Sisters and Irish Twins

What are the chances of two sets of Irish twins on the same block? Actually, not so surprising when it’s the 1950s and both sets of parents are Catholic. Yes, Aria and I both had sisters born within twelve months of our own births. My sister, Jennifer, entered the family on my actual birthday, while Aria and Zora had birthdays a week apart. I don’t think I heard the expression Irish twins till college, but if I did, I probably thought it referred to actual twins, and didn’t have a derogatory connotation.

In high school, my mom worked in a local movie theatre and was fond of the era’s cinema stars. That’s how I got named Lauren. Mom loved the iconic scene in “To Have and Have Not” when Bacall, in that sexily husky voice of hers, mouthed the words, “If you want me, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow." Also, it didn’t hurt that Bogart was in the film as well. My mom looked a bit like the actress Jennifer Jones, a resemblance that several of her friends pointed out, so that’s how my sister got her name. As for Aria and Zora, their parents were musical, favored names that were unique, and liked repetitive sounds like Zora Donazetti. Aria’s mother, especially, was an opera fan.

Getting back to the Irish twins thing, my family actually was of Irish descent, but Aria’s ancestors hailed from Italy. Our prolific Neely clan soon expanded to five kids, while the Donazetti’s stopped at two. They joked that covering the alphabet from A to Z completed theirs, but we later learned they’d successfully practiced Vatican roulette. Our fathers, who both hailed from working class families, had served in the army toward the end of WWII, and had gone on to attend Marquette University on the GI bill. Our mothers were housewives who’d get together for coffee or tea when they needed a break from the constant chores.

I first met Aria when we moved to Newhall Street and were both assigned to Sister Mary Teresa’s second grade class at St. Robert’s School. Our sisters were similarly assigned to the same first grade class and it was this school connection that brought our parents together. The Donazettis had a big old apple tree in their backyard where we girls would sometimes gather after school and during summer breaks. Since the Donazetti girls had their own bedrooms, sleepovers were usually at their house as well.

That first year when we’d get together, we’d do activities like design outfits for our paper dolls, practice cartwheels and headstands, or play with other kids in the neighborhood. The Milwaukee River was nearby, but our parents warned us against going down the steep banks because of vagrants who frequented the area. On hot summer days, our parents would take us to swim at Gordon Park or Lake Michigan’s Bradford Beach.

Third grade had us reading Nancy Drew mysteries and hanging out in our mother’s kitchens to pick up dessert tips. Aria liked my mom’s pies, especially lemon meringue, and I was fond of her mom’s panna cotta. That was the year we got a parakeet and my mom taught it to say “pretty Perky!”

Our elementary school years slipped by like this and then, the summer before seventh grade, my parents announced that we’d be moving. My father had gotten a new job with a better salary, so we could finally buy a house in the suburbs. Despite being Irish twins, Aria and I were the ones who were more like sisters. That was just one of the many things we had in common. We both shed a lot of tears and vowed to keep in touch. Our parents promised that both sets of sisters could still have sleepovers.

***

“Lauren, phone,” said Jennifer, who’d hoped it was for her. “It’s Aria.”

“Hi, Aria! Are you still interested in going to the movies on Saturday?”

“Hi, Lauren! That’s what I’m calling about. Steve asked me to go to the football game this weekend and some friends are having a party afterwards.”

“Guess that means no.”

“What about a Sunday matinee? Then we can catch up.”

“OK, can you get your mom’s car?”

“Yes, I’ll pick you up at I:00. Can’t talk now ‘cuz Zora needs the phone, but I’ll see you on Sunday.”

I hung up the receiver and reflected on my long-term friendship with Aria. We were high school seniors now, Aria at a private school and me a public one. With five kids, my family had decided to send us kids to public schools, while money was no longer an issue for the Donazettis. Aria’s dad had finished his medical residency and was a practicing psychiatrist now, so though our families were still friends, social circumstances had changed.

Then there was the personality factor. Aria was extremely outgoing, while my shy bookishness marked me as a quiet introvert…an ironic twist on the tough, sultry woman who was my namesake.

On Sunday, Aria picked me up in her mom’s station wagon and we went to see “Tom Jones.” With our somewhat naïve, parochial school background, we found the pear scene deliciously scandalous.

After the movie, we stopped at the nearby ice cream shop for cones and conversation.

“How was your date?” I asked.

“Oh, Steve and I are more like friends, “ Aria replied. “We both know we’re going away to college and don’t want to get serious. Besides, the chemistry just isn’t there.” 

“Any decisions about what schools you’re applying to?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to Georgetown, Villanova, and Northwestern. My parents would like me to be closer to home, so we’ll see.”

We both knew that my options were limited to UW Madison or Milwaukee.

Aria was always cognizant that my family didn’t have the same financial resources as hers and was quick to pick up a tab.

We continued to get together on weekends when I didn’t have to work at the supermarket, but I could see we were drifting apart.

Aria was accepted at Northwestern and agreed with her parents that it was the right choice for her, while I got accepted to UW Madison. In the spring, her parents treated us both to an overnight at the Palmer House in Chicago with tickets to a Broadway musical at the Schubert Theatre.

***

The following fall we wrote regular letters to each other about our freshman years in the dorm. Aria joined a sorority, while I started getting involved in anti-war demonstrations. She majored in French, while I was aiming for an English teaching degree.

Sophomore year, Aria and I met up in Chicago, to see a production of HAIR. By this time, we were swept up by those Bob Dylan lyrics that “the times they are a changing” and found the musical only slightly shocking. We laughed about high school memories and genuinely hoped for an end to the war.

When our junior year rolled around, Aria told me she’d be spending the summer out in California where her cousin Donna lived. She was also getting more involved with her sorority sisters.

By senior year, Aria was dating a fellow French major named Paul and their relationship quickly turned serious. Meanwhile, I kept busy trying to balance classes with my library job and film society fixation. In the spring, Aria announced that she and Paul were engaged and wanted to marry before he went off to graduate school out east. During my four years as an undergraduate, there’d been crushes, a few dates here and there, and one brief relationship, but nothing serious. Aria was always ahead of me in these life stages, and I had to admit a tinge of envy.

***

In the decades that followed, Aria and I continued to touch base from time to time. I happened to be backpacking around Europe when Paul was working on his dissertation in Paris, and I got to stay with them in their apartment on the left bank. I envied their close relationship as I heard them reading aloud from “The Great Gatsby” in bed one night.

Two years later, while visiting friends in New York, I took the train to New Haven and once again stayed with Aria and Paul. I got to see their baby daughter, Chloe, and once again felt that there was another milestone I was far from achieving.

But even late bloomers have their day in the sun, and mine came after I accepted an ESL teaching job in Italy. It amused me that my main connection to the culture was through the Donazettis and those memories of pasta dinners and cannelloni. I met my husband to be in Milan and we went on to have a son we named Ari and yes that was a nod to my old friend.

Though my relationship with Aria trickled to exchanging Christmas cards, I would hear about her from her mother who lived nearby after I returned to the States with my green card bearing husband. Aria was becoming increasingly celebrated for her French inspired mystery series and her husband was teaching at an Ivy League school. Daniel and I were happy, but still struggling financially. Always a step or three behind my childhood friend who had been even closer to me than my Irish twin when we were young.

A decade later, I heard from her mother that Aria had contracted a particularly virulent form of cancer and passed away. Suddenly, all those feelings of envy and personal inadequacy seemed so pointless. We never know what life’s vicissitudes will bring and I felt a terrible sense of loss.