Sister Light, Sister Dark

My sister was getting the party again.

Best of everything. Sweet sixteen, right? New phone, new computer, even a fucking brand new car. Her choice of flavor for the cake, no matter that I was allergic to it. Money lined up in all those fancy envelopes from all the relatives.

Tell me who’s the golden child without using those words.

The problem, which made this especially sucky?

She’s my twin.

It doesn’t matter who was born first. I was ignored, because my hair is mousy brown compared to her platinum blonde. Blonde is worshipped here; just ask all the family matrons with the most brittle hair on the planet from all the bleaching treatments over the years.

I refused to go when Mom finally, begrudgingly, booked me an appointment when her sisters mocked her for my brown locks. Give me the money instead, since I didn’t get the envelopes she got, crammed with money, and you lied and told everyone we shared it. Went into her fucking account, hers and hers alone.

Shockingly, I got the money. And she tried a few other times, too, and each time I banked the money where they couldn’t get to it. And then she started bringing home do-it-yourself bleaching kits, which I would break open and dump in the trash.

Bestie got a job, roped me in, and would pick me up so I could get there and back. No, don’t ask if I was paid under the table or not. I was a minor with parents and sister who would steal it if they could, what do you think? The money was saved for my future, and that’s all you need to know.

Then, one morning, I woke up – and my waist-length brown hair was gone.

I found it in the trash can, with a pair of scissors and another broken bleaching kit.

I was done.

So, at the party, I made it mine for once. This time I said it all, spilled it all, left her crying over he brand new phone and cake and car and fucking computer, after she broke my secondhand laptop in a snit fit.

I was out the door, rocking my pixie cut, the minute the screaming started.

I’d already cleaned out my room. Bestie’s dad is a lawyer, and a good one, from what I’ve heard. He was waiting outside my oh-so loving home, and when I dove into his car for protection, he was already pounding on the door, serving them with the court case papers.

Like I told the judge, I wanted my fair share, and proper emancipation. Freedom from a life where I was treated like a leech, not a daughter. Obviously I didn’t make the cut, seeing what she got and I didn’t. I even made sure to wear the outfit I was given to wear at the party, stains and rips and all. They got it from the dumpster at a secondhand store. Blondie got to wear a princess dress.

I had a good judge. I had an even better lawyer.

And I know how lucky I was to have both, since I can read Reddit as well as the rest of you. I got lots of tips, reading stories from people in the exact same situation as I was.

I heard they had to sell the house. I didn’t care; it’s not like it was ever my home. The money set me up for a good college ride, when added to my scholarships. All I did was study, since what else could I do in that house?

I also got Blondie’s brand new laptop, the third she’d gotten since the sweet sixteen party. She has a tendency to break toys when she doesn’t get her way. With all her tabs open, of course. I took great joy in taking over her Instagram and Tiktok channels, telling my story to the world.

She lost a lot of followers.

Me? Off I went to college, far away from my ever-loving “family.” My lawyer, Bestie’s dad, got my old phone. He told me he had such pleasure from sending all the cease-and-desist orders every time one sent a hateful message, that he never charged me.

Bestie also moved out, but to a different college. She’s living the life – got herself a career, a really nice guy, two kids, picket fence, the works.

I have a decent career, built out of busting my butt in grad and undergrad. My career fuels my passion – helping other kids get out of the same shit holes that I was stuck in.

Not everyone is lucky enough to have a bestie, and a bestie’s lawyer-dad.

I came out as queer in college, but I grew my hair back. It’s one of my few vices, and I’m sure as shi- er, certainly, not going to let those assholes in my past keep me from living my best life.

Besides, I have cats. As much as I love bestie as my heart-sis, and her kids as my heart-nibs, it’s amazing to come home to a cozy purring den.

And then a résumé came across my desk.

With a name I knew very, very well.

Funny, I don’t remember Blondie being at my college. Or in my Master’s courses. Or with the exact same information that was on my own résumé, but capped with blond hair. Was the little shit stalking me?

I immediately went to my boss and HR. Gave the hilights, including the court case.

Now, HR is nobody’s friend, but my boss is. The idea of an evil twin using my résumé and reputation to sucker someone into getting her a job was distasteful.

I had nothing to do with the Zoom meet they set up for the interview, or the fact that my boss pumped her for details, but the results were enlightening.

Oh, she was a sad case! Still blonde, but it wasn’t kept neat like those constant boutique services used to. The head of HR tried to be fair, but my boss played dirty. Soon he’d exposed her résumé as lies, and had her sobbing some sorry drivel about bouncing out of community college. Which I didn’t think was possible. Getting into college, I mean.

Which meant I lost my bet; I thought our parents would have bought her a diploma from some online “university.”

