I look at my face in those pictures and see my innocence: How I thought things would stay that way forever, sharing a journey with Etty, sharing our lives.

When I opened my closet the night before first grade, the scent of Downy Rose, powder-like, drifted from the shelves. Two starched shirts, two green cotton sweaters, two plaid uniform skirts, two pairs of patent leather shoes, smooth and new.

It was like a picture of our lives, my big sister Etty and I. Neatly lined up, matching, in pairs, fresh, happy, and better-together.

I had friends throughout the years and they were great, but Etty was always first. We dangled our feet off the matching trundle beds, spun identical fantasies as the late afternoon sun spilled gold across the carpet.

Etty was slender, dark hair, creamy complexion. Soft-spoken and delicate, she spun through life on feathers, swathed in pastels and grace.

Each morning, I would sing as I brushed my hair by the mirror, while Etty would groan from under the covers. Then she'd come down to breakfast with my brush and insist on redoing my pigtails, the proper way. Etty made the best coffees and invariably, I would finish hers when she slipped upstairs to get her bag.

We walked to school together in the chilly winter mornings, in the flowering warmth of late spring. We argued about most things, laughed over everything. Later, sprawled on linen flecked with grey flowers or ruffles of peach, we’d discuss school, the world’s problems, and our future lives, then stay awake for hours, reading by the light of the moon.

We came of age in the little room, nixing each other’s purchases and swapping clothing. We talked long and hard about who we wanted to marry and how odd it would be for us to live separate lives, to have a wedge between us.

They didn’t come quickly, those husbands. But while other single friends endured the shadow drape of loneliness, our days were bright and full. We worked together, traveled the world on business, shared our yearning and frustration over tea, nuts, and chocolate on late Friday nights. Sometimes, we had such wonderful discussions and laughed so much, that we’d sit on the green velvet chairs that surrounded the Shabbos table until the sun rose.