by Karen Rivers
Want to Skype later? I’m happy to talk to you about anything, you know that, right? Especially if you have ideas for our summer trip! It’s already July, and we haven’t chosen a destination yet! (Let’s you and I choose it and then surprise your dad, OK?) Your last note made me think you’ve got an awful lot going on in that brain of yours. If it’s Skype-worthy, then I’ll be back at the hotel by 9 at the latest. Did you remember to take your medication? Dad may be a doctor, but I worry that he’s not good at reminding you. Take your meds!
And please please please try to help Daddy with dinner and stuff. You know how he is. Give him a kiss from me and then tell him to give you one from me to you. Miss you lots! Love you more than fruit dunked in a chocolate fountain!
Mommy
Mom,
Please stop signing off as “Mommy.” You know I love you, but I’m only weeks (OK, weeks AND then a few more weeks) away from becoming a teenager, and we both need to get used to that idea. I thought we agreed that “Mom” was OK but “Mother” was not because it sounds too formal, like something someone in a scary movie would call his mom right before he turned into a zombie and tried to eat her brain. So from now on, you are MOM, OK? Just Mom.
I can’t talk about this Top Secret Matter of Relative Urgency on Skype or email. No way! I need you and Dad (not DADDY) to be sitting in the same room, looking me square in the eye. I might see if I can borrow a lie detector thing from somewhere too. Do you know where I could get one? It’s not that I don’t trust you guys. I just feel like you will be more honest if you know an alarm will go off and a shock will be administered if you lie to me during this fact-finding mission.
I think cloning the Luffster is a pretty cool, amazing, unbelievable thing, Mom. I know that outside of movies, the dinosaurs wouldn’t all start stomping around in the park or whatnot and instead would be kept in lab incubators for all time, but still, it would eventually be a terrific sequel to SHORCA!
By the way, have you talked to Dad about … anything? Did he say anything about anything? At all? Just asking. And why did you mention TWINS?
I love you! And don’t worry about anything, I never forget my meds. How can I forget? I’ve taken them every day of my life. That would be like forgetting to brush my teeth, but different, because actually I have forgotten to brush once or twice.
Love you more than clouds shaped like poltergeists,
Ruth
There are two things:
True things.
And lies.
When you figure out
which is which
it’s like you are on the inside
of the balloon
looking out,
seeing the pin coming toward you
in the sunlight
but not being able
to move away.
Or maybe,
the thing is
that all of us are
two people:
the one inside
the balloon.
And the one
holding
the pin.
Holy cow, srsly, Ruth, those clay SHORCAs you made are amazing. You’re super extra good at this. Better than writing even. It’s basically like sculpture is your secret talent. Claymation is hard and it’s SO much easier to draw stuff, but these are the best things ever, so I want to figure out a way to do both. Like you know how most of our movies are just you writing the words and me doing drawings? When we add the sculpted SHORCAs, it’s like just as much your project as mine.
Hi honey,
Heading home now. Up for a walk? I bet you forgot to walk Caleb. Besides, it’s finally cooled off out here. And if you’re not asleep, walking is the best cure for insomnia! I read about it in the doctors’ lounge while I was waiting for the OR and trying to stay awake last Tuesday night. I’m pretty sure that boredom is actually the best cure for insomnia, but I’m not that kind of doctor.
I just realized that I didn’t answer your question the other day about the agency, so I wanted to tell you that I sent them an email requesting another look at your file. It was a closed adoption, though, honey, so I don’t think it’s really possible.
Anyway, I thought we could talk about it on our walk. Maybe don’t mention it to Mom yet. I think it might be hard for her, emotionally, to know that you’re searching for your birth mother, even if you’re not. Are you? It’s just that last time we talked about it, you said that you hated your birth mother and never wanted to find her because you could never forgive her. I know you love us, but I also know — because I am old and wise! — that there is a part of you that’s still upset that you were given up. Which is fine, Rooty. All adopted kids probably feel that to some extent. It’s just that — are you sure about opening up this whole Pandora’s box? If you want to do it, you should do it! It’s fine. We’re grown-ups and we can handle it. I just want to make sure that you are up for it. Because I’m your dad, I don’t want you to get hurt.
