Unrecognizable

“Why does this always happen?” she cried, burying her head between her knees, “Why?”1

Retreating from the apparently crazy person before me, I couldn’t help but stare as all the other passengers were doing. I knew this person. This was Carrie, my twin, the girl who’d been born into the world one minute and five seconds before me. Then why didn’t she look familiar?2

“Carrie,” I whispered, acutely aware of our dozens of disturbed spectators, “calm down. It’s ok. Don’t worry. I’m here.”3

Glancing up at me, mascara-tears running down her cheeks, she nodded meekly. “Yeah,” she agreed, her voice husky from crying, “let’s go.”4

Getting off the bus, I took in a breath of fresh air, glad to be rid of the passengers’ horrified gazes as they stared at my sister. “Are you ok, Carrie?”5

“I think so,” she murmured, shaking her head as if to rid herself of past memories, “lets just go home.”6

Silently agreeing, I followed close behind her, not daring to say a word in case it was the wrong one. 7

Though I eventually grew used to my torn soul, the ache of loss I felt constantly now, I couldn’t help but wish Carrie would rise up from denial and come back to me, to all of us. Our last real conversation had been before the wedding, before John. Before unrequited love crushed us all. 8

“Carrie,” I asked hesitantly, knocking on her bedroom door, “Can I come in?”9

“Sure,” she grumbled in response as I peeked in to see her sprawled on her bed, glaring at the ceiling.10

“Um, well…” I began awkwardly, not quite sure what I was trying to say until the words passed through my lips in a rush, “Can-you-tell-me-about-John?”11

“What?” she gasped, staring at me wide eyed, giving me more attention than she had in months, “What did you say?”12

“John,” I repeated, more clearly, “tell me about him.”13

Instead of screaming at me in anger for speaking the words that we’d left unspoken for so long, she crumpled. “Please, Rachel,” she murmured, “please don’t do this.”14

Hearing the desperation in her voice, I wanted to obey her plea, make it clear that she had all the time in the world to get over John. She didn’t have to tell me. But it had been months, almost a year. She’d had her time. Now was my time to wrench her back into reality. 15

“Back on the bus,” I continued, “that was about John, wasn’t it?”16

She nodded mutely, eyes locked on her tensed hands. 17

“Carrie,” I cried, desperate for a reaction on her part, “please talk to me! It’s been months! I miss you,” I choked out through a torrent of oncoming tears, “Please come back to me.”18

Finally meeting my eyes, her mouth turned up into a smile, barely. And suddenly the invisible barrier between us was broken and, both crying uncontrollably now, our abused souls were reunited in an embrace.