History, on repeat

My sister comes back from the club. Laughing, she tells me: "You wouldn't believe what I saw."
I am definitely intrigued, so I sit up and ask. My sisters have this quality about them that make their stories irresistible to me. I think it stems from my early childhood when I wouldn't agree to go to sleep unless they tell me a story. They used to take turns, telling me bedtime stories, sometimes of their own creation and sometimes from books (they used to change sad endings so I wouldn't fall asleep unhappy). I loved hearing stories especially about the famous duck, Batboota and her offspring. Batboota had many intriguing adventures.

Anyway my sister tells me: "I saw two young girls, riding their bikes. The older girl was riding a normal bike and the younger one was riding one with training wheels. The older girl was riding the bike really fast, while the younger one was struggling with her slow bike. So, she is trying to catch up with her sister, shouting: 'Sara, wait for me' and then I realized history repeats itself. We used to do the same thing."

It's true, I spent many days trying to catch up with my sisters while struggling with my eerily slow bike, begging them to wait for me, which they -of course- ignored. It was never a happy moment when I would finally reach them only to find out that they were going to race all the way back. Like Sisyphus, I was forced to push the literal bike instead of the metaphorical rock.

Yet, when I remember it now, I can't help but smile.



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