My mother died before I said my first word. Which was Mama, my grandmother told me that.

My mother died before I took my first step. Which I took on the porch of the Iowa farm because my father had sent me away.

My mother saw me smile, at least. At least she saw that.

Sunny's mother...Sunny's mother got to see her daughter talk and walk and dance and date and have crushes and get her heart broken. She saw Sunny surf and swim and baby-sit and ride a bike. She bought Sunny pads when she got her period, she was there after Sunny got her first kiss when she was eleven. She took Sunny to Disneyland and heard her scream with delight on roller coasters. She bought Sunny hats with mouse ears on them that matched her own, and their family took a photo of three happy people together, with thirteen year old Sunny that I remembered from her bedroom when we went out to California.

I know why she grieves, I know. But if I were her...I'd be so grateful that I had all of that time. I'd slit my wrists if that meant one day with my mother. Just one stupid day where she and I could quilt together or read together, her favorite book which nobody seems to remember. Or bake cookies that Dad could eat. Or something, just something, just her and I. Why didn't I get one more day? Why didn't I get the thirteen years? Why didn't I get the best friend so loyal that she drifts away from her sister, even after Hawaii and the promises we made, it's just like it was. Dawn and Sunny. Me alone. Sunny hasn't even wanted to be in the same room as me since I yelled at her...I've spent every night at Barbara's, I can't bear to be there. I can't take them anymore, the Should-Be Sisters. And empty me, in the shadows.

Why didn't I get the thirteen years. Why did she. My mother didn't even know that my second word was "want." Want Mama. I used to hold on to the railing of my crib and scream that.

My mother had died two months before.

I had forgotten her by the time I turned three.

It's Dawn's birthday, she's sixteen today. And I swear, when she blows out the candles on her cake, she'll make a wish to be three thousand miles away from here.

Over these months, I've hoped that Dawn would start to feel at home here. That some of Sharon's delight at having her daughter, her problem-free real daughter, around would seep into Dawn by now and cheer her up a touch. Instead, she's always on the phone with Maggie and Ducky and especially Sunny. Those are the friends she wants. That's the life she wants. When I try to talk to her about how it's going with making friends here, hanging out with my friends from SADD or Latin Club or Student Council...Dawn acts like I've just been a jerk, getting stiff and cold. She and I can be close and sisterly as long as we're at home and talk about safe things, carefully toeing the lines between Dawn's emotional hotspots.

Sometimes her door stays shut for hours, and all she does is play her CDs and burns incense, which she says reminds her of California. It makes my eyes burn, so I stay away. I wonder if she likes it better that way, behind a shut door, talking to Sunny and all of the friends "back home." Doesn't she understand that I would do anything to make her happy, make her feel at home, make things right for her? I prayed my whole life of having a sister...a family...and nothing has gone like I dreamed it would be. Making our family perfect...I'll do anything. It's more important than I am...why doesn't Dawn see that?

She's the only sister I'll ever have. I love her more than myself. I wish she knew.

I wish that was enough.

I don't get football.

Logan's away message on IM is to not talk to him because he's in the "fetal position" over Kentucky losing its game today, that he hates some guy named Woodson (who?), and that Phil Fulmer can kiss his ass.

I don't get it. Not even close. I don't think this is the time to tease him. He'd probably go ballistic. Though, if he's in the fetal position...

Dawn gets home tomorrow, and I can't wait. The house gets so quiet without her. Nothing's as much fun without her, but it really gets so still when she's in California. I've gotten spoiled on all of the sound she puts in my life. Right now, with all of this silence, I'd take any noise, really. Even Logan screaming over his stupid football.

Well. Maybe not that.

...who's Phil Fulmer?