“Ok, now you’re going to repeat after me,” I tell Chrissa while making sure the two thin pieces of cloth were within her direct vision.

“Ok, I’m ready,” she says while taking a deep breath.

“You sure? You know it’s ok if it takes you a few more tries-”

“Meckenzie please! I’m going to be the only one who can’t do this. I already saw Lila and Avery and they’re both at least four months younger than me,”

“Chrissa don’t worry, ok? Let’s start.”

I turn my two laces into bunny ears; she does the same to hers. Then I wrap the two “ears” around each other, very tightly and loop one underneath completing the bow. I watch Chrissa as she tries to complete this step, she wraps, she loops, then with a grin from ear to ear she goes for the final tug of her laces, only to have her hard work unravel before her eyes. Her eyes become glassy and my immediate reaction is to fix the problem, tie her shoes and make everything better, but I know I can’t.

I grab her a tissue and dab at the grape-sized tears falling down her tiny rosy cheeks, only to have her swat my hand away. I decided to let her be so I just sat there and wait for the tears to stop. I watch as my five year-old sister cries as her auburn hair drapes down, creating a curtain in front of her face. Even though we are on opposite sides of the room, we cannot be more than twenty feet apart. Yet, I stay in my corner on the opposite side of her and watch her try to comprehend the fact that on the fist day of kindergarten she would be wearing her Velcro sneakers and not the tiny tie ones that I got her for this big day.

After creating a substantial size puddle of tears on the floor Chrissa peels her arms off her legs and put her fine wisps of hair into a small ponytail. She stretches out her legs and walks to me. I look into her big brown eyes that take up a good portion of her face, but she won’t look back at mine.

“Could I have the tissue now, please? I’m sorry I hit you, is your hand okay?” She asks, in her sweet high-pitched voice.

I hand her the tissue and she murmurs a very soft thank you. I give her a smile as my response. She blows her nose, and throws the dirty tissue away in the bathroom that we shared.

“M, will you be mad at me if I don’t wear the shoes you bought me tomorrow? I just want to wear the Velcro ones I got at the end of school last year so I wont have to worry about laces,” she pleads, averting my eyes again.

“Of course I won’t. I told you, you just need more practice,” I say as reassuringly as I can.

She nods and with a small, forced smile walks to her bed. She lifts her small comforter covered in dancing Disney princesses, grabs her favorite bedtime story, Pinkalicious, and crawls underneath her covers. Once I saw she was relaxed I stand up, grab the sneakers we had been practicing tying on, and walk out to my room right across the hall. I put down the shoes and put my thick brown hair up while walking over to my pajamas. I pull out my pink fleece pants and long sleeve shirt with little flowers growing on it. Chrissa has the same exact pair in her size.

I turn my lights off as soon as I see my sister’s room go dark. I’m comfortable cocooned in my sheets and excited to see my friends the next day as it was going to be my first day of seventh grade. I get out of my bed at 5:30 on the dot. I put on my clothes and do my hair. From where I stand I can just make out my sister beginning to wake through the small crack in her door. I am ready as soon as I here her bed creak. I go to walk downstairs, but instead I go and check in on my little sister.

I walk in to find her lying in her bed with pink fleece pajamas that have growing flowers on them, along with a pair of brand new pink sneakers on. The same pair I bought her last week and the same pair that just last night she couldn’t tie was on her feet, with the laces untied. I can’t believe she had kept them on.

I go over to her bed and look at her shoes. Why does she try so hard to get these little laces tied? She knows it was fine if she had to wear her Velcro sneakers we had just talked about it last night. She couldn’t be comfortable with these tight shoes on so I take a light hold on her left shoe and gently wiggle it off. I then grab her right shoe, but I must grip it too hard because just as the shoe was about to come off, she jolts awake.

“Hey Chrissa, happy first day of school,” I say with a smile.

“What are you doing with my shoes, M?” she says in a tone both sad and angry.

“I was just trying to be nice. You don’t have to be upset,” I say. I don’t know if I should be apologetic or defensive.

“I never said I needed your help you know. I need to get ready for the first day I’ll see you when I come down for breakfast,” she says very matter-of-factly

I began to furrow my brow and nervously crack my knuckles as I was looking at her and she just rolls her eyes.
“M, leave I’m fine,”

And just as she asks, I began to walk out of her room. With each step I feel more and more perplexed by the conversation that had just unfolded. Why was she acting like this? She was starting kindergarten, not middle school. I finally reached her doorframe and before taking the step out of her room I turned back and gave her a quick smile. I didn’t get to see her reaction. I took the step out of her room and heard the door slam creating a sound that resonated throughout the entire house.

I go to the kitchen table and my mom makes me a scrambled egg and a side of bacon as I wait for the bus to come. I see Chrissa walk down the stairs in her first day of school outfit and her tie-on shoes, held together by the most ridiculous knot I’ve ever seen. Nothing like I taught her. She sits in her usual spot next to me and at the table, only speaking when one of my parents asked her a question. She does not even acknowledge me.
My mom and sister walk out the front door and to the end of our driveway where the bus will be coming in a matter of seconds. I watch out the front window. When the bus arrives, Chrissa waves to my mom then goes to take her first step into the bus. Instead she steps on her right lace that has become unraveled. She falls face first onto the bus steps. My mom picks her up and tries to bring her back into the house, but Chrissa just shakes it off. All the kids’ eyes are wide, but she just ignores them. She ties her shoelaces the way she wants and walks into the bus that would take her to her first day of school. Her shoes were not tied the exact way I had taught her, but they were all she needed in order to climb on to the bus as the doors gently close behind.