I’ll figure out how to tell your mom about your quest. And even if she’s sad, she’ll still get it. She’s pretty smart. That’s why I picked her.
But Ruth, my girl, I think the look-alike is just a case of coincidental facial features, I really do. They would have had to tell us, if not legally, then morally.
Love,
Daddy
Sent from my iPhone
Sure, let’s go for a walk. I’m totally awake still! Jedgar just left an hour ago. We were working on the stuff for SHORCA! I’ve talked him out of doing the voice part in French, mostly because neither of us speaks French, and it turns out that French sounds ultra awkward when you say it out loud with terrible American accents. We’re using Spanish instead. ¡Mira! ¡Un tiburón! ¡Eso se ve como una ballena! ¡Ayuda! It sounds totes excellent and super dramatic and very, very emotional, see? We’re still not sure how it will come together, but Jedgar says that’s normal, that at first when you are making a movie, everything is all over the place and it’s like you’ve put it into a blender and ground it all up to the point where you don’t even know what your original idea was, but then something CLICKS and it all comes together. ’Course things you put in the blender don’t actually come together again, so never mind.
I am not looking for my birth mother. I am furious with her and I will never forgive her, etc., never mind what Buddha says. You know yourself that Buddha lived a million years ago or whatever and knows nothing about what it feels like to have been adopted. Buddha also would have been mad about it if it happened to him. Who GIVES AWAY A BABY? Babies are not like zucchinis, where you grow extras and foist the rest on your neighbors and act insulted when they say, “No, thank you.” I want nothing to do with my birth mother. I am merely on a journey of self-discovery after finding my twin. It’s not just that I found a sister, it’s that it makes me someone’s twin! It changes ME too. Don’t you see? It’s a different thing.
Mom is still Mom. You are still you. I am still me. Caleb is still Caleb and I wish he would get off my lap. (Google should offer a translation service to dog language, so I could tell him that 90 pounds is too heavy to impose on other people’s legs.) NOTHING IS GOING TO CHANGE, except for the fact that I have a twin sister named Ruby Starling who possibly believes that I am a crazy person stalking her on the Internet.
See you in a minute. DO NOT TYPE AND DRIVE. And you are DAD, not DADDY. It’s very hard to communicate to you people that I am NO LONGER A BABY.
Love,
Ruth
OK, OK.
Love,
Daddy
Sent from my iPhone
See what I did there? Did you laugh?
Love,
Dad
Sent from my iPhone
ROFLMAO, Dad. Or, as they would say in Spanish, riendo el culo!
P.S. Google Translate is the bomb.
P.P.S. Are you emailing me from the driveway? Weirdo.
Dear Nan,
I had to write back because I’m sorry. I feel terrible being angry with you when you’re dead. It�
��s just that I got so upset about the haunting that you tried to do. It was sweet, really. I’m sure you meant it to be kind. But it was also terrifying. Couldn’t you just write a note or arrange the letter magnets on the fridge in a meaningful way? Not that we’ve got letter magnets, but I will get some if you think you could actually do that. Or no. Never mind. Obviously dead people don’t rearrange letter magnets! If they could, everyone would do it! All those fridges would be full of spooky messages from the Other Side.
The thing with writing letters to people who are dead is that it’s sort of like they are as good as sent as soon as you’ve written them. You can’t exactly crumple them up and discard them. The ghost might’ve been reading over your shoulder the whole time! So if you did read that last note, the furious one, well, I’m sorry. You can haunt me. I am OK with it. (I think. At least I’ll try to be.) Just don’t do anything too horror-film. You know I hate horror films.
Love,
Ruby
Fi, I know you think it’s mad, but I have been studying these pics of ‘Ruth’, trying to figure out what the Photoshopped bits are. Because you can always tell what’s been edited, right? There’s sometimes a smidge of blue where there shouldn’t be. Or a line is smooth when it should be bumpy. And there just aren’t any things like that wrong with these photos.
