Photo credit: Ryan Brackin
Come sunrise, we were sworn enemies. Because I was a morning person and my little sister Lydia was a demon. At least when she first woke up. My internal clock would go off five minutes before my mom was due to wake me up, a good little solider ready to attack the day. Lydia slept like a gin-drunk: sheets pulled in every direction, her body set at painful angles, like she collapsed that way the night before and hadn’t moved since. If you tried to rouse her, god help you. She would lash out, flailing violently, with a force that belied her tiny arms. My mom gave it her best shot for many years, but after catching an errant backhand to the face one morning, she called it quits. Nope. Done. Not my job anymore...