Twin Sisters
Is coexistence possible?
I lie in the darkness, my ears still ringing from the brain-splitting alarm clock, and think how identical my twin sister is to me, and yet how much better at everything.
My twin sister doesn’t struggle to get out of bed in the morning. The moment the alarm goes off, she’s up on her feet, ready to dash for the bathroom and take the morning cold shower. I hate morning showers, especially cold ones, but she knows it’s good for her health and she does it.
My twin sister eats dutifully the breakfast our mom has prepared for us without producing the slightest sound of disapproval, whether she likes it or not. I could never do that. I just throw the plate right at Mom’s face. I don’t care how much effort she has put into making it. Didn’t I tell you one thousand times that I hate oats in hot milk, Mom? This slop gets me in my death throes!
My twin sister always does her hair perfectly (or lets mom do it, which is most often the case), and puts on freshly pressed clothes in coordinating colors. She polishes her shoes to an impeccable shine every day. My hair is disheveled, my clothes tattered and mismatched, my shoes dirty, the laces always undone.
My twin sister sits quietly on the school bus. She never fidgets in her seat and never eats sweets in secret. In classes, she listens to the teachers and participates in all activities. She always gets excellent grades. She wants to go to the best college and she is already paving the way. Unlike her, I walk up and down the aisle of the school bus, stuff myself with chocolate bars, and speak loudly to everyone around me. In classes, I’m distracted, disobedient and moody. My grades are always below average. I don’t care about colleges. I want to become a barista and listen to drunken life stories until my dying day.
My twin sister knows that boys are logs that block the road to glory, and she stays away from them. She’ll get married when the time is right. She’ll then have three children and a nice house in the suburbs. I, on the contrary, adore boys and I have already fallen in love with hundreds of them. I don’t want any kids, though. I don’t want to get married at all. I want to cycle around the world with my long-bearded lover until my dying day.
I lie in the dark, my ears still ringing from the brain-splitting alarm clock, and I suddenly hear my mom’s loud voice from downstairs:
‘Stella! What are you doing up there? Still sleeping?’
‘No, I’m awake!’ I scream back, my voice shrill with strain.
‘Hurry up, would you! You need to study for half an hour before breakfast, today is your math summative! And we need to practice your speech for the charity meeting on the way to the bus stop! Oh, don’t forget to take out your new dress and try it on, too!’
I heave a sigh and my eyes roam the empty, silent bedroom with one bed, one bedside table, one desk, one chair, one wardrobe, and one window.
Wake up, my better twin sister. It’s time for a new day.
This story is a response to Zane Dickens the Instigator’s weekly prompt Nerves Are Taut:
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