The Rest Of The Birthday Trip and Beyond

Sig's house is only about an hour from Buc-ees, in the northeast corner of San Antonio and right next to the hamlet of Bulverde, Texas. I realize only now that I was anxious about this part of the trip because I would be openly appeasing the "it's all about me" side of my sister in front of the man I love....a person of considerable intellect. I knew that the Birthday Girl would act out and I only hoped I could keep it down to a dull roar. As it turned out, I worried needlessly. Siss spent a good portion of her time on her cell 'phone with The Rag.

Sig had put his house on the market, ostensibly so that we can be together, so there was no furniture in it except for his bed and a few leather chairs and couches. He got my sister a suite of rooms at the Embassy Suites, and I was so impressed that I wanted to stay there myself. She had a sitting room, bedroom, and bath, with two televisions, six pillows on the bed, a mini-bar and, of course, an open credit card for the bar, lounge, in-room movies, and anything she wanted from the desk. One of the gifts I had given her was a hanging shower caddy with products from Bath and Body Works, scented candles, and luxury bath items. I also gave her a "room basket" full of her favorite snacks, the kind I never eat, but want to. Watching her sink luxuriously into a mound of goose down, surrounded by birthday loot, my mind tiptoed around the edge of a suspicion that all was not going to be well. In a way, she reminded me of Cella at her most aggravating, always calling attention to herself no matter who should be the center of attention. My Grandma Lavina would have said "like 'Cleopatter'' on her barge".

The Alamo; small, unprepossessing, sterile, a tourist attraction. For the tour, Siss chose to wear yet another pair of my shoes; this time, a pair of flat, gold strappy sandals from Cole Haan. Cole Haan had wisely teamed up with Nike for the construction of these sandals, and so there was a cunning bubble of air neatly placed under the heel of the wearer. On the whole, I considered this a much better choice than the black and white heels. At least Siss could walk more like a human being.

There are no ghosts at The Alamo, at least none that I could see, feel, or detect. The atmosphere of what really happened there has been scoured away by years of tourists' feet, scuffling between the placards telling where you are and what happened on that spot. The room where the women were placed for safety was cramped and sour with the breath of about twenty too many people for the space. I couldn't wait to get out! I was better off in the air conditioned gift shop, where I could see postcards of the Alamo and try on faux-fur coonskin caps. That's my kind of place. I don't know why Siss had to buy so many items for The Rag; she had been on the 'phone to him at least six times a day since arriving in Texas. That should be enough to say "I'm thinking of you". But no. She bought books and a t-shirt and several other things, which Sig, ever the gentleman, paid for. She talked a steady stream of praise for The Rag, even if she had to interject it into marginally related subjects.

Talk about this later. I really have no memory of the rest of the trip; where we went to dinner, the ride back to Houston, the departure scene at the airport. I do remember two things well: that Siss had so much loot from the trip that we had to go out to the UPS store and send a huge box to her house, and that she tearfully swore that we needed a sisters' weekend together in the old home town of Scranton, PA. She offered to make the hotel reservation and drive us there from Lancaster County if I would just get an airline ticket to Philadelphia (she hates driving to Baltimore). The "birthday" trip was in May (her birthday is in April), and she suggested that we go to Scranton in mid August, just before I was to return to the college for in-service week. I was all smiles and gushing mouth noises, all the while thinking that no good could come of this.

I have a long history with Siss, and I have come to know her pattern very well. She is an expert at seeming to be my best friend and confidante, but all the while she has one foot holding the door ajar for quick flight. I just prayed that the quick flight wouldn't leave me stranded in Scranton. What a fool! I had just finished taking her back into my life from the last time she pulled something similar, and I couldn't see it coming again?? A "sisters' weekend" sounded just a little too much like one of Siss' experiments in close relationships.