This was a profoundly disturbing announcement, given that in my mind she is still a tubby two year old with sprightly chestnut pig tales, and a fond penchant for purple feather boas and all things Hello Kitty.
The only problem with the snapshot frozen in my head is that she’s fifteen. Fifteen, with a hot-off-the-press driver’s permit and ballerina legs a mile long and be still my heart, she is going to PROM. Just with a friend, mind you, because a date would send us all careening right over the edge, and we’re teetering dangerously close as it is.
Ash, can you fly home and help me get ready?
I’d already made plans to go home, because my sister in law is graduating from Duke and I choose to celebrate even the most mediocre educations. Emily informed me that maddeningly, her prom was a day before my flight was scheduled to arrive.
Personally, I don’t want to live in a world where big sisters can’t fly home to swipe mascara and take a thousand posed pictures. For heaven’s sake, it’s what big sisters are for. We exist to make sure that ears are pierced early and curfews are pushed late. We pass down jeans and nubs of old red lipstick and unsolicited advice about how to wax your eyebrows and transition from boxed wine. We solemnly promise that boys really do get a little bit better, when you’re thirty-five or so. And we fly home to help our little sisters get ready for prom.
So Friday night will find me back in Raleigh. There was hardly a choice to be made, given that our Mama would have tried to coerce her into wearing a matching bracelet/necklace/earrings set, and I taught Emily long ago never to take fashion advice from anyone that wore CLOGS for the better part of the nineties. My Mother may be the boss of us, but she adamantly refused to buy anything that had to be dry cleaned until approximately 2007, and I think we can all agree that that represents a startling lapse of judgment.
There’s just something about going home. About country roads that wind and bend for endless miles of green, and car windows rolled all the way down. About friends that share a hundred thousand “remember whens” and beloved coffee shops that I don’t need a GPS to find. About breakfast dates with my Daddy and piano keys that my brother used to play for hours on end and breathing in the sweetly familiar with bare feet and a deliriously happy heart. This morning, my body might still be in New York, but y’all had better believe that I’ve already gone to Carolina in my mind.
If you’d like to see Emily dolled up in one of my old prom dresses, feel free to find me on Instagram! This proud big sister will be blowing it up tomorrow night.