Bibliophilia

Kacey

Kate has always been the messy one. Her bed's never made, and her cloths are never hung. She throws things all over her floor. I think she's forgotten the color of her carpet. And she never really looks that put together either. I doubt she ever styles her hair or irons her clothes. She rarely wears make-up, and she's a little shorter than me. It just seems that such personality would need a larger body.

But when it comes to books, my sister is completely the opposite.

She keeps her extensive library alphabetized by author then title. She'd never leave a book open downward – with its pages spread and its spine to the ceiling – or dog-ear a page to keep her place. She'd never use a bookmark that was too thick, for fear she'd damage the spine. Heck, if it wasn't open in her hand, she'd want it on the shelf, spine out so the title and author are easily seen, right in its perfect, alphabetical place.

Kate

Kacey was always the neat one. Her bed was always made, her closet organized by color. Things at her place seem to shine. I mean, she even looks nice. Her clothes are never wrinkled, her make-up and hair-do are flawless, her teeth are shockingly white. She's the taller twin and body mass is even nearly proportionate. It kinda scares me.

But then she's completely contradictory when it comes to books. With a perfectly good bookshelf in her possession, she'll leave her books in piles on the floor. She'll leave them spine-up for days. She sticks books under her pillow, or she eats while reading, and she'll even dog-ear pages.

Kacey

I'm rarely invited to my fraternal twin sister's apartment, due to our differences in opinion, but when I am, I always bring a book – as I bring a book everywhere. When she answered the door the last time I visited, there was no "Hi," no hug, no "How ya doin'?" She just repremanded me for bringing a book.

"I can't believe you drove here with a book," she said. "Did you even think about what could happen to it on the way? The pages could have been bent, or ever ripped!"

We sat in her library - a second bedroom devoted entirely to her books – reading. That was usually how we spent our time together. Despite our differences, we both loved to read. All at once, she closed her book, stood, and returned it to its assigned place in her bookshelf. "Hungry?" she asked me as she headed for the door.

"Sure," I said. I dog-eared my page and stood. Luckily, she didn't see me fold the corner – I'd heard her dog-earing lecture too many times. But she did notice, however, that I was bringing it with me. She then told me that I would leave the book in the library or wouldn't be eating.

A little reluctantly, I placed the book on a nearby table. I watched with smug satisfaction as my sister cringed. She didn't like books "laying around," but it was one she didn't have a perfect place for. I followed her into the kitchen and ate a semi-difficult lunch. Kate and I talked about our books, but I wished I had mine with me.

Kate

I find it hard to go to Kacey's apartment.

I remember the last time I visited, the entire place was spotless – except for the books lying everywhere. She greeted me with a book in her hand. As I walked inside, I tried to ignore the book sprawled on the couch arm, and the ones seemingly thrown on the coffee table. Since I didn't bring my own book – I never travel with books, for fear they'll get damaged – I approached her bookcase to find something to read.

It scared me. There were books piled helter-skelter, and ones with their spines facing in. I could see the cracked spines and bent and torn pages. I found another copy of the book I'd been reading at my place and gingerly pulled it off the shelf. I flipped it open, carefully turning the pages. It felt as if it would fall apart any minute. When I reached the page I'd stopped on, I found a large grease stain. How could my own sister treat her books this way? Did something in our genes get crossed the wrong way?

I joined her in the living room, where she was reading, buried in multiple books. I tried to avoid them, not to move them or fix them or touch them, as I sat down. It didn't work. I nearly hit one off of the arm of the chair, so I straightened its pages, closed it, and set it on the coffee table. Then I tried to read around the grease stain.

Kate & Kacey

I wish my sister would love books the way I do.