Phrases on the pages of unknown

Memoir Article for Writer’s.com contest

(names have been changed to protect the innocent)

NOT Being

By Kara Hood

All my life people have asked me what it’s like to be a twin.  The truth of the matter is, I don’t know what it’s like to NOT be one.  For 27 years her presence has been my reality and the one constant for almost every major life event.

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“Mommy’s here,” my twin sister announced as she stood on our grandparent’s couch looking out of the side window of the den in the back of the house.  It wasn’t even lunch time yet, so we know something had to be happening.  I join her on the couch and look at the tan-colored Toyota as it sits in my grandparent’s small driveway.  As we get down, we can hear voices, including our mother’s, coming from the front room of the house.

It wasn’t until years later that I questioned what kind of household my grandparents ran that we were too fearful to leave the back of the house and go up to the front room, but we simply stood hesitantly in the doorway of the den.  A few moments after the conversation in the front room started, our uncle stomped through the dinning room on his way from the front room to his bedroom, which was right next to the den.

“What are you doing?” he screamed at us.  “It looks like you’re standing around waiting for Christmas!” and he slammed his bedroom door.

The rest of that day is very spotty in my memory.  I find it very interesting as an adult looking back on my six-year-old self to contemplate why I can so vividly remember the site of my mom’s car in the driveway and my uncle’s face as he screamed at us, but I can’t remember a single question the men in suits asked us or any of the answers we gave.  I can’t even remember a lot of the events that led to my grandfather’s sex offender status.

But I can remember my sister as she subtly put herself between me and the anger rolling in waves off of my uncle.

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That’s how she has always been, my twin sister.  She’s always been the protector, the superhero, the savior.  When my selfishness (I had it in excess as a child) would create dissenence between myself and my parents, she would be the one to help smooth things over.  When my parents were away from home so much, either trying to reconcile their marriage or avoid dealing with the mess that was our home life, she was the one who stepped in as caretaker of our younger brother and me.  When my younger brother’s childishness and my selfishness would clash, she stepped in as the voice of authority and reason.

In short, she has been the glue that has held the nucleus of our family together.

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It’s spring of our 7^th grade year and my sister has a crush on an 8^th grade boy name Xander.  We were just a week away from “multi-culture week,” a week-long cross-discipline educational experiment where all regular classes are suspended so that that the students are immersed in one thing.  For the students it meant a week of movies and field trips, and having the right boyfriend or girlfriend with which to sit and hold hands (and steal the occasional kiss) was vital.

On Tuesday, Xander asks me if I would wear his basketball jersey.  I would now have one of the coveted “popular” boys during our field trip week!  It didn’t matter to me that I, and everyone else, knew he only asked me to be mean to my sister and to end her crush.  My sister watched from the sidelines as I gushed about the boy whose jersey was more important to me than the boy himself.

My parents found out about Xander’s reputation (he was a “notch in the bedpost; through a box of condoms in a few days” kind of boy) and contemplated keeping me home from all of the fieldtrips.  My sister interceded on my behalf and even helped me set up a secret rendeauxvous.  Xander was the first boy I ever kissed.

Eight months later my then boyfriend, James, made a move to kiss my sister, supposedly mistaking her for me.  I would have let him, finding it sweet revenge.

She punched him.

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I don’t know if it ever crossed her mind to get back at me for all the years my selfish nature took advantage of her, but I know the instances where I took our relationship for granted outnumbered the times she might have a hundred fold.  That’s not to say she was a perfect, always even-tempered, selfless human being.  Our childhood experiences naturally led to a need to rebel, even in subtle ways, and created a lot of reason to have pent up anger that needed some form of release. 

But over all, even when she acted in anger or with passion, it was done to protect someone else.

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Fast-forward to 1994, first semester of our freshman year of high school.  The most talked about and feared teacher was Ms. Ocean, the senior level English/French/Humanities teacher.  She taught freshman English, which was a requirement.  Everyone knew they were going to have her at least this one time in our high school career. 

My sister and I actually got along well with this teacher.  We were both smart, which was a quality she held highly, and one of our favorite past times had always been reading.  I remember the day, sitting next to the open window in the hot, air-condition-less classroom where we solidified our “teacher’s pet” status because we knew that Lady Jane Gray ruled England for 9 days between Henry VIII’s son Edward and his daughter, Mary.  This was a teacher whose opinion and regard mattered and I would have risked my status with her for very few things.

But my sister has always valued relationships, especially those with family (and close friends with whom only a heart, not blood, connection was necessary) over status.  That semester, something occurred in English class that caused my sister’s best-friend, Vivian, to go home and spend the evening bawling.

The next day, heedless of the disrespectful attitude she might be labeled with, or the potential loss of status that comes with rebelling against authority, my sister confronted Ms. Ocean about the disrespectful way in which she had treated Vivian.  Her audacity was known throughout the school and most of our small community by the end of the day, and everyone knew that to have my sister as a friend was to have a champion in any circumstances regardless of the repercussions she might face personally.

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The offense that led to my sister’s outrage has long sense been forgotten by most of us, but the self-sacrificing nature of her actions is still the thing of legend.  That nature is one of her defining characteristics. Though she has become a woman who recognizes, acknowledges, and gives voice to her needs with more regularity than when she was younger, she would still bend over backwards to make those she loves happy.

