Two sisters

``Be nice to them,'' my mother always said whenever she sent me to their house with a cake or pie or fresh-baked bread. And so I sat in the dark chair in their lightless parlor where they lived among ancestral portraits and old bric-a-brac as though interred like an Egyptian king with all his entourage and prized possessions entombed as well. And I would listen to the queenly one retell her tales of triumphs, proposals, dancing with a prince when she was called, she said proudly, ``the Pearl of St. Thomas'' while her wispy sister with graying bird's nest hair stared, half-hidden in a doorway, fluttering out of sight if I looked up. ``Be nice to them,'' my mother always said. And so I was, but out of her compassion, not my own. I did not understand there are needs that, deep as they are, are not too deep and wide to be in a way, allayed by the sometime presence of a child.

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK