IWTS No. 42

I was the soundless sister, which is to say, I thought little of myself in comparison to my oldest sister. When confronted by her presence in a small room crowded by other family members, they listened to her and laughter came easy. I slid around the corners, taking dishes to the dining table or helping mother chop celery for her stew. I was nothing more than a dropped dish cloth on the linoleum, a stray parsley leaf on the countertop; and I was okay with this arrangement. Mostly.