This quality, however, was one that was easily manipulated and abused, especially by those of us close to her.  Because of it, it was easy to maneveur her into positions more adventatious for us than for her.

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The year is 1999.  It’s our freshman year of college and we’ve just returned from the Greek Valentine’s Day dance.  Three days before we had returned from a Campus Activity Board conference where I had met a boy from a college in Indiana.  He was my first boyfriend in college and I had pretty much ditched my sister and the rest of our group in order to hang out with him.  Since being back I had been on the phone or computer chatting with him almost every waking hour.

But I was not, as my college years would soon begin to prove, very good at monogamy.  The night of the dance, I would meet Anthony, the boy with whom I would cheat on every “official” relationship I had in college and yet never actually date.  He was charming with dark chocolate skin that fascinated me when placed next to my pale white skin.  He had soulful, sultry eyes and lips whose kiss could make a nun question her vows.

As we were getting ready to leave the dance, Tony wanted to plan a late night “after party” on his dorm floor.  Despite the fact that we attended a very small school and curfew for women visitors in the men’s dorm had long passed, several ameretto sours and “hot apple pie” shots had me begging my sister and her roommate to sneak into this party with me.  After much hesitation and questioning what was going on with the boy in Indiana, they agreed to attend the party with me and we ventured across the quad to their dorm.

It wasn’t five minutes into the party when I found myself abandoning my sister and friend to make out with Tony alone in his room.  We were just getting to the point where clothes were beginning to come off when there were way too many hands involved in our play to be just me and him.  The extra hands belonged to his neighbor who informed me that my sister was on his phone for me. 

Once we righted our clothes and I got to the phone, she was crying and it took me a moment to understand what she was saying.  She had been raped by one of the other guys at the party.

Until that night she had been a virgin.

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My sister has always made decisions based on what is best for those she loves, not what is best for her.  I personally don’t think that’s the healthiest way to live life, but there are definitely times I envy that servant nature she has.  I probably tend to go too extreme on the side of selfishness.  My mother has always called us her split personalities because we do tend to polarize opposites. 

All of my life I’ve had someone in my life who would sacrifice her well-being for my happiness, her wants for my comfort.  Our family has had a constant warrior whether that be as a silent pillar of strength, a faithful cheerleader on the sidelines, or a fierce defender between us and any immenant threat. Regardless of whether her nature and decision making ways are best or not, the fact of the matter is she has always been this way and we’ve more often than not taken her nature for granted.  We’ve come to rely upon and expect her unfailing presence in our lives.  I cannot even begin to imagine what life would be like without her, and all that makes her her, in my life.

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Last month, on a Friday as I sat filling in for the receptionist while she was on her lunch break, I get a call from our call center telling me my sister is on the phone for me.  She had been going back and forth between doctors for 4 or 5 months regarding a painful lump on her thigh.  The doctors were convinced it was a hematoma that had yet to stop bleeding out and she was seeing a couple of surgeons regarding this problem. 

It’s amazing how a 5 minute conversation can alter the course of your day, how one little word can alter the course of your life forever.  As I sat and listened to her explain that the lump was not a hematoma but rather an aggressive malignant tumor indicating Stage 3 synovial sarcoma, my life flashed before my eyes. 

Because I can’t tell you what it’s like to NOT be a twin, and I don’t want to.

Ideas for Story:

A group of 3 best friends… electronic media… blog entries for each…txt messages, IM, myspace pages, etc.???  8^th grade year… getting ready to go to different high schools… or in high school… reorganization of school district?

Repercussions of an online “confessions” site, like allykatzz’ “secrets” or “gossip” site like Juicy Campus

1^st person from each of their points of view?

1^st person from one point of view?

3^rd person omnipresent?

Possible “confessions” or “gossip-inspiring” ideas:

ö     In love with Cousin

ö     Thinks she’s bi

ö     Cutting

ö     Abuse

ö     Eating disorders

ö     Identity crisis… such as prep on the outside, emo on the inside or visa versa

ö     Life is “too” perfect

ö     Sex bracelets

ö     Parents letting their friends adopt their kids

ö     Terminal disease

ö       

Things to research:

ö     Current IM/txt/etc. slang

ö     What kids are actually doing, experiencing

ö       

Character Sketches:

Main Characters:  All Juniors… part of

ö     Madigan (Madi)—means one who is elevated, high tower

o       Group Leader

o       Seemingly perfect life… “too” perfect

o       Abuse in her history

ö     Aliana (Ali)—Means Noble and Gracious

o       Madi’s best-friend; a natural peace-keeper

o       Terminal Disease

o       No-one knows

o       Preppy on the outside, but not the inside

ö     Camilia (Cami)—Means Young, Virginal

o       Newer to the group

o       Wants to be seen as important, not tertiary

o       Naïve

o       Parents let their best-friends adopt Cami

o       Self-destructive behavior to become popular in old school…

Secondary Characters:

Plot ideas:

ö     Reading Romeo and Juliet… “What’s in a name?  A rose, by any other name, would still smell as sweet.”  Given assignment to do project on their names… do their names reflect their character?

o       Do some of my own name research… tradition of name… such as Baker if someone was a Baker… or Native American names… when were children given names?  Were the meanings important, etc….