I love making my little sister laugh. She doesn’t hold out, she just full-on laughs and then, invariably, calls me a dork for saying whatever I did that made her laugh. There are about 6-1/2 years between us, the eldest and the youngest, and we have a lot in common. Jaime and I are both artistically inclined. We share the same taste in TV and movies. We went to see Raiders of the Lost Ark together in the theater. Just the two of us at a Saturday matinee. I was thirteen. She was seven. Seven. And I took her to a movie to see Nazis get their faces melted off. She loved it, and my brother Ray was jealous afterward that he chose to go to the pool instead of hanging out with Indiana Jones.
Jaime and I get along really well, probably because we are so similar. But when we were younger…well…we didn’t get along so well…probably because we were so similar.
I loved trying to make Jaime laugh so much, I would annoy the crap out of her, to the point where it turned from humor to annoyance to out-and-out rage in a matter of minutes. I would burst into her room where she was lost in the land of Strawberry Shortcake and I would get up in her face and wiggle my fingers at her ears and say things like, “Bllblbelbelbe woooooooooooo woooooooo.”
You know, hilarious. Why she failed to find the humor in this, I’ll never know. I wonder how many times Mom heard Jaime scream at the top of her lungs, “EDDIE GET OUT OF MY ROOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!”
Probably at least more than twice.
I remember one time Ray and I got the brilliant idea (I don’t recall exactly whose idea it was, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Ray’s. He’s really good at planning and predicting people’s actions and I’m sure he already knew how it was going to play out) to wrestle around in the living room. Mom and Dad were both gone and we decided we were going to both pretend like we were each getting the snot beat out of us and see which one of us Jaime would defend. Because, you know, at that age Ray and I had some psychological behavioral research to conduct.
Jaime was in her room, and Ray and I started horsing around and we both started screaming like we were being murdered.
“Get off me!!!!”
Soon Jaime came out of her room and watched us and Ray, master thespian that he is, started to pretend he was crying. Jaime immediately launched on top of me and punched me in the back of the head – with her fist!– as hard as she could. I screamed “OWCH!” and Ray giggled.
“Jaime, stop it! We’re just faking it, you tard!” I yelled. Or something very similar.
Jaime was, to put it bluntly, confused.
I was confused.
Ray was still giggling.
But now, as I think back on all the times I burst into her room and terrorized her with my incredible comedy of screaming in her face, I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised with whose side she picked.
And also, Ray’s really good at fake crying.