Second Best

Have any of you ever sat there in your "above average" tier, perched above the "average" and "below average" tiers? Have you sat there, supposedly among the best, brightest, whatever of your group, and suddenly realized the truth? The truth, of course, is that there's a fourth tier, unlabeled and unofficial, sitting above your tier. And looking up, gaping at its sudden visibility with an unsure awkwardness, you realize that if it had a label, it would be called "The Best". And that if your tier were to be relabeled, it would be "Second Best". With that you feel a shadow permanently cast itself over you; the better, brighter, whatever people of the group sitting on that tier are more than you, always have been and always will be.
I feel like that with my sister a lot. Younger, shorter, always behind and tripping over the footsteps she made before me because I can't see them in the shadow she casts. When I feel like I've buckled down and worked hard, I look at her track record and see how much harder she worked, how many more hours she spent and how many more extra miles she traveled. Why can't I fight this feeling of being a mere extra on stage, while she takes the spotlight? I tell myself I'm traveling a different road, that no one's judging me based on her, that she's at college now and can't physically alter my choices. But I can't shake it. Teachers ask me why I didn't choose the same program as her, ask me how she's doing off at college, and in all this I feel her shadow falling over me once more with every word that reminds me I'm her sister and thus, I can't be regarded in a separate light. My parents tell me I'm smarter than her in a lot of ways, that I'm prettier when I try; these words meant to be gentle caresses are stinging blows, my inner voice telling me they're lies dressed in the sweet garb of a parent's love.
That second tier is my lonely prison at times, a beautiful place that's amazing until you realize it's just a fancy coffin waiting for the last nail to be hammered in place. Because you're free to move and enjoy yourself, maybe crawl down to a lower tier if you want, but that fourth tier is unreachable, denied by the brand stapled to all your forms and documents: Second Best. Someone will always be better than you at what you do. What does a high-altitude jet pilot do, when the space shuttle flies by with its occupants destined for fame and greatness further than his own? When I face that cockpit window with my confident hands on the controls, and my eyes watch as my sister happens to glance out the sealed porthole of her space-aimed flight vessel, it's all I can do to stuff my own feelings away and wave her off like a good sister.
I wish I could hate her. I wish that I wasn't smart, that I could sit in the "below average" tier with a dumb smile on my face, driving my little car and watching the space shuttle with wonder and awe. But my mind is too keen, and I know I couldn't bear the humiliation it takes to willingly climb down to that tier; even the steady climb of the "average" tier's hot air balloon isn't enough, though its altitude is high at times; only the thrill of that fighter jet humming along as fast as my mind can take it will do, and with that I'm discarded from the thrill of exploring the unknowns of space, my "Second Best" plane engine roaring futilely at the massive thrust of that shuttle launch.
And somewhere now, I can bet there are other jet fighters feeling the same cold pain in their hearts, the lift-off of those space shuttles casting a shadow that only the oblivious escape, and in the "above average" tier there are few who don't notice. Maybe my words won't reach them, and maybe they'll be rejected by hearts different from my own, but maybe they'll make a difference one day, and maybe we'll find a way to make jet planes fly in space. Because "Second Best" is something I'm tired of being.