Tavis and I are twins; each one half of a whole.

Mother was a twin. Her brother, Ian, was her only true friend. He was killed in the Pacific in forty-two. She immediately married Ian’s best friend, my father, and they mourned together. They must have mourned primarily in the bedroom, for shortly after they found themselves expecting.

Our parents were blessed with both a boy and a girl in one messy arrival. Father cradled me and cooed my name, “Minna.” Mother laid Tavis out on the bed to examine his ten tiny fingers and toes and to be sure he arrived with all of the requisite equipment. They promised their infants a childhood of loving innocence.

Tavis and I were inseparable. Every one of our firsts came together. First steps, first words, first climb up a tree. Neither of us would leave the other behind. We refused to bathe unless we were together. Mother schooled us at home, and we spent each hour of the day together. We slept in the same bed until we were twelve. That’s when Grandmother moved in, bringing her money, her views, and her yappy little dog.

Grandmother had been left well-off when Grandfather passed away. How our mother grew up under her rule confounded us. Yet Mother was gracious and beautiful, glowing with the love of life she passed on to us.

“I will not allow Minna to be ruined like your brother ruined you,” we would hear Grandmother chastise Mother. Grandmother was appalled and swore we would grow up differently.

Everything changed when she came. I could no longer wash Tavis’s back as he took his bath; I had to wear my swimsuit top when we went to the lake. Grandmother didn’t permit us to hold hands or to eat off of the same dinner plate any longer.

Father was a quiet man with sad, loving eyes. He was proud and worked hard to provide for us. When Grandmother and her heavy purse took up residence, both barreled over Father and Mother.

The atmosphere of eternal spring left our house.

I was kept at home to be taught by Mother while Tavis was shipped off to St. Boniface Catholic Church for a proper Catholic education. Grandmother gave strict instructions, and a healthy donation, to the school for them to keep tight reins on Tavis.

We were put in bedrooms on opposite ends of the big house. Grandmother entrenched herself in a bedroom between ours. She slept with her door open, and her tiny devil-dog would bark when anyone passed in the hall.

I couldn’t sleep without Tavis next to me. Mother would lie with me until I fell asleep. After she left, I would wake and imagine I could hear Tavis down the hall. I knew he was awake and Mother was lying next to him to coax him to sleep.