Identical.
One in the same. Two carbon copies of one singular being. Mirror images, that’s
what my sister and I are. And although we seem to be xeroxed from the same
sheet, she seems so absolute, while I feel like the counterfeit. We were once
interchangeable; literally, we switched places all the time. Kendall and I, we
thought it was fun to throw off our teachers, plus she was better at
presentations, art things, anything the involved confidence really, she thrived
in art and English. While I dwelled in the more exact subjects; Math, Science,
where I took comfort in the single answer questions. No room for flexibility,
no room for surprises. Places where individuality was frowned upon, a place
where I could sink into the sea of other students and bury my nose in whatever
math equation or book I was into that week. The answers were black and white,
plain and simple and no one could tell me I was wrong when I know for a fact
that I’m right, not that any teachers ever tried to tell me my answers were
wrong anyways; I was always right.
Individual,
that’s what I long to be. Unique, my own person making my own decisions. I’ve
never been one to take orders, my teachers said I “marched to my own drummer”
but that wasn’t the case, because I preferred guitar players. Gramps got me a
guitar once, I played it religiously; strumming out long riffs and solos
everywhere I went. Kira would never admit it, she probably doesn’t even
remember, but she used to join me in my one woman band, humming along in the
back ground or playing the part of the adoring audience. She was my only
audience, she was the only who took the time to listen and understand. We used
to play together, love one another, but that was before. I couldn’t tell you
what happened that changed her so much, whatever it was, it never affected me,
not that much did. According to Grams, nothing had ever really affected me and
I planned on keeping it that way, I was emotionless, strong, tragedy and
heartbreak seemed to just roll off of me. I was concrete.
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I walked into the kitchen this morning, expecting to find
breakfast waiting for me and gramps slumped in his chair with his nose in the
paper and his arthritic hand wrapped around his coffee mug. But instead it was Gram’s
frail fingers that found me, she grabbed my shoulder, startling me, and turned
me to face her. She was standing in the hallway, its dim light catching the
wrinkles that carved through her skin. My Grams was an interesting lady, she
wasn’t one of those jolly old pudgy ladies that you see in the TV shows, all
smiles and fresh cookies. Grams was more of the librarian type. She was petite
and thin, with eyes sunken back a bit, framed with silver-rimmed glasses that
slid to the tip of her nose. She wore her hair, normally, in a tight bun on top
of her head, but at that moment it sat in soft wisps white wisps around her
shoulders. Grams was usually a quiet and worrisome lady, she was always fussing
over one thing or another, trying to make everything perfect for the family she
loved so dearly. Her fingers found mine and laced their way through, I managed
a smile; I knew what the issue was because I could read her expression like the
pages of a magazine.
“Gramps is hurtin’….Kira, I…” I held my hand up to stop
her and her eyes fell to the floor. Seeing my grandfather that way killed me,
and whenever I did see him that way, it stayed with me for the rest of the day,
haunting mirages of him wasting away in the sterile solitude of the spare
bedroom.
“Grams you know I can’t, I’ll go get Kendall…” I turned
to walk away but she grabbed my arm, stopping me.
“Kira please, he needs you, stay with me, I know it’s
hard for you but stay focused you can do this.” She was begging, I couldn’t say
no to a pleading old lady. Reluctantly, I followed her down the stairs to our
make shift hospital. Kendall usually handled these issues because I couldn’t
stomach them, but she got to stay tucked away for the time being. Of course she
did, Kendall always got what she wanted.
I
woke up to the sound of coughing and muffled voices. I knew that sound, Gramps
was having one of his usual fits, and why no one came to wake me to lend a
helping hand was beyond me. I always helped with my grandfather, Kira couldn’t
do it, she barely saw Gramps anymore because she couldn’t stomach the tubes and
medication being pumped into him, and she couldn’t stand the sight of the man
who raised us slowly withering into a skeleton. It didn’t bother me, he was
still my grandfather, when I looked at him I still saw the same towering brick
house of a man that taught me how to ride a bike and kick a soccer ball. So I
raced to Kira’s side to relieve her of cough rag duty. She didn’t mind moving
out of the way to let me handle it, but I knew it bothered Grams that Kira
seemed to just step away when it came to my grandfather. It bothered her that
Kira wasn’t present for a lot of things that happened around the house, she
seemed to shut down when she was around us. Family seemed like a foreign
concept to her, I was the only one that saw through it. Not that she would ever
actually let me in, no of course not, because letting your twin see who you
really are is too risky right?
After
assisting Gramps, I sat with him for a little, telling him about my art
projects and Kira’s outstanding test scores. I told him about my theater
endeavors, and Kira’s newest track records. Our achievements always seemed so
polar opposite. I was never one for sports, not that I wasn’t athletic, I
worked out almost every day, but I just wasn’t a team player. I preferred to
have my own spotlight and not have to share it with anyone else. Whereas Kira
preferred things where her success was certain. She liked the sureness that
grades and running a track provided. I preferred the challenge, I liked the uncertainty,
the power I felt when I won. That’s what it was mostly about, power.
The whispers never stop when I get to school. I can’t
escape them, that’s why I like to blend. If this place was a painting I’d be a
blade of grass in the distant landscape, monotonous and fused with all of the
rest. Classes drag on, the clock seems to tick slower today, something’s wrong.
