Do you remember when I locked you in the hope chest in Mom’s closet? We were six. You made me so mad because you wouldn’t let me in to play with her shoes, though there was more than enough room, so I locked you in. Mom and Dad were having dinner with Aunt Meredith and Aunt Judy downstairs—Aunt Meredith had just broken up with another boyfriend—and they didn’t hear you screaming. I said I didn’t hear you, either, and I didn’t really—it was mostly stifled. But I felt it. I felt it in the way my own stomach seized and my heart almost tore through my ribs. I broke into a sweat all over and thought I was going to puke. I know it felt longer to you, but I lifted the latch after maybe a minute.

Your panic, your fear, your terror were all mine in that moment, which is why it hurts so badly now. We carry more than our own pain—we shoulder the other’s buried, center-of-gravity suffering. As my sister, my identical twin, our connection spans distance and time. Even now, my stomach knots at three in the morning, because on the other side of the world it is six in the evening and you are wide-awake and grieving. It’s why I’ve decided to muffle this ache here in Paris. I’m not coming home. I can’t.

You have always been the stronger of us. I doubt I would last in the same room with you, with so much agony in one space, one chest, one breaking heart. Your courage differentiates us, whether I want to admit it or not. Going from place to place trying to ignore my issues, avoid them, always searching for something more, has gotten me little headway until now. I’m constantly in self-preservation mode, ready to fly away at the drop of a dime, while you are steadfast. But I’m different here. It feels different this time. Going home would destroy that on so many levels.

It is a hot poker shoved into my eye, the thought of leaving you to manage the grisly details of their service alone, and you don’t have to. Let Aunt Judy and Aunt Meredith handle most of the details. We’re twenty-one years old. No one should have to lose her parents like this, both at the same time, right after college finishes. This is bullshit.

You should not have to deal with this. I should not have to deal with this. So I’m not going to. I’m sorry. Please understand. I know you won’t, though, and that’s okay.

I am so sorry.

I love you.

TFTW

Angela

Chapter 11

Chapter 11