Lily and my mother did not get along, but my father wanted us to bond so he let Lily take me everywhere, to the skating rink, to the park, even to secret meetings with her current boyfriends. I was thrilled that someone so beautiful could be my sister,
Our town was too small to keep Lily for long and soon she disappeared in the middle of the night. My father was hurt, my mother was relieved, and I was heartbroken.
Fast forward to the year 1961. Lily returned, still beautiful, now divorced and leading a parade of would be suitors around our town. She became my sister again, this time trying to drag me into her world which revolved around jazz, great clothes, bourbon and good times. She was what gossips meant when they said a woman was ‘fast’. I was shy, nearsighted, and definitely not beautiful so I basked in her light and loved her again.
Within a few months she had managed to marry into a wealthy family with the bonus of owning a liquor store. This marriage lasted twelve years and ended when she fell in love with someone else, who had even more money. Along the way, she had one son who grew up to be just as good looking and charismatic as his mother.
I married in 1962 and left my town. I divorced in 1972 and moved again. In 1973, I meant the man I would spend the rest of my life with.
In 1981, my father died and I went home for the funeral. I had not seen or heard from Lily for almost twenty years. She was still the larger than life person I remembered, trying to take over the funeral plans and position herself in the center of attention as if my father were only her father. Yet, I could not help but wish for some of her glamour; she always managed to look casual and perfect at the same time. What was I thinking, to even consider this at such a time? Seeing her just reminded me that in my mind, I was not attractive or desirable
After my father died, I received the occasional card but we never got together, even when I was within sixty miles of her.
I last saw her at my mother’s funeral in 2001. She was seventy one and looked sixty. She was full of stories about her successes, her possessions, her adventures.
She died on December 31, 2011. Now I write this and realize that I had a sister, my father’s daughter, just like me, but I never really knew her. I remember and knew illusions. I am sad to think that I never tried to break that artificial shell she had because that was the very thing that made her so attractive. I am sad to know that all my chances to really know the person that was Lily are gone.
