I met Emerson on a warm summer day when she ran across her yard and into my life. She had chocolate cake batter smudged all over her little, four year old face and spread throughout her thin, light brown hair. Her perfectly round brown eyes spoke nearly as much as her mouth, which had never contained an unsaid thought. She would bat at her hair every once in a while, which only resulted in the chocolate spots growing until her fair, sunkissed skin turned brown and her hair stood up around her face, held by melting chocolate. Her colorful rainbow outfit matched her outgoing personality. She obviously had never heard the word shy before, and would not have understood the concept even if she tried.

Emerson walked into our house and found her way to the kitchen for some lemonade. She began talking to my mom and explaining the meaning of life from a four year old’s point of view. Swinging her bare, dirt covered feet back and forth, she sat and talked for hours. I thought that she seemed like a fun, carefree, little kid, but she just never left. Day after day she made the trip to my house and stayed for hours each time. I did not dislike her, but I was not a fan of playing house and babysitting all day for my summer fun. Once, I tried to hide when I heard her little voice drift in with the breeze. She ended up finding me and forced me to play hide-and-seek for over a hour.
After knowing her for about a week, she sat in her usual chair in the kitchen talking to my ever patient mom.

“I have two little turtles,” Emerson said excitedly, “one’s name is Phil and the other is Will. They eat all the time, lots of turtle food and lettuce. Once, I gave them pizza.”

My mom tried not to laugh. “Pizza, huh? How did they like that?”

She thought about it for a little bit. “It was taco,” she said, drawing out the oh as she stuck out her bottom lip, “They loved the lettuce, but I think they might be vegetarians.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep, well I gotta go.” With that she jumped down and ran out the door.

She usually acted randomly, so we didn’t think much about her leaving. About an hour later my mom and I were sitting watching tv.
Suddenly, with no noise or warning, Emerson burst through the door to the bedroom, her hands filled with lettuce.

“See!! This is what my turtles eat!!” she yelled, looking very pleased with herself. She then turned around and ran back home, leaving a little trail of brilliant green leaves to mark her path.

The next day I sat home alone looking at the computer in my room. I suddenly sat upright and could tell that something had changed in my room. I turned around to find Emerson’s nose inches away from mine, as she sat leaning against my bed staring at my fish tank. That girl could talk your ear off, but when she wanted to, she could walk like a shadow. I started locking my doors after that one.

The last time I saw Emerson winter had begun and the snow had put distance between her visits. She had walked, stomping through the snow and pausing to create snow angels, over to say goodbye a few days before I had to move. Her brilliant eyes shone out through layers of Hello Kitty scarves and gloves, her nose red from the cold. The only visible feature was her soft, oval face sitting on top a little frame, completely swallowed in her oversized, neon pink coat.

As I stood there, saying goodbye, I realized I was wrong about Emerson. Being an only child, I had always wanted to have a little sister, and there she was, standing in front of me. I discovered, looking back on the summer, that she had given me memories and let me experience what having a sibling might be like. Emerson had snuck up on me, taken my things, stolen my time, and forced me to play endless games of house, because that is what a sister does.