But despite looking almost identical, Laura and I were very different.
I was cautious.
Laura was fearless.
I liked routines.
Laura hated them.
I preferred books, quiet afternoons, and knowing exactly what tomorrow would bring.
Laura wanted to climb trees, sneak out to the lake after dark, and talk to strangers at the grocery store as if they were old friends.
Our mother used to say that I was the anchor and Laura was the wind.
“You keep her grounded,” she would tell me.
Then she would look at Laura and smile.
“And you remind your sister that life is meant to be lived.”
Our father didn’t laugh at that as often as our mother did.
Dad was a serious man.
Not cruel.
Not cold.
At least, not in the way I understood those words when I was young.
He worked long hours at a manufacturing plant and believed deeply in responsibility, discipline, and reputation.