I called bestie, and her dad, too. They laughed when I shared the résumé, and the interview commentary. Her dad went and checked through his own sources, and came up with much more info. She bankrupted our parents, because they never recovered from the court case. But they couldn’t say no to her either, and consoled her with a Gucci bag. She crashed the car, of course, then Mom’s old jalopy, then Dad’s truck. Tried to marry some naive trust fund baby, and couldn’t keep her legs closed. The pre-nup was used to destroy her in court. The DNA tests on the kids didn’t help either, but her ex-fiancé got CPS involved, and the kids were taken. One of my aunts took them in.

The rest of my family? Well, none were helping to bail my parents out. Some still doted on Blondie, but didn’t dare give her money or stuff. Most were so shocked by what I said at the party – or by the court case, many were in the audience – that they just distanced themselves. Blondie got destructive at a few holidays after that, and the police had to be called, and that’s when the invites stopped.

Some actually did the almost-right thing, coming to my lawyer. They offered money, but he told them, too little, way too late. You saw the signs of abuse, and didn’t do a damn thing to help. Ignored everything because faaaaamily. Well, suck it, because she’s gone, and you have to live with what you’ve created.

And he slapped Blondie with some kind of fraud charges, for using my résumé as her own. And told the references she’d listed what she was doing, and they suddenly ghosted her.

I thought that was that. Karma, nice and neat, dust hands and move on.

Until she showed up at my job.

I. Was. Pissed.

She held up both hands, pleading, when I went to call security. “Please, please hear me out,” she begged.

I glared at her. “I will spot you one coffee. One. No money, no taking care of the parents, no kidney or other body parts, no paying anyone out of any debt or medical bills. Got it? Then get your carcass out of my city, and I never want to see or hear from you ever again. One hint of flying monkeys, and my lawyer gets to run you over again.”

She nodded, defeated. “Fair.”

I took her to my favorite cafe, as a warning. When I ordered, I pointed out Blondie, told them that she’d already tried impersonating me, and I was not responsible for any breakage or fits she tried to pull when I wasn’t around. I left the baristas and owner whispering when I took our drinks to the table Blondie picked out.

Of course I know her order – whatever’s trending at the moment.

I sipped on my regular, which is fortunately something she loathes. Suck it, bitch, that’s for all the birthday cakes I couldn’t eat.

She fiddled with her caramel macchiato double whip triple shot extra edible glitter and three pumps of pretension and arrogance. “Look, I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I would blame my undiagnosed bipolar, but-”

“No excuse. I’m not buying it. Besides the blond hair, what did you have, that I didn’t?”

She flicked her eyes at me, looked away. “Mom told me once, she wanted one of each. One girl, one boy. You were an extra, so you… weren’t needed.”

“Horse crap. I’m the elder. If nothing else, you were the extra.”

“Well, that, and I caught Dad having an affair. Then Mom. They were bribing me, and I loved it.”

“All you had to do was share.”

“Yeah, well, I was a kid.”

“So was I.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, the affairs didn’t last after the court case.”

“Nor the withering scorn from our family, from what I’m told.”

“Yeah…”

“So, cut the crap. Why are you here? I certainly didn’t give you my address.”

“I was hoping, I could come-”

“No.”

“But I’ve learned my lesson-”

“No.”

“Please! I need a place to stay!”

“Not here. Not now. Not ever.”

“But your life-”

“I earned it. I worked damned hard for it. I busted my ass, not other people’s things. I treated people like human beings. I worked hard to find my own place, with the people I want in it. And without the leeches that call themselves my family.”

“I’m your sister! Your twin!”

“Then you should have acted like it. Instead, you stalked me, stole my résumé, and now want to live with me? Did you use up your own life, so now you want to take over mine?”

I don’t know how it happened.

She made a sharp movement just as the table behind her stood to leave. One of the baristas was crossing, because my sister was getting louder and louder. The intersection of arm, chair, barista, Goldie’s purse, and tray with coffees was spectacular.

I was already scooting back from the table, but we all saw it.

Goldie’s purse flipped off the table, and spilled open.

The butcher’s knife and mouse-brown wig were almost a cliché, covered in spilled coffee and whipped cream.

Darling Sister tried to bolt, but I tackled her. The owner shouted that they were calling the police.

And I got to take some sweet photos of my evil twin, being cuffed and marched out. I was hard pressed before giving my statement, to tell work that I’d have to take a half day, and why. And my lawyer, who was taking a redeye, to gleefully press civil charges. He wanted to be front and center for the drama, and hopefully put her away permanently. Attempted kidnapping and / or murder charges took it up a notch.

Me?

Karma can be a bitch, but all I feel is sad.

A moment. One moment in time. That’s where the split started, gaining speed and distance from the choices we made.

Was it birth? My parents’ choices? My parents’ decision that I was inferior, therefore extraneous?

If they had been kinder, I might have been the boy Dad wanted.

If they had chosen the other way, would I be her? Would she be me? She couldn’t be her anymore, so wanted to take a literal stab at being me.

I needed air.

And my cats.

Luckily the officer taking my statement saw me shaking, and got me home.

I think I’ll hide under a purring blanket, and think of nothing for a while.