See, she’s a bit different from me, after all. Her face is long and narrowish and more goat-y. My front teeth are gappy. Her eyes are squintier. She looks quite a bit smaller. I know you can do that with Photoshop — that’s why celebs are always thinner and less wrinkly in pics — but wouldn’t it be too much trouble? And why would she bother, really? I can see why people pretend to be giving away STOP tickets or the like in order to sneakily get you to hand over all of your life savings, but I can’t quite figure out why someone would pretend to be my adopted twin in America. What d’you think?
She knows where I was born. And my birthday. And she has the ear. Nan’s ear. Mum’s ear. MY ear. I’ve never seen an ear like ours before on anyone else, ever! No one would edit that in, because I doubt anyone else would notice, not really. Just me. And Mum. And Nan.
So there’s all that, which is really a lot of evidence!
But there’s also …
What I’m trying to say is that it’s been brought to my attention that …
I mean, I think that maybe …
OK, I don’t know how to tell you this without you thinking I’ve gone and lost the plot. It’s just that it’s not really so much about the Photoshopping clues or the fact she knew my birth date and the place I was born (which I suppose anyone could find out, if they really looked. It’s in the hospital records!) or anything like that. It’s just that I think Nan’s sent me a message from the Other Side!
And the message she sent is basically that what Ruth says is true. And the thing is that I think it is. It’s true.
There, I said it.
I THINK IT’S TRUE, FI.
I, Ruby Starling, have a twin who lives in America!
Don’t try to talk me out of it. I have loads of proof up in Mum’s studio. You’ve seen her paintings! You know she always paints and sculpts and draws TWO girls. It’s not ME x 2. It’s ME AND RUTH. She’s maybe been trying to tell me all along. She’s maybe just been waiting for me to guess! But I didn’t! I guess I must be pretty thick, after all.
Now I’ve said it to you, it’s even more true than it was before, and my hands have started shaking like Mum’s do when she’s in a confrontation or stressed or even just unhappy. I suppose I have to talk to Mum now, don’t I? I’m scared to, and I don’t know why, not exactly. I think that if she wanted me to know, she would have told me, and there must be some reason why she hasn’t. And if it wasn’t something terrible, then I’d be sitting here with my TWIN SISTER RUTH instead of trying to figure out how or why she even exists.
Something’s happening to me, something awful. Like nausea, except it isn’t that. It’s dread, filling me up, like hot tea that falls on your lap and scalds your legs through your trousers. I’m scared. Can I come round? It’s just that I can’t just sit here, knowing all these things, without feeling like I have to scream or do something, but I don’t even know what.
Ruby
Oh, Ru-Ru, I don’t believe it! I mean, it can’t be real! (And yes, come round, of course!)
It’s just that this is a bit mad, isn’t it? How could your mum have had two of you and not told you about it? Your mum’s a bit odd, sure, but she’s always telling you all those details about your dad and when she found out she was going to have you and how he used to sing all these strange French rock songs that she hated to her stomach, but you loved them because you’d kick her extra hard then. She can’t have left out, ‘Oh, by the way, there were two babies in there, dancing together to Le Rock et Roll, and I left one behind in America’. She just wouldn’t.
Anyway, don’t you remember when I did that paper last term about art and things and I interviewed your mum and one of the questions was why did she always paint two of you? And she didn’t say, ‘Gosh, that’s because I had twins and put one up for adoption in America and kept it a secret all these years’. Here, I’ve got it right in front of me on the screen. She actually said, ‘Oh, that represents the duality of human nature, particularly in children, who often seem like two people at once’. Don’t you remember?
And besides, that sculpture she’s doing for the library square is truly JUST YOU. Not you and some bonkers girl from America who happens to be your … twin? That can’t be.
