I was reading my new book from the library, an account of the Arctic land expedition led by Captain George Back in 1833-35, when the voice came.
“Rock! I’m home!”
I turned and saw my sister, Monique, enter the living room. It had been a long time since we’d seen each other and a lot of things had happened.
We were born 4 years apart. My mother died giving birth to her and the two of us had been raised by my father. He never dated again after his wife’s death, being too busy trying to support two kids financially while also raising us. We both had a somewhat lonely childhood, as my dad was determined to give us all the material things that he had never had as a child... even though this meant working 12 hours daily [one full and one part-time job] as a low-level government official in the small town where we lived. He tried to make time for us, but it wasn’t a lot, no matter what he did.
Neither Monique or myself was outgoing. We had few friends in school, though the ones we did have were good ones -- the quality of our friendships, as we viewed the situation, being more important than the quantity. Perhaps as a result, we didn’t develop the usual sibling rivalry: in fact, we were very close. Monique calls me “Rock” because I told her that if she ever felt troubled about anything, needed someone to be there for her, I would function as a “rock in a storm.” She then began referring to me as “my rock” and the nickname developed.
I didn’t date much when I got to high school. There was no way to afford a private school with the cost of tuition, and, like Monique, I was somewhat of a bookish type, more into academics then socializing. Not being a jock, I wasn’t “popular” with the “in crowd”, and the girls who were my type were also more into libraries than dating. My build -- thin as a rail, at 5’8” and a mere 120 pounds -- didn’t help my cause. I never really felt a need to date, in any case, not having the usual raging hormones in high school.
I had just graduated high school -- 3 days before -- when my dad had his first heart attack. Monique was a skinny little 14-year-old bookish shrimp about to enter high school, and I had turned 18 a month before. My dad was in the hospital for 3 days, and the doctor told him he HAD to reduce his stress level or he would be dead of the BIG ONE within 6 months. It was at that moment that I had an idea.
My dad wanted Monique and I to attend college and didn’t want to give up his working 2 jobs so he could afford to send us there. But now he had no choice. I told him, “Dad, here’s how we’ll work it. I will go into the Navy and send every paycheck home to you. That way, you can work only your one full-time job, drop the other one, and still save the money.” It was agreed, and 4 days later I found myself in Great Lakes, IL -- Navy boot camp. I was assigned a 4-year enlistment as an electronics specialist, a specialty that enabled me to advance in rank more quickly than being an ordinary sailor would.
The plan worked -- to a certain extent. Monique and Dad were able to save up some money, with the help of my Navy checks. But because I didn’t keep a cent for myself, I had no money to fly home and see my father and sister even when I was on leave. Letters helped ease things, but I still missed them terribly at times. Then the unexpected happened.
Five days before my enlistment was up, my immediate commander, Lt. Haskins, called me into his office. I knew the news was grim from seeing his expression. “Your father died last night,” he explained. “His heart just exploded.” I called Monique directly from the lieutenant’s office. The funeral was the next day. I then told Lt. Haskins I would not be reenlisting when my tour of duty was up. I had to go home and spend some serious time with my devastated sister, who had just graduated from high school. I told her when I’d be coming in -- a morning flight -- and she said she would be working that day at her summer job. I told her I would see her when she got home from work.
Now she was here. I thought back to when I had last seen her -- a shrimp, looking like a stick figure. A 14-year-old with heavy glasses and her nose always buried in a book. She had mentioned to me in her letters that, like me, she hadn’t dated much in high school. I took a long look at my now 18-year-old sister and was astonished.
She was drop-dead gorgeous!
I dropped my book, raced over, and gave her a huge welcoming hug. “It’s been way too long!” I said, holding her very tightly in my Navy-strengthened arms. She smiled at me and said, “I concur!”
She was dressed in a pale-grey blouse, conservative style -- she had, after all, just come from work -- and a floor-length darker grey skirt. But despite the clothes, I could see that her body had filled out very nicely. Her breasts, under the blouse, were full and firm -- I estimated 38DD. [I was almost right: they are 36DD.] Her legs were nicely muscled. She had all the right curves in all the right places, and I found myself thinking that if she didn’t date much, it was up to her -- all the high school boys her senior year must have lusted after her in a major way!
We broke out of the embrace, not speaking, just looking at each other. I was dressed in a Navy-issue white T-shirt and blue Navy sweatpants, as I had seen no need to dress up given I was just relaxing at home. I could feel her eyes wandering over my body -- I had gained 30 pounds of pure muscle due to the military physical training I had undergone over 4 years. And the thin T-shirt did little to conceal my finely toned upper body.
We sat down on the couch. Suddenly, Monique burst out crying. I took her in my arms and put her head on my shoulder. “What’s wrong, baby sister?” I asked. “I’m your rock, remember? Tell me what’s been happening. Is it Dad’s death?”
