I think I was twelve or thirteen.

While I lived with our grandmother, my sister (who struggled with foster homes) lived in a girls’ home a few hours away from me in upstate New York.

I’d been given permission to visit her at the girls’ home. I imagine my ability to visit had something to do with our parents not facilitating us being together often, my grandmother needing a break from me, and my sister’s good behavior.

I was put on a train, solo.

I don’t remember if I had headphones, a book, or a drawing pad… but I know I didn’t have a cell phone in 1995.

I enjoyed the train ride. No one bothered me. I enjoyed the silence and escape from my grandmother.

My sister and a counselor met me when I arrived.

The only thing I remember of this visit was that my sister had her own bedroom and bathroom, and it was the best room at the home. Also, that we watched The Craft and then couldn’t make it through The Exorcist without screaming in terror and shutting it off. And, of course, I remember the roller rink.

The home was bringing all the girls to a rollerskating rink… and I was allowed to tag along.

My sister was so happy for me to visit. She loved me so much and was fiercely protective of me.

But I had a cold. My nose was stuffed and red… and I had a cough. It felt like my head was a balloon.

But no worries… because my big sister was there to look after me. If I was twelve or thirteen, then she was fourteen or fifteen, and she had been looking after me most of my childhood up until age nine, when we were taken from our dad.

We stopped at a gas station, and my sister went straight to the medicine aisle.

She decided that NyQuil would be perfect for me. I could take it when we arrived, and then I would feel much better and be able to enjoy the rollerskating free of cold symptoms.

When we arrived at the rink and made our way to the bathroom… she measured out a heaping capful of the thick, sapphire liquid.

“Okay, drink it,” she announced while holding the cap out to me.

I hesitated. It smelled medicinal. Cautiously, I stuck the tip of my tongue out and tasted it. Blech. “I don’t think I can!”

“You can! Just chug it!” she insisted.

I plugged my nose and attempted to throw back the whole cap in one gulp. I barely managed half before gagging and slapping my hand over my mouth to prevent the blue gunk from escaping my lips.

“You almost got it!”

Reluctantly, I forced myself to finish the rest… I gagged over the sink. Then, with heavy breaths, stabilized. Done.

“Great!” she exclaimed. “Let’s skate now!”

As you can imagine… it didn’t take long for a tween who wasn’t even one hundred pounds to feel that medicine.

There were so many kids at the rink… and lots of cute boys. I was such a sucker for a cute boy at that age. I tried my best to appear pretty, mature, confident, and interesting. But I was becoming increasingly dozy as the NyQuil took effect.

After skating a bit, I needed to rest. My sister helped me to the side of the rink, and I decided to lift myself up and sit on the edge of the half wall surrounding the rink. My back was facing the rink.

Suddenly… I slipped. I began to fall backwards and headfirst onto the skate floor.

Not on my sister’s watch!

She was quick.

Before I knew what was happening, the world was upside down.

My sister’s fist had a firm hold on the bottom of my shirt, but my feet were spread apart, still donning the chunky, orange-wheeled roller skates, and my legs were up in the air.

At that exact moment, a group of cute boys with Jonathan Taylor Thomas bowl cuts skated by, fingers pointed, laughing hysterically… at me.

Fun times and good memories, right?