Fuck 'Em In The Ear.

I was going to refer today's post to my original post about my sister "The Notorious AMM", but since that was a memory of her accident, I want to share what I can remember about Alison the person, 20 years to the day after her death.

All I have left are sense memories. I remember her eyes, clear blue like Ed's, with endless facets that flared when she was excited. Such gorgeous eyes. After her death, she was only able to donate her cornea, so I like to think that two people are now looking through the world with her eyes.

Alison was obsessed with Cyndi Lauper (and rightfully so). She'd tease her hair, wear all the neon jewelry that the 1980s would allow, and would fling herself around our shared bedroom, dancing happily to songs I would only discover in high school.

And then, there is the "F 'em in the ear" parable.

Which I just tried to write out, but it is an in-person joke.

Next time you see me, ask me about the jizz in the ear.

So, the ear canal can stretch this far, and you stick it in...

Alison was all about the extremes. Highs, lows, I remember them all as vibrant explosions of music, color and light. She was mercurial in the best way. And, sometimes the worst.

We'd have slap fights in our first apartment in south Florida, after my mother had left my bio-dad and Alison had come to live with us from Brooklyn. Having gone from what was essentially a life as an only child to live with a teenager used to older boys was a shock at first. She'd hit me, and I'd hit her back, and she'd threaten to call Child Protective Services on me. It sounds vindictive, but it was our game, and we'd always end up happy and laughing.

She was protective of me as much as possible. I was so muted in those years, and sometimes Alison would be my necessary voice. It's like she had a sixth sense as to when I needed to explode, and she'd detonate on the world on my behalf. I didn't have the skills to tell people what I needed, but I could feel her shelter me with her own vitriol.

The night before the crash, we had a ridiculous evening full of spaghetti and hand-me-down clothes. Ten hours later, she died instantly making a left hand turn out of her apartment.

There are so many moments I wish Alison could be part of, from my wedding day to the day of Ed's accident. I can almost smell her head on my shoulder, the fruity, pungent smell of her Aussie mousse against my face. I hear her pet names for me. Sometimes, I feel her metaphorically in my corner, egging me on, pushing me to be better, stronger.

But mostly, I miss the slap fights.