My Sisterfriend.

I don’t understand how this has happened. I really don’t. She’s supposed to still be my baby sister. We’re still sharing a room, fighting over the closet space, nagging each other to turn off the lights earlier (or be quieter in the morning). She’s still writing me messages when we’re supposed to be going to sleep. She’s still annoying me with her massive collection of stuffed animals that spill over from her top bunk and end up on my bed. She’s still forgetting to make her bed for days on end. She’s still “Jo Jo” and she still sucks her thumb. She’s still learning to read — and impressing everyone with her ability. She’s still out climbing trees and somehow weaseling her way out of doing her chores. And me? I’m still 10.

We’re still working on schoolwork in the living room. We’re still annoying Mom with our lack of diligence and inability to do school on sunny days. We’re still playing Red Rover in the church lawn. We’re still dressing our American Girl dolls. We’re still just little girls.

Somehow, though, we’re not.

Somehow, she is a successful harpist; the principal harpist for two (or three or four) orchestras, and selling her first two CDs. Somehow, she survived Algebra (quite successfully, even). Somewhere along the way, she grew up enough to get on an airplane to Greece and Poland — without Mom or Dad. She’s still painting, but this time they’re actually good — not just adorable. Somehow, she’s driving herself around (and wrecking my car, but that’s another story).

In some alternate universe, she’s graduating from high school.

I’m not 10 anymore. And she is already 18. We don’t share a room. She doesn’t annoy me with her messes. She has a cell phone and a job. She calls to say “hi” and we hang out – because we don’t get to see each other hardly enough. We’re best friends, not just sisters. I feel old, but – wow – I am so proud.

Happy Graduation Day, Sisterfriend.