Ripped jeans

I have a friend who has a sister six years older than her. I’m always surprised by this age gap because from the way she talks about her sister, it feels as if they were twins. My friend says that they grew up together being the best playmates.

I always love to hear whatever my friend tells me about her sister. How her sister used to forget to move the cursor away from the play button while they were watching a movie together on the full-screen mode, and how my friend always had to remind her to move it so that all the buttons could disappear. How my friend felt awkward when the long wedding of her sister finally came to the end and she waived a good-bye to her sister. And how she doesn’t like it when her sister gets drunk even for a bit because it makes her feel as if her sister had become a distant person.

One day, my friend and I went out on a coffee date. As we walked back to her car, I noticed her ripped jeans. They were very cool, so I couldn’t help making a comment on that.

My friend smiled and said that her sister gave it to her when she was in college. “It’s so old now. I’m sure my sister doesn’t remember them.” But the jeans were kept in such a good condition that they still shined.

I asked her if I could take a picture of her with the jeans. Though she thought it was a funny idea, she still handed me her phone and stood with a big smile. I clicked her photo. Back in the car, she sent the photo to her sister right away.

A few days later, I asked her if her sister had responded to the photo. “My sister did not remember those jeans,” my friend texted me back. “She sure was shocked.” Looking at the three emojis of a sweaty smile at the end of her message, a grin spread across my face. This story of ripped jeans has stayed with me since.