemed just unique enough. Not too much to be too different, but enough to be forever interesting. I now know that wasn’t your experience, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put this perception on you that was never true. I’m sorry I didn’t see it from your eyes.

I didn’t see it when we were younger, but I see it now. You tried. Even when I maybe was a bit embarrassing or annoying, you never failed to try to keep me included. You even brought me around your friends, trying to find spaces for me to be. Though I was not your sister, you shared sisterhood with me, talking about style and crushes and self-care and feelings. I might have been the vampire at the door, but you invited me in and accepted me anyway, fangs and all.

We grew up, and my role as the black sheep became more obvious than ever. I burned bridges that I never wanted to burn, but they were necessary. Coming out as queer showed so many people’s true colors, and I wouldn’t stick around to see how they reacted when I married a woman. Even when all those bridges burned, you waited patiently for me to build a new one with you. Little by little, you showed support and care, helping me believe that I can trust you, and that I can trust myself to not lose my identity in you. When we were younger, I wanted to be you so bad, I didn’t know who I was. I trust myself with that sacred knowledge now, to know that I’m weird but beautiful still, and I can rebuild a bridge born out of love, not guilt.

To my Taffy, I may have always been the odd one out, but at least I knew I’d have a sister visiting my grave despite it all.