Sisters

Susie, Joanie, and me at Wells Beach, ME around 1973I have two sisters. Joanie, the youngest, struggles with addiction and I have a hard time with that. I’m pretty sure Joanie is not my problem. The problem is me. I’m afraid of what might happen if I stop protecting her from the consequences of her own decisions.

My favorite movie in the whole wide world is Groundhog Day.

I believe that the developmental level of every person in this so-called “civilized” world may be plotted somewhere along Phil’s timeline. For those in the early days of Phil’s journey, life is a feeding frenzy at the lowest level of Maslow’s pyramid. Phil drinks too much, eats too many donuts, has sex whenever he wants, and commits crimes for the sheer thrill of it. He persists in this state until he can’t stand it anymore. Then he tries to commit suicide. After several unsuccessful attempts to kill himself, Phil has his first breakthrough moment; he notices someone outside of himself that he wants to know better. Phil starts learning everything he can about Rita — her history, interests, values, hopes, and dreams — but no matter how much he learns about her, she remains inaccessible. At this point, Phil turns his attention away from her and toward the only person he can ever really know or get close to. Himself.

With Joanie, I find myself stuck in the days before Phil turns away from Rita and toward the “something else” that defines him. I’m still in a selfish part of my journey trying to get close to Joanie by imposing my will on her.

Phil’s definitive turn-around — the turn-around from which there is no turning back — happens when Phil cannot save the street person. Despite Phil’s improved character, his good intentions, and all the resources now available to him, the street person still dies. Once again, Phil cannot get what he wants. He cannot move forward into the future and he cannot bring anyone back from the past. He cannot make Rita love him. All he can do is wake up the next morning and start again, start again, start again. His piano lessons represent the only way he can repeatedly start again and actually get somewhere.

GETTING SOMEWHERE

“The revolutions of the twentieth century, the liberation of the masses by production, created private life but gave nothing to fill it with.”

—Herzog by Saul Bellow

I believe the arts are that “something to fill it with” but not the arts as they’re understood and practiced now. I’m talking about the arts as actual “things you can do” to move a bit closer to who you really are. 

My other sister is Susie. Susie and I are like binary stars revolving and evolving within the same forcefield. Susie is eleven months and three weeks younger than I am. That makes us “Irish twins” but we could not be more different. Susie is fearless. I am afraid of everything. At the fair, Susie couldn’t wait to ride the pony. I couldn’t muster the courage. Susie runs toward an accident. I run away. Susie has saved people’s lives. I’ve stood on the sidelines hoping someone like Susie would show up before I have to step in and flub everything up.

Susie was popular and I was unpopular. Before social media took over, “survival of the fittest” was most brutally evident in school. It was not enough to merely belong to a group, you had to maintain your membership by making that group more “groupie” than it would be without you. Often these groups were held together by fear. Only recently, Susie told me how much fear played into the daily maintenance of her social status.

We fought a lot growing up, but these fights never threatened our connection. We still laugh about one of our particularly vicious moments. We were both in high school, waiting for the city bus to take us to a ballet class. (Susie played the piano and I took the class.) I was wearing a long, hand-me-down coat that we shared and loved. The coat had a fake fur border down the middle, around the cuffs, and along the hem. Susie noticed a particular spot on the coat where the fur was coming off and she accused me of ripping it. I was furious and accused her of ripping it because she had worn it last. We went back and forth like this with mounting savagery. Then, out of the blue, Susie started laughing. It took me a second to realize how ridiculous the whole thing was. In an instant, our war was over and I marveled at Susie’s ability to drop the gauntlet that I wanted to pummel her with.