The Toast (Writing Prompt #17)

Photo by nlmAdestiny

"No, I'm not jealous; no, I'm not bitter; and no, I don't wish it was me."

I had only meant to set the record straight, delivering a confident, one-sentence response to those well-intentioned folks who had been coming up to me all weekend, giving me apologetic looks and shaking their heads sadly as they murmured such meant-to-be-encouraging phrases as: "there, there" and "your day will come."

Instead-- and much to my mother's horror-- that misplaced self-affirmation became the opening line of my maid-of-honor toast.

It was my sister's wedding-- my younger sister, who married young. Apparently, that made me look bad. But I wasn't about to accept my perceived role as her spiteful older sibling, well on the way toward spinsterhood-- I was 27, for crying out loud!

Informed less than 48 hours before the ceremony that I was expected to speak, I frantically began brainstorming toast ideas that weren't entirely cliché. I had a vague idea that I wanted to speak from an older sister's point of view, highlighting how she-- and our relationship-- had grown and changed over the years.

Instead, as I stood in front of more than 200 friends and relatives and catering workers in a strapless cinnamon dress with ruching on the side, I began citing example after socially crippling example of the familial injustices I faced growing up, and how my sacrifice is a big part of the reason her childhood went as well as it did.

I suppose I should preface the contents of my speech by saying that my sister is the pretty one, the popular one. She's always been well-liked, by teachers, friends, boys, you name it, and-- like most babies of the family-- she had coasted through the early years of her life with relative ease.
I guess, by default, that makes me the smart one, or maybe the funny one. Growing up, my job as the oldest sibling was to break our parents in for each new life stage or milestone we reached as we got older. I was their test run; if I played by the rules and managed not to screw things up too badly, it automatically earned my little sister the right to do the same thing I had just begged, cajoled, and pleaded to be able to do. Only, because of the age difference, she got to do it three years sooner, and without tribulation. Apparently, I was still a bit jealous of this fact.

I think, at one point, I even uttered the words "Mom and Dad like you best!" Yes, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I did.

As I recounted the whole pierced ears debacle (I would never have been allowed to get my ears pierced in kindergarten!), the day I was finally allowed to shave my legs (with a friend, under close supervision, and only up to the knee... I was in 7th grade!), and how I adhered to a 9:00 p.m. curfew until almost my senior year in high school, only to witness my sister burst onto the scene and be allowed to stay out late and go to school dances-- with dates!-- I realized that this speech was quickly going the way of the Cain and Abel analogies offered up by the groom's younger brother in his Best Man toast.

Even though I had a captive audience and I was getting some laughs (probably at my expense), and even heard a smattering of applause here and there, I knew I had to right the ship, and quick. So I tried to mention some of the battles she fought once I went off to college, like bringing the boys to family functions, which is something that scares me to this day. I also had to give her some major credit for choreographing the big, traditional wedding with the flowers, the froofy dresses, and the floating-candle-and-cranberry centerpiece things, because that's a battle I simply wouldn't have won.

In closing, I told her and my new brother-in-law that, if they could scrounge up a grandkid or two in the next few years, we'd call it even.

Although I'm told that my impromptu speech was memorable, if I had to do it all over again, I think that, next time, maybe I should use some notes.