by Morgan Bryan

My phone buzzes. Uh-oh, here it comes. Ella’s going to say she misses me and I’ll feel like a puddle of guilt for leaving for college again today four hours away. In the midst of unpacking, I unlock my phone screen and stay cool. I’m not supposed to cry on the first day of sophomore year. I should be at a party or something, right? The fluorescent screen is interrupted by a blurry picture of a skirt I left at home. It’s ripped on the side and too bright for me.

The message reads, “hey boo missing you Can I borrow a skirt for Jake’s party? I’ll put it back exactly the way it is and I’ll never borrow anything of yours again.”

Who is Jake? She’s twelve! Already surpassing me in her social life. I reply.

“Miss you more. It doesn’t fit me. You can have it.”

I know full well she is probably already wearing it and that it will be lost or stained by tomorrow. But I laugh inwardly at the thought of her proudly wearing the skirt to a boy-girl birthday party, the boy-girl part being the most important thing. She’ll wear it with more confidence and flair than her beloved idol Michael Jackson wore his white suite. I lock my phone again, relieved that I held back the waterworks and just gained about ten big sister points by giving a cute skirt away.

I take a screenshot of her text. I’ll never borrow anything of yours again. Sure. This will come in handy next time she asks for something.

I imagine right now she is staring at herself in the mirror, trying the skirt on and matching it with new shoes and every shirt in her closet. I don’t remember when this kind of stuff became important to her, but it’s cute nonetheless. She would hate it if I said she was cute. I can hear it now. Morgan, I’m not a little kid or something.

I imagine that right now she’s shuffling around her playlist on iTunes, imagining what will be played at her first middle school dance, only a few weeks away. I know she will want to borrow that floral dress that I grew out of, but it’s already in her closet. I put it there before I left, thinking ahead.

I pull belts and sunglasses and other miscellaneous accessories out of a bag and assign them to their spots in my dorm room. Ella borrowed my yellow sunglasses last year at the Memorial Day parade and they never came back. She claims someone sat on them.

Tossing shoes into my drawer, I spy my dirty pink sneakers my mom tried to salvage for me after they were tromped through the mud by you-know-who.

I throw a crop top into a storage box, the one Ella tells me not to wear because Morgan why is your stomach showing that’s so weird.

I put the book she made me on its designated shelf above my desk, the one that she put advice in for me, such as

Maybe put on a bit less eyeliner and don’t put on too much foundation…yeah that’s all I learned from those weird makeup videos!

and

If you like a boy that is not cute that’s fine just think about how Zac Efron turned out pretty good so just focus on personality.

and lastly,

Unless there is a birthday cake and no cases of beer and no blasting music you’re great but if you go to a party with that I will hunt you down to China town!

For a twelve-year-old, she’s pretty wise. I especially appreciate the boy advice since she’s obviously an expert, being a middle-schooler now and all. I’m proud of how much attention she pays to my life and how, though she may never admit it, she cares about what I think of her borrowing a skirt. I think back to the text.

I will never borrow anything of yours again.

Next year, she will want to borrow my makeup.

In high school it will be my car. She’ll want me to drive her to a boy’s house or a friend’s house.

Then when she gets her license she will want to borrow some money to pay for a speeding ticket.

When I get my own house she will want to borrow a couch to sleep on when shuffling between parents houses gets hard.

When her heart gets broken, she’ll borrow my shoulder to cry on and maybe a few gallons of ice cream.

When she graduates she’ll want to borrow my advice on friends and boys and how to pass classes in college.

When she finds the right guy she’ll ask to borrow my dress for a date. And probably stain it.

When she gets married I’ll let her borrow my house for a bridal shower. Baby shower, too.

Borrowing is what we do.

I delete the screenshot of her text. I decide that broken sunglasses and stained or lost skirts are an essential part of our relationship as sisters. I smile at the thought of my clothes and shoes getting some mileage while I’m away at school and how when I trade out fall for winter clothes over break in November, she’ll try to hide her excitement over a new closet. I smile at all the future borrowing.