My sister and I have always been close in age and proximity. I was just 15 months old when Psalter was born, and I cannot remember life without her. We shared a room until I left our crowded childhood home behind to go to college, followed by my family’s move into a more spacious house in the suburbs. Now, we both have our own rooms for the first time in our lives, something I longed for as a child, frustrated with her ambivalence to mess in the storm of my anxious tendencies that made me freakishly neat. We are the caricature of the oldest daughter and middle child, over ambition clashing with creativity, structure clashing with adaptability. Now, I miss our proximity, and find myself in Psalter’s room more often than my own, tucked in between piles of clothes and discarded crochet projects to catch up on gossip and bad TV shows.
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Several buckets of paint sit on the floor of our childhood bedroom, which we’ve covered with plastic. We laugh hysterically as we shove dirty clothes and random objects into the closet to clear the floor. We are too excited to say goodbye to the ugly tan walls to bother properly putting everything away. I let Psalter select the color, reminding her I’ll be moving out soon, anyway. She surprises me, choosing a light lavender from among hundreds of colors. I guessed she would pick a light blue or green, but am content with her choice of one of my favorite colors. We dance around the small basement room, brandishing lavender-covered brushes and paint rollers as our microphones to belt nostalgic songs. My cat sits in the open window, drinking in the spring breeze as we air out the paint fumes from our tiny shared space. It takes far longer to paint than we expected, our gleeful banter impeding our progress, but we don’t mind.
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Psalter’s second favorite color is lavender, her reason for choosing it for our room. It is my favorite plant for its comforting scent and floral flavor. I obsessively buy lavender perfumes and drink lavender-flavored drinks, hoping that if I consume enough of it, I will become a sprig of lavender, embodying its light calmness.
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Over the next few years, my sister and I went from being casual side characters in each other’s lives to joint protagonists of the same story. During the pandemic, we spent our days doing online classes together, working after school in the same bookshop, and going on night drives or evening walks when our house felt too confining. Slowly, we began revealing to each other the details of our lives, filling in our childhood silhouettes with teenage worries, joys, and mundane experiences. We grew together, at different places in age and life, but similar places in outlook and development.
Once, I could barely bear to confide in my sister. Now, she is the first person I go to with news. On one of my first visits home from school, we got iced lattes from our favorite coffee shop and walked around our old neighborhood, reminiscing and laughing. It is a memory coated in golden sunlight that is reflected in my sister’s smile. She knows how to make me feel loved without feeling out of place; a constant presence and overwhelming peace. It was Psalter who grounded me during my first year of college when I would visit home, not always sure where I fit back into my hometown.
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Despite painting our room a soothing lavender, Psalter’s favorite color is sage. It suits her, being an herb traditionally used to cleanse and revitalize. She painted her new room this shade of green and has spent months filling it with rainbows of yarn and a plethora of eccentric earrings, covering the walls with drawings from friends and the nature photos she’s taken over the years.
My sister embodies the green of a meadow dappled in sunlight. Her presence is disarming, inviting you to pause and rest with her, forever introspective and gentle. Psalter is the person who reminds you to pay attention to the details in life, to stop on walks to look at the smallest bug or perfect mushroom. She loves watching the sunset over the lake down the road from our house. Her eyes light up when she explains how trees communicate through intricate root systems, something she’s learning about in the book she’s reading for fun. She dyes her hair bright pink every few months and thoughtfully makes personalized crocheted gifts for loved ones during the holidays.
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The idea of a better half has always enticed me, and I have spent years longing to find someone who would magically complete me. It wasn’t until my teens that I realized Psalter is the better half of me, encouraging me to take the pieces of myself that are beautiful and weeding out what holds me back. She is brave when I am afraid, encouraging when I want to quit, graceful as I stumble clumsily through change. I try to repay her with affirming words when she feels overwhelmed, advice when she feels lost, and space to ramble when she feels confined within her own mind. I hope to be the calming lavender to her cleansing sage.
