Dare You to Cross the Line...

When we were small, my sister and I shared a room.


The sound of her soft and rhythmic breaths and the faint rustling of blankets when she moved comforted even my most unrestful mind.

When we had a choice about sharing a room or having our own, we choose to share.

Until.

My sister enjoyed chaos in her space. I didn't.

She left pieces of clothes hanging outside the drawers and didn't bother with hospital corners when she made her bed.

Ugh.

We decided to split the room in half. I could fuss and fiddle with my perfectly organized belongings and she could toss hers where they fell. Neither could complain about the other's side of the room.

We marked the split with masking tape.

The door to the hallway happened to fall on my side of the room.

One afternoon we were in our room. I played with my Barbies and she laid on the floor with her feet on the wall, sucking her thumb and doodling with her blanket. It annoyed me when she put her feet on the wall. It annoyed me when she sucked her thumb. It annoyed me when she doodled with her blanket.

She got up to use the bathroom.

Annoyance at peak levels, I denied her access to the door and then dared her to cross the line.

We brawled.

Mom forbid us to use tape ever again.

My sister quit sucking her thumb and moved across the hallway to her very own room.  We kept a secret stash of masking tape and sometimes divided the hallway for old times' sake.

Were we to live together again, I would be on the messy side of the tape lying with my feet on the wall.  Don't get me wrong: I love order.  I just can't keep up with all the stuff that seems to explode around me. My space would be so much neater if I could live with messy cupboards and drawers and closets.  

My sister?  She'd have tight bed corners and perfectly aligned shoes.

One thing hasn't changed, I think.  We'd probably still brawl.