Gosh, I’ve just remembered, you can’t come round. I’m leaving right now to meet Chloe and Soph for Hawkster’s do. I can wait for you at the end of the drive. Please come. Am sure it will be a lot more fun than it sounds. I’m a bit worried about you, actually. I feel like I shouldn’t go!
I’m OK. Really. GO. I’m fine! Well, not FINE. I’m actually not feeling at all well, Fi. I’m just all squiggly inside, but it’s nothing to worry about. I can’t explain. It’s like being ill without being actually ill. Can’t possibly face Hawkster’s. I really really really have to talk to Ruth properly.
Can you pop in anyway and take the sparkly tops that Chlophie want? I don’t want to see them and have to explain why I’m not all amazeog and fab or glam or anything except really confused and upset. I just want to lie here with the lights out and maybe cry a bit, or just be so quiet and still, I might not even exist at all.
The funny thing is that now I know that I have a twin, I feel like half of me has just been peeled away, like a decal being pulled off its back sticky bit, making me just the waxy papery rubbish left behind.
Roooob, Fi says you aren’t coming to Hawkster’s, and we’re really really really gutted. It’s going to be a great laugh! And your clothes won’t have any fun without you! Even with us in them, dancing and whatever people do at proper swish teenage parties! Pleeeease change your mind. Even if the boys just want to sit and watch the footie, we’re going to bring Sophie’s mum’s tarot and read everyone’s cards! Then ’course we’ll be able to tell which of these lads is going to be our first boyfriend, right? And which ones are just useless. There should be a ‘total prat’ card! Anyway, it’ll be soooo fab. Please come!
Oh, we have to go, Fi’s here with your things. She’s got an empty orange squash bottle too, so we can play Spin the Bottle. Think what you’re missing! Smooch smooch smooch!
Chloe’s been flossing her teeth for yonks ’cause she’s scared of having smelly breath. She’s chewed about ten packs of Trident. Chlo, you’re being ridic! Your breath is always luverly, like flowers! Or something minty! Not DAISIES, those smell like feet! No! No one minds anyway, you silly goose. If they get to snog you, they’ll be sooooo happy, they won’t even notice if you’ve just eaten a rotten egg.
Ohhhh, lovely, these are my fav shoes of yours, and thanks SO much! You’re a star! Feel better! Byeeeeee!
Dear Ruth,
OK.
Fine.
OK.
&n
bsp; I just keep saying that out loud. ‘OK’. Then ‘Fine’. Then ‘OK’ again. Then I go check my face in the mirror to make sure I’m still there. I don’t expect you’ll know what I mean, but sometimes I think maybe I’ll look one day and I’ll be gone. Just fizzled out or fogged over or faded away. Now more than ever, I feel like I’m just paper-thin, like if you held up a light behind me, you’d see right through. Not like I’ve found another version of me, but more that I’ve just realised that half of me has been torn away. Don’t expect that makes sense, but it’s true, because …
My friends will think I’m mad (I’m supposed to be at a party with them right now but stayed home to write to you!). But I, Ruby Elizabeth Starling, age 122/3, believe you, Ruth Elizabeth Quayle, age 122/3, are my twin sister.
I can’t believe I’m even saying that! This is like a strange dream and soon I’m going to wake up and think, ‘Gosh, that was bonkers’.
But.
Well, BUT.
It’s complicated, but my nan told me. She’s dead. You asked me about ghosts and, now I do believe in them. Because of Nan. And how she sent me this sign that you were telling the truth! Do you believe in things like that? Signs and things? I do.
I still haven’t asked Mum about you. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t. She’s in the middle of this massive art installation for our new library. The commission was huge for her — she’d been at loose ends and having a hard time — so it’s a lifesaver. Anyway, she’s very intense about it all. You have to understand, that’s how she is, it’s how she does everything, her art especially. She just does it full on, in these big bursts of creative genius! But while she’s working on something, she’s … it’s like she sort of takes leave of herself a bit. She forgets to sleep and to come home sometimes even, and she sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night, thinking it’s morning and I have to get to school, only to realise that it’s nighttime and the summer hols.
