She Had A Name
Chapter 1
The call comes at about one AM. I am lying on the downstairs couch, watching reality TV rerun marathons, just waiting for something like this to happen. In the middle of one of many airbrushed catfights, my cell phone begins to vibrate, propelling itself around the table in miniscule circles.
I pick it up and flip it open, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” comes the casually panicked voice of my good friend Jacob, “You’ve got to come get your sister. She is beyond even her limits…”
I don’t even pretend to ask why he refuses to take her home, but I accept it as a fact of life. His voice makes my stomach flutter anyways and I wouldn’t want him to think otherwise. Actually, it’d be simpler if he didn’t know at all.
This is my cue to sigh, like I have a million times before, “Okay. I’ll be there soon. Get her clothes on.”
“They’re on…for once,” he sighs, adding the second part as a slight afterthought, the reminder of how strikingly different my sister and I are. Skin deep, we’re the same, identical. Thick brown hair, greenish eyes, of average height and weight, a light skin tone that neither burns nor tans easily; that’s us. Going past the monozygotic element of our existence though, we are nearly polar opposites. She’s out taking five years off of her life and I’m here watching America’s Next Top Model reruns. Case closed.
“Fine, see you soon.” There’s a click at the end of the line.
I dart up the stairs for my mother’s car keys, turning on lights and falling over a chair in my haste. My dad’s away on business and my mom gave up long ago on controlling my sister, so why should I be any different? This entire process takes me somewhere around five minutes and so I stand in my mother’s doorway and whisper loudly at her.
“I’m going to pick up Rachel,” come the words from my mouth.
Groggy, my mother is rather discombobulated, “Wha—where is she?”
“The movies. She needs a ride home.”
“What time is it?” Her eyes aren’t even open, she hasn’t moved more than six inches this entire time.
“Eleven.” Oh the lies, Rachel. Oh what I do for you and your problems.
“Mhmghphf.”
**
The volume and genre of the stereo in the car lead me to believe that someone other than Mom has been driving around in it. I seem to remember a trip to the supermarket earlier today, Rachel at the wheel. Or maybe it was the movies. Or the movies and the supermarket. It’s too late and my brain doesn’t work at this hour. The drive is short, because where the hell do you go in a housing development in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere? It doesn’t take a genius to find the house with the party. Lights, music, cars, people. I park down the block and get out of the car, not seeing my sister anywhere. I waltz past made up, dressed to impress members of the student body at my school, who nod in acknowledgement of what I am doing. I do this a lot. It’s not that I’m the unpopular, dorky twin, I’m just the…other twin. I’m the rest of Rachel, the part that makes sure she does die while she sleeps off drunkenness, the part that watches her during the day when she plans twelve different escapades for us to go on, the part that seems to contain the slightest bit of sanity.
“Leah!” someone shouts out my name and in the darkness, I see two figures leaning against the wall. Well, one is more…slumping.
“Jacob,” I say, stopping in front of him. He holds my sister by the wrist as she blows kisses towards a garden gnome. Oh yeah, that’s not completely fucked up at all.
Jacob, in all of his dark haired, boyish glory, smiles and causes the butterflies to start up again. Jeez, I must be dying or something. “She’s all yours.”
“Joy.” I take her hand as she notices my presence.
“Leah!” she shrieks, “I’m so glad you came.” She says this all extremely fast and it takes me a moment, which I fill with a wave to Jacob and those goddamned butterflies, to decipher this.
“I came because of you,” I sigh, “Now let’s go.” I pull her along the street and push her into the car, slamming the door behind her. She leans her head against the window and blows out her nose loudly as I get in the other side.
Now she giggles and turns up the stereo really loud and I jump.
“STOP!” I scream at her, but she’s too far gone to give a shit about my desires while I drive.
“No,” she whines, drawing the simple syllable out to its full extent, “No! No! No!”
“Shut up!” I snap, slamming my fist onto the off button on the stereo. Oh Rachel, I love you, I do, but you are shit when you’re drunk.
The drive home doesn’t go any better than the scene that has just played out on the lawn. She tries to run me off the road, pretty much, and almost throws her shoes out the window—before she realizes it’s closed. And it’s just my luck to finally get her out of the car in one piece when she turns to me with a pained look on her face.
“Leah,” she mumbles like one might expect a sick toddler to mumble, “Leah—I don’t feel well.”
In one hand I am gripping her forearm—in the other her yellow pumps. The car keys are in my sweatshirt pocket and I can see the light of the TV that I left on in the basement. I want to go to bed and I know that’s not coming anytime soon. I really just don’t want to have to deal with—
She lurches away from me and crouches down into the bushes near the neighbor’s yard and banishes everything from her stomach. I shut my eyes and curse whoever gave me a twin. Then I immediately regret this and drop her shoes on the ground to turn on the garden hose.
“Move,” I snap at her when she’s done and spray the ground down until it’s muddy enough to pass of as cat vomit. Meanwhile, she sits on the ground and begins to sob, a look of distaste on her face, as though she ought to be surprised that her throw up isn’t as pretty as the dress she’s wearing.
“I’m tired.”
“I know,” I say, as she follows me into the basement and smiles to wave at the figures on the screen. “I know.”
She lies down on the couch and steals all the space, I realize I have left her shoes outside. Tough.
