I HANG UP, pissed off at Meredith and pissed off at Shawna for giving Meredith that kind of ammunition, even unwittingly. She, of all people, knows our complicated history, the three of us going back to 1989, when the Ebersoles moved in across the street from us. Shawna was between us in age, but was precocious and had skipped a grade. Her mother, a Coke executive, had transferred the family from Hong Kong, enrolling Shawna at the Atlanta International School so that she could continue to use her Chinese. It was one of the many things that fascinated Meredith and me, along with her wealth of stories and breadth of travel (in stark contrast to the mainstay destinations of most Buckhead families, which included, give or take, Lake Burton, Sea Island, and Kiawah). The three of us went on long bike rides, built forts along the creek behind Shawna’s house, and played Capture the Flag with the other neighborhood kids. One summer, we planted a vegetable garden, then went door-to-door peddling basil and tomatoes from Daniel’s old red wagon. I remember Shawna coming up with most of the ideas, doing most of the talking, and generally entertaining Meredith and me. Looking back, I think Mere would agree that it was the only truly harmonious era of our sisterhood.
In middle school, Shawna morphed from our playmate into our fearless, experimental pioneer. The first adult penis Meredith and I ever saw was compliments of Shawna, straight from her parents’ very own porn-magazine collection, which they casually stowed in their nightstand along with a tube of K-Y jelly (the purpose of which Shawna clinically described). I still remember how my sister and I vacillated between horror and fascination at the sight of that large slab of bratwurst-like flesh, slung over the muscular thigh of a burly Nordic man named Big John. We gagged and covered our eyes, then peeked, then gawked, then analyzed, parsing out the anatomy, where his hairless scrotum attached to the long shaft ending with that one-eyed pink head. Shortly after that, Shawna taught us about masturbation, the myriad ways she pleasured herself, even demonstrating the swirling of her two fingers through the silk fabric of her pajama bottoms. There was no such thing as a taboo topic with Shawna—and she was just as likely to research a provocative issue on her own as to ask her parents directly. What was the difference between gay and transgender? How could someone be against abortion except in cases of incest or rape—if killing a baby was wrong, wasn’t it wrong no matter what the circumstances? And on and on.
In those years forming the bridge from childhood to adolescence, Shawna was not only our friend and confidante but also the source of many a secret that Meredith and I guarded together. Our parents, both conservative Presbyterian Republicans, liked the Ebersoles well enough, but they called Shawna “out there” and referred to her parents as “permissive” and “liberal.” I can vividly remember Dad’s face turning bright red when she told us at dinner one night that creationism was an “ignorant myth perpetuated in red states” and how he had stammered a retort that the Bible was most certainly not a myth. Only Daniel could calm him down, shifting the conversation to “intelligent design,” how it was possible to reconcile Christianity with Darwinism and evolution. It also helped that Daniel enjoyed Shawna in much the same way he loved Nolan. Neither was ever dull.
In any event, we remained a threesome until the summer before Shawna and I entered the ninth grade, when she convinced her parents to let her transfer to Lovett, where Daniel and I went to school. The writing was on the wall, but Meredith fiercely resisted the inevitable shift in our dynamic. Her feelings were perpetually hurt, which only annoyed Shawna and me, as did her tattling to Mom and Dad that we were “blowing her off” and “leaving her out.” I insisted that it wasn’t like that at all, Shawna and I simply had more in common. We were in the same grade, the same school, for heaven’s sakes. Beyond that, we had different interests. Meredith listened to downer folk music; Shawna and I danced to R & B and pop. Meredith didn’t speak to boys; Shawna and I had begun to date. Meredith was a Goody Two-shoes; Shawna and I sneaked cigarettes and beer.
“What’s the big deal?” I’d say to Mom when she pulled me aside and talked to me about my “sister’s feelings.” She pointed out that Meredith was a bit of a loner, and had come to rely on Shawna and me. I retorted that the age gap had become more significant over time, and that high-schoolers didn’t hang out with middle-schoolers. Mom argued that Shawna had always been a neighborhood friend. Not anymore, I said.
Over time, Meredith moved past the big betrayal and made her own theater friends at Pace, but I think it always stung. Shawna remained a longtime sore spot between us. Deep down, I knew I was being insensitive and maybe even a little mean, and looking back, I can see there was definitely a competitive component, too. My sister, like my brother, was a parent pleaser. She wasn’t as crazy smart as Daniel, but she got really good grades in honors classes, never got in trouble, and most important, had a genuine passion and talent for acting. Mom and Dad raved about her plays and performances, just like they raved about Daniel’s baseball, while I was the classic middle child with no sport or hobby to make me special. It was lame to consider Shawna a feather in my cap, but I took secret satisfaction in beating my sister in this particular tug-of-war.