Layers

Keep you in the dark
you know they all pretend.
Keep you in the dark
and so it all began.

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The sun glares down at me as I sit, frozen in my memories. It’s been ten years today.

I stare down at the photos of my brother.

My twin brother.

Ray.

He died when we were seven.

Tears spill from under my eyelids faster and faster as I turn the pages and soak in the memories of Ray. Our fifth birthday party. Christmas at Uncle Dave’s. Off to first grade. His whole life is here, trapped in plastic bound between two cardboard covers. It never changes, never will change again. It doesn’t even fill twenty pages. And there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s what makes me hurt the most.

It hurts my parents to look at me. We looked very much alike for fraternal twins. Same wavy brown hair, same deep chocolate eyes. My very face mocks them of their loss each and every day.

Hands trembling, I set the album down on the grass and pull out my sketchbook. A slight wave of giggles washes over me as I realize that I didn’t lie to my mother. I am in the woods. I am sketching. She really should trust me more. Choosing my colored pencils with care, I stretch out under the oak tree where I’ve been sitting and I draw. And with each stroke I ease the pain of my broken heart, my broken childhood, my broken life.

I draw Ray.

I draw him as I would imagine him today. Seventeen, like me. He would be tall and fairly thin, but with a bit of muscle. A runner. We could run together, miles and miles of togetherness and it would never be enough.

I draw his wavy hair a bit long, falling into his eyes. His hands are outdoorsy, made for someone who enjoys nature and doesn’t shy away from hard work. My father’s hands used to be like that, before he quit his job at the landscaping company. I still think looking at those flowers made him remember Ray. Better to stay inside and busy himself with mindless work.

I give another quiet laugh as I draw his clothes. Baggy jeans, an old t-shirt, dirty sneakers. Abysmal fashion sense. Chrissy would be shocked. Then again, she never knew Ray. We moved here the month after he died, and continued living as if it had never happened. Like he had never existed.

I finish my drawing and study it critically. It’s perfect, perfectly Ray in every way. I fold the paper small enough to fit in the album and slide it in to one of the empty pockets. I smile.

Live on, Ray.

I gather up my things and leave the clearing. I dry my eyes, take down my hair. Slide my mask up onto my face and head back to confront the world.