Nostalgia

Among all the black ghost dressers, only the red-green parrot caged by the porch seemingly caught all the colors in the funeral. I am Jenna Carsons or Field, and by the driving license I own, my lifespan is stated to be 27 years, 49 days, 15 hours and 34 minutes. While my other twin Miranda Carson adoringly known as ‘Annie’ ‘s existence lasted 5 days, 11 hours and 30 minutes less due to a car accident.

As twins we swapped something significant, I gave up my 15 years of life recollections in amnesia and she gave up her vibrant life. After 3 days of immense suffering and unconsciousness; I awoke to start a life with my already lawyer husband and my occupation of an office interior designer. Funny, because all I could imagine after waking up was how desperately I longed to be a bird keeper and my sister aimed to be a racer.

As we all bustled in my mother's home where my only memories worth 13 years lasted, relatives became forthcoming with their mournful condolences, sorrowed glances and nastiest gossips in the corner, about Miranda. I wanted to scream for people to be elated upon my miraculous return. While I might not share profound fondness for my twin but maybe it's time to stop the evocation and let go of the strained twining bond.

My husband, Dylan, who is missing a smile, and amissed from the greater part of me is standing around the corner, towering over Ronald, my first love. My most precious reminder of Ron was by backyard where he pushed the swing so high and I flapped my wings like I could fly by. But now as I sit with settled life laid out, an epiphany went out where I felt powerless in front of a past I left and a fresh start I hoped.

My mother, who adored Annie more which she will never endearingly admit, sat on the couch beside me. She visibly looked thinner and wrinkly than before yet her essence of rose body wash creates nostalgia and affirms how much I still despise it. Shifting from my position I forced my urge down to sprint, probably too petrified.

Jenna, a second best to my mother, wondering will I ever be her first prior? Now that I know she can no longer compare who wore the dress best despite it’s patterns being the same; or who could ride the bike better. Life landed both of us on the same ground where she is distraught and I am perplexed by the loss. Shall I be her favorite now? The one she confides in, and starts with a refreshing detour amidst us. Only us of no bounds from the past.

My mother cleared her throat and spoke, “The policeman is waiting outside. I would like it if you can figure out why you both landed in such a horrific situation and brush up your memories to own up.”

I smirked, she hasn’t change, “Yes, mother.” It’s all I could utter besides the fact that is all she desired to hear, not how I coped of amnesia. So, despite my threatening tears, I had to sort my memories in order for my mother to reach the conclusion that it occurred solely due to my fault; just like I had to be blamed when the ball hit the window by Annie’s kick. I visualize the window shattered to pieces just like my hopes for my mother's love. I stood and went to the back porch where a stiff yet exhausted policeman stood on his toes, and a lit cigarette burning up my nose. The smell indicated an irritation although the familiarity of the scent belonged to my husband who was watching us from the other side of the large hall through the window.

“Hello, Mr…? “ I momentarily paused. As he turned from his backside to face me, a nameplate indicating his family name to be “Mr. Larrence. I am Jenna. My mother said you wanted to talk.” Larrence watched me with slightest pity he could afford and gave me the best smile his 40s age could afford. He wasn't bulky though somehow I doubt he worked out. A stupid incoherent thought; but for now I wanted to be oblivious that my now estranged husband had conversed and peeped into the whole circumstances before me. The evidence lies in the matching cigarettes he is having and the box Dylan had in his pocket. With an extended hand, he gruffly spoke, “ Well, yes, Jenna, but only if you are fittingly able to provide me with some answer. I am extremely sorry for your loss.” I half smiled, knowing it would be impolite because he would sense that I am not sharing the same empathy of the loss I pretended to.

“Well, I believe you have already gone through my medical files. All I remember is crashing my blue tricycle as a stone made me lose my balance and I fell. I don’t recall much after." I gulped to minimize the pacing heartbeat sound.

“Mrs. Field, I realized that your sister and you shared a bit of hostility, with the information your mother confessed. We have few voicemails from your phone which clarifies her statement. You met your sister occasionally despite never alone. So, the reason you both went for a drive on the freeway in the middle of a Monday with slashed tires of your Ms. Carson's car, is a loop unsolved.”

