June 1974. The air was thick with the weight of early summer, and I was eleven years old, already practicing the art of being far too cool for my own skin. You can see it in the jacked-up shorts and the braless shirt my mother let me wear—a pre-adolescent defiance balanced only by a sudden, fiercely guarded sense of personal flair. Notice the bracelet on my wrist. It was an early anchor in a world that felt like it was spinning fast.
My sisters were smaller ghosts moving through my orbit then. Julie was eight, a little blonde giggle tethered to my side, and Carmen was nine, caught in the middle of our messy, unfolding landscape.
As the seasons shifted, our world grew crowded with the beautiful friction of sisterhood. There were furious battles over borrowed cotton, the quiet violation of a diary lock, and eyes spying on my first boyfriends. But underneath the secrets and the advice, a deeper current was pulling us together. It was a bond forged in the heat of changing hormones, the thrill of minor corruptions, and a slow, collective empowerment.
By the time I hit fifteen, a protective compulsion took hold of me. I felt a visceral need to keep Julie straight and strong—to hand down the truths I thought I had already mastered. I was careful to keep her just a few paces behind me, sheltered in the quiet pocket of my shadow. From that vantage point, she could look out at the brutal romance of the world without stepping into the same muddy puddles and potholes that caught my own feet.
Of course, Julie’s version of the map has different boundaries altogether.
Sometimes I catch myself looking at them, still reaching for that old, stubborn instinct to protect—even now, when they are grown women with their own successful, intricate lives. Grandmothers, even. Some habits are hard to shake when they are stitched right into the belly.
But Julie and Carmen have long since stepped out of the shade. Today, they stand firmly by my side. They are so much more than the shared geometry of our childhood; they are patient, wild, fun-loving creators, deep friends, and rare treasures of human beings. I cannot look at the landscape of my life and imagine it without their warmth.
I just wanted to stop today, to slow down and acknowledge them—to tell you how deeply extraordinary it feels to hold these two hearts in mine.
