We weren't always this way. We were really close at one point, almost like sisters, and that's because we were. Our relationship was good when we were younger, I think. She would accidentally tap me on the arm, and I would poke her in the leg so that we were even. Then she would tap me back and I would once again return the gesture. And this back-and-forth would go on without pause until one of us had the sense to organize a truce and count down from three so that we could poke each other at the same time in order to eliminate any discrepancy as to who touched who last. But then, she would poke me one more time because apparently, I was "late."

We accompanied each other to the basement whenever one of us had to get a can of tomato sauce from the pantry at our mother's request because the monsters that hid there wouldn't be able to eat us as long as we were together, obviously. Neither of us was ashamed to voice our desire to rewatch old Barbie classics on Friday movie nights as we slurped up steaming bowls sodium-packed, plastic-wrapped ramen. And when Mom wasn't looking, we would scarf down as much of that forbidden broth that we could, creating a small secret between the two of us that bound us closer together.

I remember singing in the car a lot. We particularly enjoyed belting out soulful ballads where she would sing the melody and I accompanied with the harmony. We were decent singers, falling somewhere in between Beyonce and the sound of a goat giving birth. But I think we both knew it wasn't about sounding good. It was just something we loved to do; there was no deeper meaning behind it. And we loved to do it even more because it was something we did together. It was like being a part of a secret club made up of just the two of us that no one else could join. And for a while, it was enough to drown out the rest of the world and keep the small universe we created for ourselves safe and whole.

But she couldn't drown it out forever.