He tightened his lip thinly as if to think and improvise what he wished to express. Failing, he handed me a manila envelope. I took it with a shaky hand since the whole incident occurred in ripples of my memory at a rapid pace; which I mentally slapped myself to stop immediately as it ached everywhere in my body.

“ I .. I… I have no idea.” I stuttered yet somehow effortlessly opened the manila envelope to find pictures of a car barely hanging from the cliff as one side bent so badly. I concentrate on the blood trails, our bloods intermixed, sending a haunting memory of my sister's eyes which matches mine. It was enough to close my eyes and feel a tear slipping by. I do sense the tremors of my own body as I almost fall on my knees gasping for the lost air. Someone grabbed me by an arm. But even when I fell, to a spiral pitch of my past; I wasn’t willing to forsake it all; as I prayed it ended there right now.

When I opened my heavy eyelids , I was sensing the darkness engulfing me and a weight pushing me towards gravity. As I tried to hold onto something to make me stop falling in the pit, I heard a loud scream of a man. I opened my eyes jerkily and my husband Dylan, held me and tried to shake me up from the nightmare. From the silver moonlight, I could see the platinum band of his finger engraved with my name. I am home, with him, nothing is lost and probably Annie is fine, sleeping with her new fiancée Ron, who fancies my mother more than any of us.

“Are you okay, Cara?” my Dylan speaks with his full Italian accent from his mother’s side. He illuminates the room with the bedside lamp, and I could figure out why I fell in love with this man. His mused hairs, a bit darker circles beneath his eyes, his jawlines with a faded dimple mark on the right; are parts to be cherished. I am home. With my love, and the picture is perfect. No need to revolve around my past or incarnate the future. It's the presence of my present and that's all I desire.

Until I take in the unfamiliar background. It's not my home. It's my mothers’.

“Dylan, why are we here? Why am I not home?” I gasped carefully. Dylan looks at me cautiously as he winces before saying the words he doesn't wish to say just like when he forgets to turn off the oven in its required time and we end up having burnt lasagna and a fire alarm on the ring.

“Cara, what I am about to say, please listen to me with ease.” He breathes heavily, while trying to hold me down. “ You and your sister had an accident by the hillside of 64A Freeway. I don’t know how you met her there because you didn’t give me any heads up that you were going to hangout. But somehow you both did, and she is…” Before Dylan could finish I jumped out of my bed with the strength I have left.

I don’t know where to run. I remember Annie. The white face resembling mine covered in blood while I could barely keep my eyes on. She held my hands and spoke “R…os..e. Ro…n. He…sme..lt…lik..ee..he..er” I wish it was all gone. The memories would just be of an evil twin who snatched my childhood love and was my mom’s ever favorite. But it wasn’t. I ran as I breathed heavily, standing on the porch. The parrot which my sister gifted me on our birthday, and I blatantly refused, also ziggled its wings, rattling the cage sensing my presence.

In the silence of the misty night its shrill voice echoed in my ears as he rhymes, “Ronald, Ronald, Mum, Mum shooooooooosh, tires, shooooooosh,” It all clicked and fell into a sequence piece by piece.

Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed me from behind as I leapt a feet high from the ground only to be caught by Dylan. “ Cara.” He whispered. I started sobbing in his arms, attempting to find a bit of solace before I stirred up the storm. I lifted my head and I said,” Do you have the number of the police who are investigating?” Dylan furrows his brows and widens his eyes in realization.

“Do you know how it happened?” he spoke in a rush. “Yes, I have Larrence’s number. Wait.” Within a minute my husband returns with a phone tapped on his ear and he passes it to me.” Here.”

I held the phone while from the other side a gruff voice spoke, “ Hello, Jenna, are you there?”

“Yes.” I said. I took a deep breath to find any courage I have left in me.

“It was Ronald and my mother. They slashed the tires. Annie saw them. Saw them together. My mother and him. My sister, Annie was never number one.”

I crashed on Dylan's arm with tiny sobs that felt it went on for hours. I tried to assemble the broken parts of myself in order to stand strong. For my new self, and old.