Gifted

Chapter Seven

Chris

Sometimes I worry about my sisters. I watch Susan and Ellen as we are having dinner that night, and I can see at once that Susan is very sad about something. Ellen keeps looking at her, smiling sympathetically as she whispers something quietly to Susan, which seems to cheer Susan up a bit.

Being dicephalic twins (which is extremely rare—usually happens when one embryo splits into two to become twins but it doesn’t split completely or where they do split but then join back together later—and only one pair of twins has ever survived into adulthood), Susan and Ellen are seen by most of the rest of the world as, at best, fascinating curiosities, and at worse, sick freaks of nature who should be put down like dogs. It makes me sick how judgmental and stupid my fellow human beings can be to those who seem to be “different” in any way. When I look at my sisters, I don’t see a “two-headed” anything; instead, I merely see two people who happen to stand really close together all the time. What’s so weird about that?

If you talk to each of them, you’ll quickly see they are two very different people, something that wouldn’t be possible if they were simply one person who happened to have two heads: Ellen is more outgoing than Susan is, more willing to play adventurous sports (her favorite is rock-climbing, which is a little difficult as Susan is afraid of heights) and to run for student council (where she and Susan served in the ninth grade as Class Secretary and Treasurer, respectively—after Ellen talked Susan into it, that is). She also tends to be a little more bluntly honest than Susan would be; she tells you things as she sees it. Susan, on the other hand, is generally quieter, more prone to spending her time reading or else walking through the local park, taking photographs, a major hobby of hers, and she’s good at it too—she won a regional contest in fourth grade with her work. When she is upset, Susan doesn’t like showing her emotions to anyone, really, not even Ellen when she can avoid it, and will often try to downplay a situation upsetting to her out of not wanting to inconvenience anyone, but Ellen and I can usually tell.

As the four of us are cleaning up after dinner, I see Susan jam the remaining forks and knives pell-smell into the cutlery slot in the dishwasher and sighs audibly. Ellen pauses from lifting a stack of plates and glances at her, some silent form of communication passing between them, and they head upstairs.

I want to follow them, want to find out what’s the matter, but instinct tells me no: This is private, something only Susan and Ellen can talk about, though I’ve got a good idea what that is.

Olivia.

Olivia has been (oops, had been) Susan’s friend since they met in kindergarten. Last year, in August, Susan told us over dinner, quite nonchalantly, that she was going to marry Olivia if she could get her to agree with it! Ellen’s obviously known for much longer, as she didn’t even bat an eyelash at this candid pronouncement.

Mom just said, “That’s wonderful, Susan! I’ve always liked that girl...” and that was that.

Mom's question jerks me back to the present: “What was that about? Susan looked so upset.” She frowns, lines of worry creasing her forehead. “Should I...?”

I shake my head and she nods.

“You’re probably right,” she says, glancing toward the doorway to the stairs.

We are quiet for a moment, and my heart breaks a little as I hear a small, muffled sob or two from their bedroom. Poor Susan! Anger flashes through me as I realize the cause: Olivia and Susan must have had another run-in today, and it seems to have gone rather badly—sounds like they had a fight; why else would Susan be crying?

“I think it’s Olivia,” I tell her quietly.

She sighs. “I just want her to be happy,” she says, her eyes filled with compassion. “If that means adding a daughter-in-law to the family... She’ll find someone who makes her happy, I know it.”

I nod, finishing the dishes, and head upstairs a few minutes later. Their bedroom door is closed, so I knock quietly, and can hear Ellen trying to soothe Susan, who is crying again.

Ellen calls, “Come in,” and I open the door and walk inside.

They’re lying on their bed, Susan hugging a pillow to her face so I can’t see her. I go over to the bed and sit next to them, listening to Susan’s attempts to control her crying. Finally she is somewhat calmer and tosses the pillow aside, so I pull a few tissues out of the dispenser on the bedside table and give them to her.

She hugs me, saying, “Thanks,” in a choked little voice, and blows her nose. My heart breaks for her when I see her looking so sad and hollow.

“Olivia?” I say without preamble. She nods, a few tears leaking down her cheeks. I brush them away and she gives me a watery smile.

“Yeah. Today, Olivia stopped me outside the bathroom and she said—” Susan’s voice breaks and she drops her head down, hiding her eyes from me. “She said she’d been doing some thinking and that she has decided it’s time to transfer schools because...because... She says it’s too embarrassing!” She dissolves into tears again.

Part of me is mystified in a rather petty way: That really shouldn't be a legitimate reason for transferring schools.

Then my emotional side kicks in. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry you're still hurting over this.” I wrap her in a hug, Ellen watching her with a mixture of pity and concern. Susan turns and presses her face into my shoulder in an attempt to muffle her continuing crying. I stroke Susan’s hair, whispering soothing things in her ear, but I don’t think she’s listening to me.

Ellen touches Susan’s arm, and Susan turns to look at her mournfully.

“Susie,” Ellen says consolingly, “Olivia obviously isn’t worth your time if she keeps being angry, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Just forget her.”

Wrong thing to say. Susan bursts into tears again, and it takes us several minutes more to calm her down.

“Want me to get you anything?” I offer when she’s quiet, not sure what else I can do. She shakes her head, staring miserably out the window at the snow-capped backyard.

Nope.

“I kind of want to be alone right now,” she says softly. Ellen blushes and looks away from her.

“If there’s anything you need...” my voice trails off as Susan closes her eyes and turns her head to the wall, looking away from both of us.

The sight makes me want to cry too.

Ellen looks at me sadly. It’s going to take a while for Susan to work through this; until then, the best we can do is to just be here for her.