and while you wonder, i only want it to begin
by Marla
I bought a box of these macarons—creamy red velvet and comforting chocolate—for my sister, who will be in college this June, and my brother, who turned thirteen last month. My mind tries and tries to wrap itself around the fact that they are no longer little, no longer helpless, no longer fragile or vulnerable or innocent to a fault. For so long being a big sister has been embedded in who I am, far more permanent than my weight or hair color or favorite song; it is difficult to remember what it felt like to be the youngest child. Now the possibilities hover over our heads, lingering for as long as we need them to: I am too old to promise that I will grow up with them but young enough to know that I will grow with them, always. These macarons came in a small box, protected from the outside world. Nonetheless I had to be careful carrying them around. I am often awed, and grateful, and glad that I am capable of taking care of so much.
