The last time I saw my twin sister's face, I told her I didn't want to see or speak to her again. Not for a very, very long time.
Two weeks later, she was gone.
Gone.
Not dead.
But taken. Taken into witness protection because a man who'd stalked her for years had threatened the lives of her and her three girls. We had fifteen minutes to say goodbye over the phone. Only fifteen.
And that was almost six years ago.
It was the middle of May. The sky--impossibly blue. I remember the way everything around me darkened as I listened to her sobbing on the end of the line. Tethered to her pain by the spiraling cord and receiver of my office extension. The last, tangible link to my sister before the line went dead and she was gone.
I sat there, listening to the empty drone of the dial tone, locked in my body where an internal war raged. I wanted to call her back. I wanted to grab my things and rush to her place. I wanted to find her, and hold on to her. To see her face. Smell her. Feel her.
All futile and wasted things to want.
I could never pick up the phone again and hear her voice. Her apartment would be empty. Her email and social media accounts deactivated.
In the span of an hour, it was like she'd been snuffed out. With only the remnants of her that I held in my keeping to prove otherwise. Photos. Messages. Gifts and borrowed things I'd meant to return and never got around to because I thought...I thought there would be time.
Losing a sibling is hard, but there's something unnatural about separating twins.
If I could go back, I never would have said those words to her--spoken in anger, frustration. The kind of stupid thing sisters say but rarely ever mean. If I could go back further still, I would rewind to the night she met this loser and kept her far away from him. I would have protected her. Made sure she was safe. Because then she'd still be here, driving me crazy and making me laugh. She'd be here supporting me, cheering for my successes and picking me back up after my failures--telling me to try again.
She'd be here.
My other half.
Six years, and I struggle to remember the nuances of her voice. The unique pitch of her laugh. The devious sparkle in her eyes. I cling to the smallest fragments of details that slowly fade, despite my death grip on the past, because it's all I have left and I don't know if I'll ever see her again.
She was the only family I had. The only family that mattered. And not a day goes by where those words don't circle back to haunt me. Because words hold a deep, fathomless power and once spoken cannot be taken back.
I should have known better.
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**AN**
I know this isn't a valid entry for the contest - open only to American and Australians (le sigh), but I was too inspired by the theme, and the Six year anniversary fast approaching, that I felt compelled to write this piece. If only to purge a little bit.
Good luck to the valid entrants. I look forward to congratulating the winner :)
