Carrots and Coal

I have a cousin named Sara, no H. In my impossibly tiny family, my mother’s side, we were often paired together whenever she visited, as Sara was only my elder by a year. We were about as close as two girls could be, taking into consideration the fact that Sara lived in Rhode Island and I in Seagoville, Texas. Our grandmothers, Lucille (mine) and Jewel (hers), were sisters, both fiery redheads. Sara got the carrots. I got the dark coal of Ted Stilwell for hair color. This is a story about how two children were so very different and yet so very alike.

Sara’s visits were heralded over months of Aunt Jewel’s continuous proclamations. Each time I visited her, she would exclaim, “Sara’s coming, Dina. It’s only going to be six more months. You’ll have to come and play with her.” Six months feels like 6 years to a small child. I would get a single play date with Sara, maybe two if luck ran my way. I don’t recall Sara ever coming to my house out in the country. My mom and I always drove into town to the neat little brick home right across the street from the First Baptist Church where Aunt Jewel worked. Sara had nicer toys at her grandmother’s home than I did at my own house. She had an Easy Bake oven. She had a miniature set of Corningware to use in her tiny play kitchen. She had the latest Barbies and the corresponding Good Times van. I was never jealous. Sara was so beautiful and so sweet. We were two only children thankful for each other. Ok, maybe I was envious of her red hair.

The visits became sparser as we entered our intermediate grades. They ceased completely when high school started. My family dynamics shifted as my parents divorced. Sara went to Yale. I got married. She met the son of the Shah of Iran and Brooke Shields. I had my first son and cried when Denise Huxtable left for Hillman. Still, I wasn’t jealous. She was my favorite conversation filler and my biggest source of pride. I loved telling my friends about my glamorous cousin with the red hair that she refused to style with gel or even hairspray for fear it would dull the color. I told them how she wore crew-neck sweaters over her button-down Izod shirts so she would only have to iron the collars and cuffs. I told them she wanted to be an attorney. She was all mine, even if a vapor that barely settled over my life.

I recall a single visit to Forney, made in the mid-90s. It was Sara and T.J., her recently wedded husband. I remember thinking he looked exactly like Jeff Daniels in Terms of Endearment – so charming. I was living in a newly built house with all three of my children running around, so very proud to show Sara my home. My daughter, Chynna, was taken by my cousin with the long, red hair. She donned her Esmerelda Disney princess nightgown and her plastic high-heeled shoes – the favorite outfit for a 3-year-old – and clickety-clacked around us as I showed her the avantgarde wallpaper choices I’d made in my home. There was the buffalo check in the kitchen. There was the heirloom cabbage rose in my bathroom. Then, we disappeared from each other again.

Fast forward to 2009. There I was, just a woman with a daughter who died, waiting on post-chemotherapy hair to grow back. I hadn’t returned to work yet. There was a thing called Facebook. It was suggested that developing a profile could be beneficial for me, since we were trying to get a charitable organization developed in my daughter’s memory. Very quickly, there was a friend request from Sara, who lived in New Jersey with three children of her own. We poured over each other’s photographs. She was saddened by Chynna’s passing. I was saddened that she was saddened. So many details had been missed. With the grandmother’s both having passed, ethereal cords are easily cut by the sharp corners of modern- day life.

It was late in the evening a couple of years ago. My aunt called me. She wanted me to know that Sara’s son, her only son, her youngest child, had died in an accident. Neither of us had a phone number we could call. I’m not sure I would’ve called anyway. Introvert only children are like that. I’m sure Sara would understand. We have communicated regularly since then. I remain convinced that Ethan and Chynna are fast friends in Heaven. Every May, halfway between my mid-month birthday and her end-ofmonth birthday, I post the same picture. It’s the two of us in the playroom of Aunt Jewel’s house. If you look hard enough, you can see the Corningware. I think it’s time for a modern day play date. What do you say, cousin? Jersey in the spring sounds divine.