Before - it was easy. Easy, studying English history, going to parties on Friday nights, kissing people who never knew my surname. We used to meet every Monday after lunch - it was our time. After you spent your first twenty years living with somebody who shares your bedroom, secrets and face, you get used to it. Megan once showed me some research she found in a newspaper that twins mind is the same song, but different genres (she trusted the newspapers. That, that was the actual evidence. Her mind was probably top-30 pop-hits, while mine is tuned to the old guitar ballads). She smiled at me that day, warm and bright, and I felt sunshine rolling around in my stomach. Every time we met I felt complete, fulfilled. Of course, the minute Megan started asking me to pass her history exam at uni fulfilment changed into annoyance, but it was the same feeling when the mother is annoyed by her child, painting the sunset on the new wallpapers. Angry, but amused.
- I’m not doing your exam, Meg. No. Go study!
- But Lisaaa, the professor is, like, totally a misogynistic old man! He will ask me what was the best inventions of the Greek society, and I will tell him it was orgies and wine!
- If you read the…
- If you weren’t so! Ah! I can’t find a word. Just, next time I’ll be sitting here without my diploma and you are telling mama it was you who decided to cheat.
- Gosh, Meg, you’ll be fine.
She smilled again. I was being mean to her. Honestly, finishing your degree, raising a child and trying not to kill your husband was hard enough for her. Two years ago, when we were crying on a kitchen floor, packing all of her things, I first started thinking how to live without her. We managed. It wasn’t easy.
- Wait, Greg’s calling, a second, - she picked her phone and started asking a million questions the second quiet “hi” was said on the other side of the line. Greg became a big part of our life three years ago. First, she left me cooking dinner by myself, so he could take her to the movies, then she stole my dress when he took her meet the parents, and finally, she ruined our movie night by crying on my shoulder after the test came positive, two lines on a piece of plastic. Their story was a happy one, the one they played in theatres in February, collecting all the money from lovey-dovey couples. A kid, new apartment, kissing and hand-holding. I remember looking at Greg, his hair wild and free in the wind, his eyes sparkling, the day he almost kissed me instead of her. He couldn’t tell us apart, nobody could. Our mama, sometimes, forgot who was who. The only thing that made our bodies different, the only mistake made on heavenly-doll production, was a little scar on her back, near the neck. Small and invisible under the clothes. But Greg couldn’t have seen it back there, when he almost kissed me. I would never tell Megan, but I didn’t mind it back then. Now, every kiss with him tastes like burnt bread and responsibility. I used to lay in bed, thinking about how his lips taste, now I know - it’s too wet, and not at all magical.
We went to the bar that night. Late bus, drunk driver, and so, so much fire. I knew she wasn’t going to make it as soon as I saw the big metal thing sticking out of her chest. It hurt me too. I think, I got broken back then, my tears evaporating in heat. She looked at me, gaze tired, and said one thing.
- You’re Megan.
I thought she was hallucinating, I tried to explain, my hands covered in blood, my mind breaking down with every single one of her blinks. But Megan looked at me, loosing her soul on my eyes, and repeated: - You. Are. Megan.
When the doctor came out of the room and told us “Lisa is not with us any more. She was brave”. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t say anything, but thought to myself no, Lisa is not brave, Lisa is sitting right here, holding a mask of her dead sister on her face, but then Greg rushed into the waiting room, holding a baby on his hands, and she knew she wasn’t going to say anything.
He made love to me a week later. It felt like a million insects crawling on my skin. I said nothing. “- I know you don’t remember anything. It’s OK, Meg, honey. I will tell you.”
And he told me the stories I had heard from my dead sister, he showed me every place they went on a date. I thought to myself, that if the situation was different, I could fall in love with him.
One night, he kissed the back of my neck, the place her scar was, and I felt like the world is going to crush in a second. I was ready to come clean, to tell him everything, but he shushed me, his hot mouth on mine.
- Good night, Meg.
- I’m sorry, she just wanted to…
- Good night, MEG.
No comments:
Post a Comment