Zola Mae

    Everyone says that my sister and I look a lot alike. I can remember when I was little, she and I went to the zoo wearing the same clothes, our hair up the same way. Passerby stopped, stared, and whispered, saying 'They're twins! Identical twins!' My mother would politely reply, 'No, they're not. They're only 18 months apart'.
    It is true- my sister is younger than I, born on a cold February night in 2001. Her name would be Zola Mae, Zoe for short. She was named after my mother's aunt and father's mother. Forever she would be a child of the snow, preferring the winter season of all others. However, her being a child of snow never entitled her to it- Zoe is wary of snow. When we were younger, she would get nauseated just by looking at it.
    I remember Zoe being a quiet, difficult child. She never cried or mumbled baby-nonsense, and instead sat around with a blank, haunting expression. Her eyes were big and blue with long, brown lashes, but her seemingly permanent stare made it hard to admire the beauty in them.
    The real trouble began when she was only a few months old. When most children should have said their first words, Zoe hadn't. When other children walked about on stumbling feet, Zoe didn't. My mother says when Zoe was born, Zoe never looked at her, not sharing the first tender moments a mother has with her child. Now we know it was a warning, but then it was overlooked.
    At about four months old, Zola was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. To this day, no one really knows what causes this disability. There are many theories, but none have been confirmed. Every 1 in 68 children are born with this disability, and the number grows each year; at some point, everyone will know someone with Autism.
    The doctors told my mom at the very beginning of Zoe's diagnosis that Zoe would never be able to walk, talk, or eat on her own. They recommended putting her on a feeding tube and sending her to an institution. Mom took this news head on, and literally breathed life into my sister. She would put her mouth on Zola's little one and say a few words, or just breathe. It shocked everyone when only a little while later, Zoe could talk.
    My first few solid memories of childhood were filled with strangers. Constantly, random people would be at my house, always to do with my sister. One woman in particular would cook us food. Zoe was extremely small because she would put food in her mouth and then spit it right back out- technically, she was not eating. This woman would make food Zoe was sure to enjoy. It worked- nowadays Zoe is a bottomless pit, loving crunchy foods the best. However cliche and trite the word is, I say that alone was a miracle. But throughout the years, many more would come.
    Another huge part of my childhood was being at the hospital everyday. Zoe and mom would be in physical therapy, teaching her how to walk. I would be stuck with my grandfather. Little hand in big hand, we would walk every inch of that hospital until our feet could carry us no more. I still know of every corridor and room. It was in the hospital where I ate in my first cafeteria, had my first coffee, rode in my first elevator and escalator... trips to the hospital were pure happiness and joy. Little did my small, childlike mind know, every time we went to the hospital, my sister was achieving a huge milestone in her life.
    To me, Zoe is normal. She is my best friend, and the only child I grew up with. We have other siblings, but not only are they all adults, they only share one parent. Altogether we have five siblings. Zoe and I are the only purely related ones, and I believe we have a special bond that nothing will ever break. We are the same in flesh, blood, and appearance. Her disability does not get in the way of being the love of my life.
    Zoe is my mediator. When I cry, she says ‘Marwana, don’t cry!’ She bounces over to me happily and says ‘Fishy face!’ I then make a face like a fish and she cups my face in her warm, soft hands and kisses me. I’ve grown up to be socially weird and awkward, probably because of my lack of childhood normality and mostly because of Zoe. But that’s alright; she’s all I need. Everything she does puts a smile on my face.
    As life goes on, horizons have expanded. Individuals with Autism have a difficult time coping with ever-changing environments, which is, sadly, the kind of world we live in; everything is constantly changing. The world is getting brighter and clearer, and those with Autism, (or any other disability), are being left behind. They need our help to get up and move in this world. If something is out of whack from their everyday routine, the change can throw them off for a week- this has happened before with Zoe.
    Zoe is fascinated by the little things in life. Her laughter is addictive and her smile holds the universe. One thing that has captivated her in love and amusement is television. Maybe it’s the color in the glass pixels, or cinematic noises over the speakers- nevertheless, it brings her utmost entertainment and joy in life, and makes her light up like a wick by an open flame. She dances in front of the television, sings along, and even talks to the characters Disney and Nickelodeon have created on screen. Zoe laughs and plays like a child who hasn't in years, all when the television flickers on.
    When the world is constantly changing, one must have a way to cope and handle the situation. Everything to Zoe is magnified like a microscope, as if her eyes were the lens and her ears were the fine adjustment knobs. The feeling of touch is like an explosion- a simple caress can change her whole mood. She expresses her feelings vocally. Sometimes she whispers, sometimes yells at the top of her lungs. It's difficult to tell if she's in pain, for she does not cry and usually says nothing at all when the pain arises. Her mind is a raging river, going over the rocks and falls that life throws. Despite the latter, it makes her all the more special- I personally believe she handles the forthcomings of life better than most normal people can.
    Some normal people look at Zoe like she's an unwanted smudge on a clean canvas; because she's different, she is constantly being ridiculed. Whenever we take her out in public, Zoe gets loud and obnoxious like she does every time she's around a crowd. People shoot nasty looks and whispers, and it makes me so angry- who are they to judge? But the question always comes back. Who am I to judge? These people most likely know nothing of special needs children and how their behavior should be around them. And it's not just my sister who receives this type of treatment- thousands of kids like her are treated like this everyday. I've see it everywhere. A single tantrum can draw so many eyes, bringing so much derision. It is not okay, but gets swept under the rug all the time. I can only wish someday everyone will understand.
    It has been an amazing experience watching Zoe grow up, and it has taught me countless lessons about her and myself. The most important lesson she's taught me is love- not just for her, but for all things and people. It's impossible for me to look at my sister everyday with the love and protection I do, then to go out in our judgmental world and scorn others. I have learned tolerance and courage, and to stand up for others. I don't know if Zola will ever understand the impact she's had on so many lives. She's there for me regardless of how difficult or interesting life can get.
    I love my sister more than anything on God's green earth, and I intend to be there for her no matter what.