Once Again

Once Again (2)

Monday. It’s Monday. But it’s not the familiar Monday I know, the one that has happened every seven days for the past three years. It’s not just the day that I get tutored in Spanish at the gym or the day that my mom has book club. It’s Monday: my first day at a real school in three years.

My alarm goes off at the same time it always does but today, unlike other days, my body rebels, begging for just ten more minutes of sleep. With the loud beeps comes an avalanche of memories flooding back into my mind. I remember the minor injury that started this whole mess; I remember my sister’s surprise appearance and intervention. I remember how Selena went to my mom and convinced her that I would be better off without gymnastics; I remember my mom’s decision that my half-sister was right. I remember the meeting which my entire family apparently had, in which they didn’t invite me but decided unanimously that I was a damaged, grief stricken child who needed to be forced to “live her life.” I remember cleaning out my gym locker, saying goodbye to the people I claimed were my friends, and I remember my mom signing me up at the public high school. I remember that my life has just taken a whole new direction.

I protested, heavily, against all this change. But now it is all done and official. The weekend gave me enough time to realize that I am not going to miss torturing myself at the gym every day. While I always hated gymnastics, it kept my mind off how much I hated not having my sister around. And now I’m scared. Scared and guilty. Scared of starting school; guilty for giving up on Allie’s dream.

I force those thoughts out of my head and force myself to slowly stand up. I drag myself into my bathroom, where I start to get ready for the day. I walk into my closet to find the outfit that my mom and Selena picked out for me to wear. The pair of fashionistas went through my closet for an hour last night, searching for the perfect ‘first day’ clothes. After complaining loudly that I didn’t have enough suitable clothing, they finally settled on a royal blue shirt with gentle sleeves to my elbows. Underneath the shirt sits a carefully folded pair of dark jeans. I never noticed just how many clothes were in my closet until I was sitting in there, watching my sister examine each and every piece of fabric. The number of shirts that I’ve never before worn or even seen is evidence of my mom’s shopping problem.

And though they are not genetically related, Selena shares my mother’s shopping trait; the only difference is Selena’s main focus is on shoes, rather than clothes in general. I slip my feet into the pair of navy flats that I apparently received as a Christmas gift from my older sister. I have to quickly recover once I’m informed that they were a gift; I pretend that I just didn’t recognize them from the angle, but that I really do love them and wear them often.

Maybe if Selena had actually been here for Christmas, I would have paid more attention to her gift. But as she was spending her time off from school with her boyfriend, I refuse to feel too badly about not remembering the gift. I learned yesterday that they broke up shortly after New Year’s, which explains why she was willing to sacrifice this weekend for a trip home.

With my carefully selected and pre-approved attire on, I return to my bathroom and stare in the mirror for a few moments. I think briefly about Allison and about how she would look on her first day of high school. I know, I know, she’d look almost exactly like the reflection I’m staring at, since we are identical twins; but when I imagine her in this bathroom getting ready for a first day, there is none of the nervousness and so much more confidence. Also, there is no way she would let someone else pick out her clothes for her.

I pick up my straightener, careful not to burn myself, and strand by strand, I straighten my wavy brown hair. With straight hair, I look even less like my imagination of my present day twin.

I apply a minimal amount of makeup and put a pair of tiny black studs in the holes in my ears. I try to convince myself that the girl in the mirror is Cara Finch; I try to force myself not to see Allie every time I look at myself. I try, but like always, I fail.

Connor drives me to school. He grumbles and groans about doing so, but he drives me to school. While we drive, he lectures me about not embarrassing, talking to, or even looking at him while we are in school. He reminds me that this is his school, and I am just visiting. When he puts the car in park, Connor looks over at me, and he finally notices that I am centimeters away from a panic attack. He lightly punches my arm and says “It’s going to be fine, Cara. You’ll do great.”

I take a few, deep, difficult breaths. Connor continues to try to reassure me. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s not really that scary.”

Connor turns off the car and slides the key into his pocket. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you to the office.”

It takes three more deep breaths for me to feel confident in my ability to walk in a straight line.

One more breath and I get out of the car. I follow behind my big brother, feeling incredibly small as I approach the large, menacing brick building. “The office is there,” he points to the first door once we enter the school. "Just tell them you registered last week.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly, but don’t move. Connor doesn’t waste any time, however, and he resumes walking down the hall, saying to hi to a couple people who pass him. 

I walk into the office and after several deep breaths, I introduce myself to the receptionist. She hands me my schedule and walks me to my first class. I awkwardly interrupt the teacher, and then find a seat. I get lost on the way to Spanish, and am forced to walk in fifteen minutes late to that class as well. I locate my chemistry class with more ease, however the teacher forces me to introduce myself to the entire class, which does not make me happy.