One new message: Sisters meet through Facebook

One+new+message%3A+Sisters+meet+through+Facebook

Story by Ashley Tyson, Staff Writer

Phone buzzes. Look around, check if the teacher is looking. Coast is clear. Enter my phone’s passcode. Facebook message. Name I don’t recognize. Huh. Must be looking for somebody.
Hi, Ashley.
Okay, so she obviously has some connection to me. Next line.
I know we’ve never spoken before, but I’m your sister.
Uh-hum, exsqueeze me? Sister? Must have the wrong Ashley. Or maybe she’s crazy. I definitely don’t have a sister. Next few lines.
…I’ve been in contact with Brad over the last few years.
Okay, this is either a freak coincidence, she’s a crazy stalker, or… maybe she really is my sister. How else would she know my bubby’s name?
First ring. Second ring. Third ring. ‘Lo?
Brother, who is this woman claiming to be our sister? Is this real?
Imma holla back at you in a second.
Sure.
Waiting game. Stare at the clock. Surely she can’t be my sister. What? I can’t comprehend this. There’s no way. Surely… my mother would have told me, right? SOMEBODY would have told me… right?
Holy crap. I might have a sister. We could be like, total beffers and have heart-to-hearts. Have spa days and talk on the phone all night long. Tell each other super duper deep, dark secrets and take pictures all the time, watch movies and giggle over Channing Tatum.
I’ve only wanted a sister my entire life. If she isn’t my sister, I’ll be crushed. ONE message has already changed my entire life.
Hold up. How old is she? Where does she live? HOW is she my sister? IS she my sister? Chat her up. Ask basic questions. Don’t be weird. Who is that baby in her profile picture?
Her name is Amber. Lives in Corinth, north of Dallas. Just turned 30. Married to Kyle. That baby… that baby boy is my nephew. What? Creep through her pictures. Three more little girls show up… Mother Francis. Three nieces, along with that nephew. They look like me. SHE looks like me. Please, be my sister.
Still waiting on that phone call.
Jump when the phone rings. My bubby confirms. She is my sister.
Euphoria. Confusion. Excitement. Frustration. Momentary anger. Why didn’t anybody ever tell me?
Anger gets pushed away by the want to find out more about this strange new person… sister… I have. I have an instant bond to her. Suddenly, my life feels totally complete.
Our conversation progresses; we discover we have a freakish amount of things in common. I’ve only talked to her over Facebook for an hour, never met her, don’t know if she’s a psychopath, don’t know if we’ll even get along, but… I love her.
The story unfolds: I discover why I wasn’t told, how we’re related, more about her life.
She is my half-sister. We share the same father, just like my brother and I. Gotcha. My brother never knew about her until our father passed. She never met him, but talked to him on the phone once.
Just like I dreamed about, we’re total bffers that share super duper deep, dark secrets and giggle over fine men and talk on the phone all the time.
I really do have the best sister of all time. Period.