Waiting for the school bus on a morning of red and brown maples, the wind restless with a serrated bite, Rose had stood in defiance of the weather, bare-legged and bare-armed, her hair looped and fastened with elastic. Alethea, watching the back of her sister's head, measured her own seated form to Rose's contrapuntal stance - bag slung on one shoulder, weight transferred onto one hip, balanced with careless precision by a black two-ring binder enclosed in the curl of her arm. Rose's shirt hung out; Alethea's blouse was tucked in. Rose's tie was loose and crumpled; Alethea's was smart and ironed. Rose's hem barely extended mid-thigh; Alethea's reached down to her knees.
Alethea perched on a sandstone fence within her sister's shadow. She clutched a bag displaying school regulation colours, wore a school regulation jumper and duffle coat, and donned a school regulation hat with a turned-up brim to hide her lank mousy hair. Her arms were filled with books and she hugged them to herself for warmth. The taste of toothpaste was stale and cold in the bottom of her mouth. Her nose was beginning to run, and every once in a while she would press her hand to her cheek to cup in the heat that the wind so eagerly stole away.
"You have no resistance - no staying power, Allie," Rose had said in disgust, watching her twin dress. "You're so weak. Bundling yourself up in all that padding is just going to make you weaker." Rose herself did not even take a sweater to ward off the winter - as if to make a point.
Alethea could feel her sister's frustration at being so unequally yoked. Alethea was quiet; Rose was loud. Alethea liked to stay home; Rose liked to go out. The rest of the world envisioned twinship as an exclusive intimate world - shared secrets, mutual confidentiality, instant understanding and common loves. Perhaps Rose longed for such a companion - someone whom she could shop with, swap clothes with, try on make-up with, talk about boys with. On the other hand, perhaps Rose resented the bond forced upon them - the sharing of that zygote, the identical suits of clothes, the constantly paired photographs, the trap of never being able to be one without the other.
How early had Rose made up her mind to break away? How early had Alethea moved over (in the mental realm they shared, in that womb they called a house) to make room for her twin? How early had she retreated to the opposite side of that binary, to become as individual as individuals can be? Their differences became a wall she could never break down; two feet away, an untouchable twin.
The bus arrived and eclipsed the morning sun. Rose waved to her friends up in the back seat; Alethea sat down alone, just behind the driver. The doors closed, the vehicle lurched forward, and away they travelled while the maples rained down a red and brown carpet, tossed about by the wind.
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