The story wasn’t about my sister

I took a writing class this summer with Lisa Russ Spaar at UVA (namedrop!), and one day she brought in a blue 80s ankle boot and told us to write a scene or a poem about it. So I wrote about a Peace Corps volunteer’s more fashionable sister. Last night when I saw my mom at a cocktail party at a nursing home, she said that maybe my sister Margaret shouldn’t see my blog because of my blue boot story. Granted, Margaret is extremely well dressed and likes to shop, but she is not the sister in the story. Margaret was far from my mind when I wrote that story. For one, I could not see Margaret in those blue boots. They just wouldn’t work on her wide-set feet. For two, Margaret studies Geography and she is way more globally aware than I am. The other day Darren pointed toward the mountains and asked “What’s in that direction?” All I could think about was walking in that direction until you wrapped around the earth and arrived back where you started. I could not mentally remove myself from the small plot of land where I was standing in my swimsuit. Anyway, I don’t think either sister in the story is very sympathetic, whereas Margaret and I are both really awesome and humanitarian. So take that, Mom.

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