(Tiger)

     She was always smaller. Her curly red hair was so much a part of who she is inside. Fire and beauty. She would cry over the things she couldn't find words for. She would complain about a lot and wouldn't eat. For this she was teased and punished so she was never really heard or understood. When we lived at Raven, she grew into a headstrong, mouthy little whirlwind. We shared a room, which was miserable. We fought endlessly; physically, and verbally. 
     She was so much smaller than me, so I would never hit her and would try to be gentle no matter how angry I was. We fought over a game or something stupid, so she shoved me into my fish tank, which shattered and killed my fish and sent a waterfall onto our carpet. One day when I yelled at her in the kitchen, she threw two huge knives at me, which literally stabbed me in the back. She never wanted to adventure with me, and I never wanted to let her have her way. She knew how to insult me and what words hurt me. 
     Some nights, when we were supposed to be sleeping, we'd sneak outside to sit in the street. The warm concrete on summer nights was so comforting. Me and Tiger would sit and look at the stars and make fun of our parents and talk about our friends. 
     When we moved at Elm, everything got worse and the family had no space and the parents were stressed and everyone hated life. Live would complain and say the truth, which was that everything sucked and no one was happy. I would always yell at her and try to get her to stop. I knew it was true, but I wanted to be tough. I wanted to be happy wherever I was. But she was honest. 
     She finally grew taller and her eyes because so serious with pain. We only hung out if we were with other friends. My senior year, we were forced to go to catholic school, and we both joined a soccer team together. I'm so thankful for that year because it was the year we became friends.
      We would leave early in the morning, blasting music and dreading the day. Some days, when we couldn't use the car, dad had to drop us off at the coffee shop where we scraped our change together and bought coffee. We would laugh and talk about the people we didn't like at school. Then we would walk all the way down Main Street, over the highway, past the library to school. On Thursdays we had class at the Callows. If we had any money, we would go eat Chinese food, then we would go buy a coffee to deliver to Angels doorstep or Jim at his office. Practice was a few hours later, and somehow we never connected the dot that soccer after Chinese food was never always a regret. 
   Some days we would buy candy and sit on the Haas apartment roof, until we saw cops approaching in the distance, so we'd scramble down the ladder and run to our car. Some nights we would get my spray paint and go tag the tunnels down the road, or sit in the cemetery and look at the stars. And I can't tell you how many times and places we ran out of gas together. So many days we found ourselves on the side of the road, struggling to find a bottle to put $3.00 worth of gas in, walking to a friends house, or trying to find a ride. We shared a cell phone, which makes me laugh thinking about it. We would take turns using for the day so we could text different friends. 
     On the soccer field, me and Live were a powerhouse, but we rarely were put in close positions. The girls dubbed her Ferrari, and I was called Lamborghini; the fastest ones on the team. Several times, one of us would score and the other would assist, and it was the greatest thing in the world to know that we were truly on the same team. 
     The winter I turned 19, I moved out and we didn't see each other as often for a while. I was scared of being close to her. I was scared of being a bad influence, because most of my ideas are bad and I didn't want to lead her all the ways I tend to go. In the summer we started hanging out more, causing trouble and finding fun and ridiculous things to do. One day, I was laughing at something she said and I had the realization that she was the only one who made me laugh like that. "Olivia. You think I'm crazy. You think I laugh all the time, but you don't know that you're the only one who makes me smile." She brushed it off and kept driving and we talked about traveling, but I really hope she believed me. 
     We are both stubborn, and its always the hardest to have vulnerable conversations with her. We would fight so much. She was defensive anytime I wanted to talk, and I don't blame her one bit. I think all of us are afraid of discussing because that means fighting. I am not good at being gentle. I'm not good at expressing the way I love her and would die for her to know how amazing she is. 
     After her 18th birthday, I yelled at her because she barely enjoyed the breakfast me, Nat, and Rachel planned for her. I yelled at her because she couldn't receive the love and attention. But I understand why. If anyone understands I do.  When you are attacked and hurt, it's hard to trust and it's hard to receive. It's always hurt me to see her heart buried, to see her hidden behind defensive walls. 
     But in the recent years, that began to change. I think we both found grace for each other. She has a deep understanding, and her name means "peace," although that's been a foreign idea to both of us. After Quest, I saw the real Olivia, more clearly than I had seen in years. She was open. She was gentle. She told stories and explained the hard things and didn't try to be stubborn. And it wasn't weak, it was great. Her compassionate heart did not rob the strength that was built in her bones. 
     When I left to California, she was more gentle and beautiful then I'd ever seen her. I hugged her, and I kissed her head. But our eyes were dry because we couldn't cry in front of mom. 
     We had to learn how to talk on the phone with each other, which is weird but we just never did before that. Our relationship grew, actually, and I realized she was much better than I am when she told me I needed to forgive someone who had hurt her. "You don't need to protect me. You don't need to make her suffer because of me. I've forgiven her. And you should too." We talked for two hours about forgiveness, and over the 12 months in Redding we talked countless times, even if it was for ten minutes. 
     On May 1st, I arrived in KC after driving across the country over night. The next day I drove to Starbucks to surprise her when she got off. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. I'm never afraid, I'm never nervous, but I just about died waiting for her. 
     I've seen Olivia betrayed by her friends, I've seen her forgotten, bullied and made fun of, I've witnessed her heart being broken by a boy, I've seen the scars on her arm, and I've seen the hurt in her eyes when I left her behind. But I have seen her live, I've seen her forgive, I've seen her love her siblings and fight for her friends. I've seen her stand on a stage and sing about finding a peace that plows through the storm, and a joy that jumps over sadness. I believe in Olivia like I believe in the sunset, and the sunrise. She is a star; burning brightly in dark places. She is a beautiful and strong woman, a sister I'll always have and a friend I don't deserve. I hope she grows to know and understand her worth and her purpose and how much she has changed so many worlds.