Tedi Sato

I had a big sister for two years. Her name was Tedi Sato. She was my fifteen-year-old babysitter when we lived in Santa Monica, and one day she came to live with us. It was wonderful! I was no longer the responsible elder, caring for my mother and brother. Someone else had joined the family — I could let my guard down, relax. Play.

She had a great laugh, and took me everywhere — the beach, shopping, in the car with her boyfriend. (Curious about the door handle in the backseat, I once pulled it and almost fell out while we were moving. She grabbed me just in time.) 

Two glorious years with a big sister. She taught me how to fry bananas, and how to spike coconuts on the porch railing to get the juice. I was fascinated by her womanly body, and punched her pillowy breasts in the bathtub, surprised when she said “Ow!” (I am so very sorry.) We leaned against the washer in the spin cycle so the vibration would shuck unwanted pounds. And after we saw Lady Sings the Blues, a biopic about Billie Holiday, we bought plum nail polish at Pic ‘N’ Save, applied it as soon as we got home, and wafted around singing “Good Morning Heartache.”

Then one day my mother argues with Tedi inside the house. I am on the front porch, sitting very still. And that was it. My mother evicted her, just as she would later evict me, and then my brother. (“What happened to your mom when she was seventeen or eighteen?” asked a friend many years down the road. I don’t know.)

I saw Tedi again after a junior high orchestra performance. Now almost fifteen my ownself, I played violin, and the concert went well. (They usually went well, Mrs. Beasley rehearsed us long and often.) And there was Tedi, skinny, wearing high heels with a tailored skirt and jacket. She was with her mother (who had originally kicked her out, that’s why she came to live with us). My big, goofy, sweet sister was now an airline stewardess. She didn’t smile. My mother was there too, and it was awkward. 

Where are you, Tedi Sato? In your mid-sixties, maybe a pilot. Maybe on the Big Island. Hear this: you are still my sister.