Carole Remy - Twelve Nights

“Thanksgiving at home,” Angela smiled. “What a treat.”

Aggie glared at her sister behind her father’s back. This sweetness and light bit was not Angela. The older twin smiled back as their father left the room. Even her eyes were laughing, Aggie noted suspiciously. Angela took a sip of coffee, her finger crooked in the air in a C.

“I’m going to run over and pick Mary up,” their father announced as he walked back into the room. “You girls make yourselves at home.”

“We will,” Angela smiled. “Take your time.”

After the door closed behind their father, Angela put down her coffee mug and stood up from the sofa.

“Time to get to work,” she announced as she dragged her sister up by the elbow.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s change while he’s out and we’ll try the twin thing when they get back.”

“I won’t let you be nasty to Mary.”

“I like Mary,” Angela insisted. “I just want to see if we still have the old touch.”

Angela hugged her sister.

“Please,” she begged.

Aggie shrugged her shoulders and dislodged her arms.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I just wish I knew what you were really up to.”

The two sisters walked arm in arm down the hall toward their old bedroom, bags in hand. Angela went straight to the ensuite bathroom and scrubbed the makeup off her face. Aggie opened the bags and pulled out the new clothes. Within a minute, she was changed.

“This is a nice outfit,” she commented as she turned in front of the mirror. The gray pants hugged her hips then fell in a straight line to the floor. The sweater clung to her breasts then draped softly. The crochet flowers on the shoulders emphasized her straight posture, the reward of twelve years of ballet.

“You look good,” Angela commented as she emerged from the bathroom. She quickly stripped and put on her matching clothing. Then she walked over to the mirror and stood beside Aggie.

“Who are you?” she teased her younger twin. It was an old joke.

“I don’t know,” Aggie responded as per formula. “Who are you?”

The young women turned and surveyed their bodies. Aggie reached up her arm and Angela mimicked her movement. Aggie smiled and reached down to put her right hand on her left knee. Her sister followed. Smiling, Aggie contorted herself every which way and giggled as her sister struggled to follow.

“Enough!” Angela finally cried.

“Don’t you think we need a little makeup?” Aggie asked.

Her sister stared dumbfounded.

“I’m doing you,” Aggie explained, still giggling.

“Maybe just a little,” Angela sounded reluctantly Aggie-ish. She pulled a lipstick out of her purse and made up first her own and then her sister’s lips.

“Mascara?” Angela asked.

Aggie nodded and Angela retrieved a wand from her overnight bag. She swept the dark brown fluid expertly over her own eyelashes, then handed the applicator to her sister. Aggie held the wand awkwardly but left only one smudge under her left eye. Angela wiped the spot then took her sister’s chin in her hand.

“This is weird,” she commented.

“I know,” Aggie agreed. The doppelganger effect unnerved her. Angela had even altered her voice, losing a slight New York twang. They sounded as identical as they looked. “I don’t think anybody will be able to tell us apart.”

“Good,” Angela grinned. Both twins heard a car pull into the driveway. “You go out first and be yourself for a few minutes. Say I’m busy. Then come back here and I’ll go out as you.”

“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Aggie asked.

“Just go.” Angela pushed her twin out the bedroom door.

Aggie greeted her father at the front door.

“Blossom?” he asked.

“No, it’s Aggie. I changed.” A butterfly woke up in her stomach.

“Here’s Mary,” her father gestured.

“Hi, Aggie. You look great.”

The butterfly stretched its wings.

“Thanks, Mary.” Aggie reached out and drew her father’s girlfriend into a hug. “You do too.”

“What can I get you to drink?” her father asked them both.

“I still have some coffee,” Aggie jumped in ahead of Mary, who caught her eye and nodded.

“Let’s all have coffee,” Mary agreed.

Aggie’s father shrugged and walked into the kitchen.

“Is he drinking a lot?” Aggie asked Mary.

“Not too much.” Mary was covering and they both knew it.

Suddenly the homecoming and the charade and drinking were too much for Aggie. The butterfly was frantically searching for a way to escape. Its wings battered Aggie’s stomach and she thought she might retch.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she told Mary over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

“I don’t like any of this,” Aggie stated as she closed the bedroom door. “I feel weird. Dad’s drinking again.”

“I’ll go back,” Angela offered. “You come out in five minutes or so.”

Aggie heard muffled voices from the living room as she sat huddled on the edge of her childhood bed. A hidden memory surfaced; she used to listen here as her parents fought. Drunken arguments had been the background music of her childhood. But now the voices weren’t raised. Aggie straightened her shoulders and stood. Time to rejoin the family and end the charade.

“Blossom,” her father greeted her. “Come sit.”

The warmth of his tone brought a sheen of moisture to Aggie’s eyes. Was his voice that affectionate when he knew he spoke to her?

“No,” she began, unable to continue the imposture. Angela’s voice interrupted her.

“Angela has a headache, Dad,” she explained.

Aggie walked to sit next to her father. She smelled brandy in his coffee. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the sofa.

“I’m Aggie, Dad,” she blurted before Angela could interrupt.

“Dad,” her sister complained. “I don’t know what Angela’s trying to pull, but I’m Aggie.”

“Girls,” Mary admonished. “This isn’t very funny.”

“I agree,” Aggie stated. “I’m Aggie and I’m going to go change clothes.”

“I’m Aggie,” her twin insisted. “Dad, Mary, can’t you tell?”

“All right. That’s enough.” Their father’s voice had the rough boozy edge he usually hid carefully. “Let me look behind your ear.”

“What?” Mary asked and their father explained.

“Angela fell off the top of the swing set when she was three. She has a scar from the stitches behind her right ear.”

Aggie swept back her hair and showed her unblemished skin to her father. “See, I’m Aggie. Angela, the charade’s over. Give it up.”

Her sister swept back her hair and showed her equally unmarked skin.

“No scar,” she whispered.

Aggie burst into tears and ran from the room.

A few minutes later, her sister walked into the bedroom and took the still sobbing Aggie in her arms.

“It’s okay, Aggie,” she crooned. “I told them. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you doing this?” Aggie asked.

“Just for fun,” Angela answered. “Stop crying, Boo. You’re making me feel bad.”

“This isn’t fun,” Aggie insisted. “I want my own identity.”

“Look,” Angela held out her hand. “I made us nametags.”

Aggie took the cards. The names read ‘Boo’ and ‘Boo’.

“Not funny.” She handed the cards back to her sister, who turned them over. The flip sides read ‘Aggie’ and ‘the idiot’. Aggie flopped back onto the bed.

“I have an idea,” Angela offered. “My apology, sort of.”

Aggie turned her head and looked at her twin.

“I won two free tickets to Vancouver,” Angela explained. “Why don’t we go for a little holiday together?”