I warned everyone that I had big plans to cry through Jeremy Messersmith’s “It’s Only Dancing” when he played it at Rock the Garden on Saturday.
And I did. I cried through most of his set, because it was pretty rad. But I have to confess my tear ducts were pretty primed by the time he took the stage.
See, Sister #2 emotionally leveled me before she even fully sat down next to me Saturday afternoon.
“I accepted a position at Portland State University,” she said, settling in. “We’re moving to Portland.”
“That sucks,” I said, tears spurting from my eyes.
“Jaycie asked if she could live with you,” she said. “But I told her no.”
“She could,” I said, still crying.
“I told her I wasn’t done parenting her yet.”
“What about Walter?” I asked, because I thought if maybe I got the dog I wouldn’t be so devastated by their departure.
“He’s going with us.”
“This sucks,” I said, still crying.
“No,” she said. “It’s good thing. Oh, you’re crying. I knew I shouldn’t tell you today.”
“Of course I am,” I cried some more. “You guys are the only ones who care about me here.”
She was stunned silent for moment by the speaking of a familial truth we all know but never acknowledge. My general self-sufficiency plus my lack of children makes me easily forgotten by the rest of my immediate family unless they need something from me (computer help, a place to stay, child care).
“I still care about you,” she said.
I shrugged and cried because I was way deep down in the self-pity pit. Then she told me all about how fabulous this was — a huge raise, getting paid to do research over the summer, money to relocate, and Portland. How they’d come back for the summers.
“That’s really great,” I said, still crying. “But I still hate it.”
Stupid Portland. Stupid smarty-pants, ambitious sisters. Stupid everything.