Frak That

I am a messy girl. I would like to believe that I have a place for everything and I think I do, but like my mind, my apartment is a bit cluttered. Still, if something was moved, I would know it. My chaos has some semblance of order.

My sister is the yin to my yang (or the Frick to my Frak as my Dad used to call us). She is neat and orderly; organized and detailed; a planner and a saver. So, when she came home at lunch for a ham sandwich (as opposed to me who was probably eating out again) and to load her dishwasher (we won't even talk about my dishes) and saw her front window missing, she knew something was wrong.

She called her fiancé and the police and they all entered the apartment together and confirmed her fears - she had been robbed. The perpetrator was slow and methodical. He (sorry for the sexist assumption) rifled through her dresser drawers, her jewelry box and even her refrigerator.

He stole her digital camera with her Mother's Day photos still on it, her DVD player, all her movies, her Ipod, her jewelry, some clothes and her beer. To add insult to injury, he used her luggage to take out his haul.

I go on record as saying I hate this guy. I hate him for violating her home. I hate him for invading her life like this and taking away her security. I hate the 500 miles that separated us and made me unable to reach out and hug her when she told me the story. I hate that I can’t protect her and spare her from this.

Now, my sister will be the first to read this and get mad at me. She will protest my view of her and for the millionth time, remind met that is 27, has lived on her own for 9 years and that she is engaged. I know all this. Sometimes, I think she is more of a grown up than I am. She has handled this with the intelligence, grace and beauty that she possess and with which constantly amazes me. And yet as her big sister (chronologically), I want to beat up the bully that did this to her, hug her and take her for an ice cream.