Gifted

Chapter Five

“My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.”

― George R.R. Martin

. . . .

|Wednesday|

Ellen

“Hey...hey, sleepyhead, wake up!”

The image fades, that dream I’ve always had, the one of me and that special someone, whoever he is, walking down the aisle, and my sister isn’t with me for once.

“Hey, Ellie, wakey-wakey!” Susan, my twin sister, says to my right. With a sigh, I open my eyes and turn my head, seeing Susan there beside me as always. She lifts her hand and brushes the hair out of my eyes before I can do it myself.

“How you feeling?” I ask cautiously; unpleasant images of the days before squirm through my unwilling brain like gross worms—I try to push them away, but it’s like pushing at sand; more just rushes in to fill their place.

Susan grimaces and I immediately tense, ready to help get us up and running for the bathroom if she needs to go. A moment later, though, Susan’s green mood seems to pass and she relaxes. I still make sure to listen closely, though, for any unordinary sounds, uneasy motions, and other signs of discomfort. I find none and allow myself to breathe out in relief. Must have simply been a memory, like I just had.

“Yeah, I’m feeling so much better, Ellen,” Susan says with a smile. I’ve missed that smile and am happy to see it again: She was so sick over the last two and a half days that she barely grinned once. “Glad that’s over with!”

“So, time to get ready for school?” Susan says. I nod, swinging my leg over the side of the bed, and Susan follows with hers. We stand up and walk over to our shared dresser in the closet. “I’m fine with jeans and a t-shirt today, and you pick the color,” Susan says, surprising me; usually mornings are a struggle as we try and decide what to wear. I nod and open the first drawer for the necessary undergarments, the second drawer for a pair of jeans, and then going to the third for our shirt. I lay out the clothes so they’ll be ready after the shower, as Susan grabs a brush and starts attacking the knots in her bed-hair. I imagine mine looks the same.

Afterward, we dress and walk downstairs and into the kitchen, where our sister, Chris, and Mom are, eating breakfast.

“Hi, sweeties. Susan, are you feeling better, honey?” Mom asks, standing up, and goes to her, pressing the back of her hand to Susan’s forehead to check.

Mom has long dark red hair, which she likes to wear in loose waves, and she is dressed today in jeans and what she calls her “lazy-day” shirt: It’s a big, soft sweatshirt, colored leaf green, and with the mantra, Give Love, Will Travel written in a red loopy script on the front. Today’s one of her rare days off as the market executive of Nextor, a company that designs a wide variety of vitamins and health supplements, and she clearly intends to enjoy her freedom to the max.

“Fever’s gone, that’s good,” Mom comments to herself. “Your stomach feeling ok?” she asks Susan, concern still in her eyes.

Susan nods. “It’s all good.”

Mom smiles and gives us a hug and two kisses on the tops of our heads. “You two have a good day at school, ok?” she says.

“Yes, Mom,” we both tell her.

. . .

Susan and I are conjoined twins. Dicephalic, I think the science-y term is. It’s really rare. Means we have two heads, though that’s quite rude, and rather incorrect: We share a single body and each girl has her own head, along with each of us being able to control, primarily, one arm and one leg. Our circulatory system is linked; when Susan was sick over the weekend, I felt sick too, but it was muted—more of a vague cold-like illness, and not blowing-my-guts-out sick like Susan was all weekend.

Yuck. One of the less pleasant things of being tied to your sibling all day and night is that you have to witness everything they do. I mean, it’s not that difficult because that’s just how it’s always been for us, but when one of you is really sick and the other isn’t...it’s kind of gross, to say the least. Oh well, nothing I can do about it, so I choose to be ok with it.

“Hey, Ellie,” Susan says, as she’s gazing out the bus window at the rainy Wednesday outside, “look over there.”

“Hmm?” I squint to where she is pointing. Our bus is stopped at a traffic light and Susan is pointing to a guy and a girl walking along the sidewalk, the guy pushing a stroller with a thickly-bundled baby inside. Cute.

“Awww...how presh,” I comment and Susan smiles at me.

“You want that someday, right, Ellen?” she says.

“Yeah, I totally do,” I tell her. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I can’t see how that’s going to work out for both of us, though. I guess I can always dream, right?

Susan glances at me for a moment and then goes back to looking out the window again. Sensing something is wrong, I touch her cheek gently. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just...” She goes quiet again. “Nothing,” she repeats.

This time, I give her space; she must be thinking the same thing I am, poor thing. I wish I could tell her that this will somehow work for both our benefits, but I really don’t see how it can. Somebody’s going to have to give.