I sit down to watch her sleep, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on the TV remote to turn it down so she can sleep. Now I lean against the couch and sigh.
Welcome to my fucking life.
I pick it up and flip it open, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” comes the casually panicked voice of my good friend Jacob, “You’ve got to come get your sister. She is beyond even her limits…”
I don’t even pretend to ask why he refuses to take her home, but I accept it as a fact of life. His voice makes my stomach flutter anyways and I wouldn’t want him to think otherwise. Actually, it’d be simpler if he didn’t know at all.
This is my cue to sigh, like I have a million times before, “Okay. I’ll be there soon. Get her clothes on.”
“They’re on…for once,” he sighs, adding the second part as a slight afterthought, the reminder of how strikingly different my sister and I are. Skin deep, we’re the same, identical. Thick brown hair, greenish eyes, of average height and weight, a light skin tone that neither burns nor tans easily; that’s us. Going past the monozygotic element of our existence though, we are nearly polar opposites. She’s out taking five years off of her life and I’m here watching America’s Next Top Model reruns. Case closed.
“Fine, see you soon.” There’s a click at the end of the line.
I dart up the stairs for my mother’s car keys, turning on lights and falling over a chair in my haste. My dad’s away on business and my mom gave up long ago on controlling my sister, so why should I be any different? This entire process takes me somewhere around five minutes and so I stand in my mother’s doorway and whisper loudly at her.
“I’m going to pick up Rachel,” come the words from my mouth.
Groggy, my mother is rather discombobulated, “Wha—where is she?”
“The movies. She needs a ride home.”
“What time is it?” Her eyes aren’t even open, she hasn’t moved more than six inches this entire time.
“Eleven.” Oh the lies, Rachel. Oh what I do for you and your problems.
“Mhmghphf.”
**
The volume and genre of the stereo in the car lead me to believe that someone other than Mom has been driving around in it. I seem to remember a trip to the supermarket earlier today, Rachel at the wheel. Or maybe it was the movies. Or the movies and the supermarket. It’s too late and my brain doesn’t work at this hour. The drive is short, because where the hell do you go in a housing development in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere? It doesn’t take a genius to find the house with the party. Lights, music, cars, people. I park down the block and get out of the car, not seeing my sister anywhere. I waltz past made up, dressed to impress members of the student body at my school, who nod in acknowledgement of what I am doing. I do this a lot. It’s not that I’m the unpopular, dorky twin, I’m just the…other twin. I’m the rest of Rachel, the part that makes sure she does die while she sleeps off drunkenness, the part that watches her during the day when she plans twelve different escapades for us to go on, the part that seems to contain the slightest bit of sanity.
“Leah!” someone shouts out my name and in the darkness, I see two figures leaning against the wall. Well, one is more…slumping.
“Jacob,” I say, stopping in front of him. He holds my sister by the wrist as she blows kisses towards a garden gnome. Oh yeah, that’s not completely fucked up at all.
Jacob, in all of his dark haired, boyish glory, smiles and causes the butterflies to start up again. Jeez, I must be dying or something. “She’s all yours.”
“Joy.” I take her hand as she notices my presence.
“Leah!” she shrieks, “I’m so glad you came.” She says this all extremely fast and it takes me a moment, which I fill with a wave to Jacob and those goddamned butterflies, to decipher this.
“I came because of you,” I sigh, “Now let’s go.” I pull her along the street and push her into the car, slamming the door behind her. She leans her head against the window and blows out her nose loudly as I get in the other side.
Now she giggles and turns up the stereo really loud and I jump.
“STOP!” I scream at her, but she’s too far gone to give a shit about my desires while I drive.
“No,” she whines, drawing the simple syllable out to its full extent, “No! No! No!”
“Shut up!” I snap, slamming my fist onto the off button on the stereo. Oh Rachel, I love you, I do, but you are shit when you’re drunk.
The drive home doesn’t go any better than the scene that has just played out on the lawn. She tries to run me off the road, pretty much, and almost throws her shoes out the window—before she realizes it’s closed. And it’s just my luck to finally get her out of the car in one piece when she turns to me with a pained look on her face.
“Leah,” she mumbles like one might expect a sick toddler to mumble, “Leah—I don’t feel well.”
In one hand I am gripping her forearm—in the other her yellow pumps. The car keys are in my sweatshirt pocket and I can see the light of the TV that I left on in the basement. I want to go to bed and I know that’s not coming anytime soon. I really just don’t want to have to deal with—
She lurches away from me and crouches down into the bushes near the neighbor’s yard and banishes everything from her stomach. I shut my eyes and curse whoever gave me a twin. Then I immediately regret this and drop her shoes on the ground to turn on the garden hose.
“Move,” I snap at her when she’s done and spray the ground down until it’s muddy enough to pass of as cat vomit. Meanwhile, she sits on the ground and begins to sob, a look of distaste on her face, as though she ought to be surprised that her throw up isn’t as pretty as the dress she’s wearing.
“I’m tired.”
“I know,” I say, as she follows me into the basement and smiles to wave at the figures on the screen. “I know.”
She lies down on the couch and steals all the space, I realize I have left her shoes outside. Tough.
I sit down to watch her sleep, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on the TV remote to turn it down so she can sleep. Now I lean against the couch and sigh.
Welcome to my fucking life.