Twin ( CheriSpeak Challenge)

Posted: February 28, 2013 in Uncategorized
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From Cheri’s Blog Challenge :Step-2“SEPARATED AT BIRTH”, Min. of 500 words…You just discovered I am your twin sister. We were separated at birth. You never knew you had a twin sister and have only found me in adulthood…how did you find out and what happens next? Is it like looking in a mirror?
http://cherispeak.wordpress.com/2013/01/28/speakers-ball-bloggers-challenge/

Twin

I always wanted to go on a cross country road trip. I didn’t know it would be like this. My passenger seat is empty. My phone half dying. No charger. God knows what I packed in my Jan Sport backpack. Think I emptied my underwear draw put I can’t recall putting any pants in there.

That’s all there is. No flurry of friends in the backseat. No fast food and ice coffee cups littering the floor. No music pumping and giddy excitement as I exit the I95 onto the I80, the highway to take me out of New York and on open road across the country.

“Shit!”I exclaimed as a car horn blares and I jerk the wheel to the left to swerve back in my lane.
“Get it together” I say to myself, “If you die they win”.

They. My parents.

Thinking of them blurs my visions. My cheeks flush as rage shimmers deep in my heart.

25 years old, just graduated college and finally after months of on sabbatical, I started interning at a great non-profit …aka couldn’t get a paying job after college.

I have lived and went through 25 years.

And it is 25 years they have lied to me.

I was trying to be a good adult. A good daughter.  I figured it was about time I organized all my paperwork.   You know, doing my taxes on my own ( all 200 bucks I got back from seasonal hire for the campus bookstore).  Renewing a passport I never used. I was searching for my birth certificate to put in this fancy new keypad lock box that is supposedly fireproof.  I wanted to tuck it in there nicely with my social security card and …well not much else. Like I said, young and living under my parent’s financial burden.  But, I’m trying. Trying to be an adult and less of a burden. I figured I should be responsible for my own paperwork safekeeping.

I was about to give up looking when finally under a pile of tax folders I found a vanilla envelope with my name on it.  I opened it up and there it was. My birth certificate.  I never looked at it before. I mean sure I saw it before. But I never looked at.  I needed it to get a permit from the DMV of course. But I was 16 and my dad was towing me around from line to line cursing and I was texting  pretending I wasn’t with him.  He handled talking to the dmv agent and when we finished and my dad needed to use the restroom I didn’t even open the folder. I was texting my best friend complaining how horrible I thought my picture was going to be.

So naturally, I saw my birth certificate and I was looking it over.  And the words started to blur as one seemed to jump off the page.

Twin.

Thinking it was a mistake I slumped on the floor and put the paper flat on the floor and read each word slowly even the heading “certificate of birth”.

But each time I came upon the word, it didn’t change. Twin. Second.
My parents found me like that. In the living on the floor next to the filing cabinet with all the tax papers sprawled about.

Like in a movie, their eyes zoomed in onto the sole paper in front of me.  The sag of their shoulders and the look of defeat in their eyes told me all I needed to know.

I’m a twin.

“Sweetie” my mom uttered the word and her speech faded out with it. She knew there was no words.

No words could cover for 25 years of lies.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I could barely find my voice.

“Alive?” I asked surprised to find my voice completely dead pan.

They looked at each other.

That is when the red started to cloud my vision.

“Alive?” I asked again suddenly upright standing on my feet clutching my birth certificate so hard I caused a crease .

Their eyes held pity. Which caused the red to burst.

“Is my twin alive?” I couldn’t believe how disconnected my voice sounded. Like I was detached and cold.

“Y-Yes” My mother stumbles in response, her jacket still on and dropping her purse on the floor outstretching her hand to me. To comfort me.

Comfort me from her lies? For 25 years.

I twirl away from her and an onslaught of words, no longer deadpan, spill from my mouth. Driven by rage I begin to say “ All this time?” “All this fucking time?!” “Where is she?” “Does she know about me?”

My mom slumps in a chair and I can’t stand to look at them anymore. I turn to the window, blood boiling.

Remembering.

When I was 5 I used to fall down and get scrapes and bruises and it never hurt. I remember asking “why isn’t it hurting momma?” and she would rush me to the ER thinking I had a nerve damage or a concussion. Then at random times I would awake from a nap screaming in pain when seemingly nothing touched me.  More ER rushes looking for a neurological disorder.

I had an imaginary friend like most kids do. Only I called mine my sister.   And when I grew up enough to know imaginary friends aren’t real, I still talked aloud to the empty air. I felt, someone was listening.

I grew up thinking I was crazy. I grew up thinking I was alone.

While the memories came back, my mother’s words penetrated me.  They were young and couldn’t afford two babies and so gave one up for adoption.  She, my sister ( God I have a sister! ) contacted them when she(when we!) turned 18.  They get a Christmas card every year but asked her to stay away from me.

From me.

I walked out the room in the middle of her speech and straight into my mother’s bed room .   My mother keeps every single card she ever gotten in a big wicker basket on top of her dresser. I picked up the basket and dumped it on the bed.

I hear sobs from the living room.

I toss cards around until I find the one I need. Still in the envelope.  California address.  I dash into my room and stuff my Jan Sport Backpack.  Grab my phone and on the way out the door I grab the car keys.

That’s how I found myself on the highway embarked on a cross country road trip.

To meet my Twin.

I shake my head to ward off the memory of this morning. If I think of them, I’ll never make it there. I let out a breath so deep it was like my soul crying out. That release helped the red fade away and I sat up straight and put both hands on the wheel. I can’t meet my twin if I die in a car crash on the highway.

 

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Comments
  1. CheriSpeak says:

    Bravo!!! I can’t wait to read what happens next…which means there must be a “next”…keep writing, this could be a book 😉
    If anyone here wants to jump in before the contest is over or to vote for Tasha when the poll starts: http://cherispeak.wordpress.com/2013/01/28/speakers-ball-bloggers-challenge/

    Like

  2. tfaswift says:

    It’s lovely Tasha. Writing fiction is hard, so very well done indeed. 🙂

    Like

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