When I was 16, I had a job working at Eagle Boys rolling dough. It sucked. Big time. Every night I would count each minute until my shift was over. Anyway, on this night my Mum picked me up as usual, but my two brothers were also in the car with. I felt my stomach drop. This was unusual. I automatically assumed that someone was sick… or dead.
“I have something to tell you all,” Mum began.
Uh-oh I thought.
“You have a sister. She is your half sister and she lives in our street.”
My mind was racing a million miles an hour. What the hang? How did that happen? A sister? Our street? Oh my god I know who she is. I know her.
And I did know her. She was our gorgeous neighbour who always caught my bus. You know the one, the woman a young teenager likes to stare at. Walking down our street wearing trendy clothes, she was stylish and just so cool. The one who always gave a warm smile, always brought the raffles I was selling and even gave bus money one day I was being harassed by the driver.
She was my sister I knew it.
And I was right. Julie was our gorgeous neighbour that suddenly morphed into my gorgeous sister. What a gift for a sister-less 16 year old!
Julie is my Dads daughter, she is ten year older than me, she shares my name (a complete coincidence) and my eyes. She became a new piece of the puzzle that is our father, and a missing part of her father whom she never got to meet.