Kira
has been distant all day and it seems to be rubbing off on me, my spirit isn’t
what it usually is. I left school today in a hurry, the walls seemed to
suffocating. My nose in my phone, scrolling as I walked, I didn’t particularly
pay attention to where I was going. Home was where I needed to be, with Grams;
my anchor. I walked away from the school and past the small strip of pharmacies
and bars towards my house on Sunset St., dipping down a small alleyway for a
shortcut home. I stopped when I felt a shoulder collide with my chest and a
deep, raspy “Sorry” emerge from the lips of this stranger. I apologized back
without much thought when the stranger put his hands on my shoulders with an
unyielding grasp. Startled, I looked up.
For the first time since Kendall could comprehend the
situations around her, she was visibly shaken. My protector could no longer
protect me, because this time she was the target. I watched as her concrete
cracked and crumbled all around her. So I took over for her, gave her time to
gather herself. Our father looked into her eyes, his vicious smile creeping
across his leathery face. He had been gone for years, and rightfully so, he was
the reason our mother was gone and I don’t think either of us could forgive or
forget this. Of course, we’re the only ones that know the truth behind this
monster. Pushing him away, I tried to get Kendall to walk with me but she
seemed cemented in place. I pleaded with her to move her feet, to run with me,
but she stayed frozen. I screamed at her to move but she didn’t hear me. How
was it that at this moment I was the strong one, her protector? My father just
stood there, grimacing wildly, he knew the pain he caused. He feeds off of our
brokenness, how when the big bad wolf comes around we seem to turn into little
lambs. My father was drunk, as usual, I could smell it on his breath. The
liquor swirled and burned in my nostrils. “There’s my girl!” He opened his arms
to Kendall, she just stared back in horror. “Tell me, ya still mad as a
hatter?” he tried to grasp her but she slithered from his grasp. “Come on
cupcake, you can’t run away from your own daddy!” He grabbed her wrists as she
tried to pull away, yanking her closer. Latching his hand around her throat, he
put his mouth next to her ear, “You know, your mother never struggled this
much.”
All I could
feel was his acid breath in my ear, and his vice grip around my throat. This
man, this…this monster was the bane of my existence. He took everything away
from me, my self-respect, my dignity, my mother.
He destroyed Kira, turned her into the empty shell she is today. I wanted
to fight back, I wanted to destroy this creature, but all I could was fall limp.
Black dots started to cloud my vision as I felt myself fading in and out, my
oxygen supply becoming less and less. I felt him whispering in my ear, more
vile things about my mother, I heard Kira screaming, but I knew no one was
coming. Kira’s voice rang wildly in my head, the sheer terror in her voice
broke me. I would die, right here right now, by the hands of this drunken fool,
and I didn’t even have the strength to fight back. I would leave my tattered
sister to her own devices against a psychopath. The last thing I saw was two
little birds fluttering through the air. The sky was deep blue, the sun warm on
my cheeks, my vision blurred and the two little birds became one, dipping and
diving through the air, leaving my field of vision and away from this hell on
earth.
All
I could do was watch as Kendall fell motionless. She went limp in his grasp,
but in his drunken stupor he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he just got
increasingly mad at the fact that she wasn’t answering him. He shook her
violently, bringing her closer to his face as if that would wake her. I felt
the tears falling down my cheeks in droves. My eyes burned, I just wanted to
run away but I couldn’t, my feet seemed cemented in place. In fact, no part of
me could move. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening, my sister was half
dead and all I could manage to make out was my world fading into black and my
father’s seething expression. I tried to scream but my vocal chords stayed
idle, barren, as if I had never spoken a whisper in my life. I felt trapped,
but not in a physical sense, more of a mental bear trap; latching on to my body
and refusing to let go. Refusing to let me push out of this haze and into the
daylight to save my ailing sister.
In a fit of rage, this drunken devil dropped my sister to
the ground. Before I faded into black along with her, something struck me as
strange. Watching as she fell into a crumpled heap, he narrowed his eyes and
glared, spitting on her lifeless body he whispers. “You’ve always been useless,
Kira,”
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ͼ
A frail women walked
into a sterile white room. Two windows sat on the far side, warm rays of summer
light shining through the beige curtains. She lifted a tissue to her eyes,
dabbing the corners to catch any tears as she sniffled and shuffled over to the
solitary bed underneath the windows. As she got closer her knees began to
wobble, finally giving way to the weakness over coming her. She fell at the
feet of her loved one, a young girl, lying motionless. The beeping from the
monitors and the sobs from the old woman were the only sounds echoing through
the room. As she held her head in her hands another man walked in, his white
lab jacket swaying behind him. He crept up slowly and quietly, not wanting to
startle the old woman. He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up with
wide, hopeful eyes. He looked down at her, grasping her hand to pull her to her
feet. As she stood she brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and adjusted her
glasses. She didn’t meet his eyes, almost as if she was afraid to. He sighed,
giving her a weak smile, “The bruising will fade but her wind pipe was almost
crushed. She’ll have trouble breathing for a little bit, what is mostly worrying
us is her mental state, Ms. Robins, your granddaughter is suffering from a
mental break.” The old woman looked to her feet, the sobs returned and she
struggled to quiet them. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder again for
reassurance.
“Ms. Robins, in her file it says she’s
been suffering from schizophrenia for quite some but was never treated for it.
We want to help you and your granddaughter but we need all the details, we need
you to let us in to help. Kira will be fine if we take the proper steps to…”
With one frail finger, she silenced
the doctor. “Kira will be fine with me, and what happened will forever stay buried.
If you were being asked to expose your child to the greatest nightmare you’ve ever
known, would you?”
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