For many of my friends, she would be the most beautiful girl one has ever seen. And I did not even liked her. Actually, I hated her, every single part of her body drived me crazy. So, think about the whole lot of it…
I have been her older sister for so many years. And one day, I just decided I would not be anymore. Just not. If she had been mean or anything, I could have handled it. But how do you do with such exquisite behaviour, kindness at all times, softness in voice and tone, and a perfectly shaped mind and body ? She was one of those girls who will never be cynical because their beauty have driven them far above that. In my family she was a wind of joy in a house of despair… and I was the despair. I would have been her nemesis if she could even have thought of hating me.
But occasionnally when we were little girls she would bandage my finger I had cut trying to cut hers. What evil is that ? Her soft hands would caress mine and she would do nothing but turning her blue sad eyes on my hand, failing to understand my hate.
I cursed her every night for being so little and so perfect. When she played with those dolls in porcelain our grand-ma had given to us, I could not tell which one was the doll and which one the girl. The same pale face, the same large eyes blinking slowly under her red hair, the same white neck I would have bitten if I could, and even when she moved she had the stillness of a doll.
She looked like her doll, and I broke mine.
I knew everyone loved her for being so cute and were barking after me because I was not. They told me it was ridiculous to even think that, but I knew they said that to look like good parents, loving and caring ones. Her sweet beauty brought every kindness to her, and only the rough words were left for me.
Sometimes I would spend hours in the bathroom, everyone in the house running, and barking, and screaming, and begging me to get out, but I just looked at me for hours in the mirror to find in me something of them. Something of my strong father. Something of my energetic mother, something of my sister, my sister full of grace. But every time I watched, I only saw me. No glimpses of beauty, no clues of elegance. I could only see a little girl, not so little, with scratches on her knees and face, and everywhere this kind of banality you can’t even describe because you never really watch it, even when you try. Looking at myself was boring. At the moment my eyes went on my body and face, my mind was already thinking of something else, trying to fight the uselessness of this sight. No, there was nothing of my parents in me. Maybe I wasn’t their daughter. Maybe they had adopted me and would not tell me about it. Maybe my real parents were dead and I had to wear the ugliness of their accident, or their murder, on me. Maybe that is why I was a little girl looking like a corpse : a daughter of corpses, a single child. Once again everybody told me it was ridiculous, even to think about it. But I know it could have been true. It must have.
And everyday my sister became more beautiful and fresh, and I was only older. Until that day I just decided to go away. I was really young, but I left everything, found a job as far as possible from this beautiful family, I had a husband -not a bad one- and a child, time went by and I didn’t think about my sister anymore… but I was still so angry when I met beautiful people ! Beauty has many shapes, but is always the same. The same harmony and the same challenge to the entire world, and me particularly.
And today I ran into her. Litteraly. I was running by the river, she was running too, a man jumped in the water, we both looked in direction of the noise and… we ran into each other. We had a good laugh at first, but at the exact moment our eyes met I knew it was my sister, and she knew I was hers. She was really taller than I remembered, but still so pale and soft. My anger grew violently in a second. She didn’t seem to care, and asked me if I had a moment to speak a little.
_…
_ « Good. It’s been a long time. » I know, it was the idea actuallly. But I could'nt answer. _ « I am so happy to see you again ! What have you been doing all this time ?! »
_…
_ « Ok… I am an intern right now. In an hospital not very far from here »
She said « intern », but I heard « nurse ». I could picture her as some nurse ninety years ago, turning her blue sad eyes on some war injury. Every soldier would be in love with her. Every little boy, too.
_ « You don’t speak very much. I understand… You know, I need to tell you… »
She really wanted some help. I could see the words trembling on her lips, but no sound came. And finally :
_ « Dad died a few years ago ». Was it possible ? Of course it was possible. Of course she was there, at his bed, with him, talking to him like an angel to reassure him, to lead him softly to the death. She was the one to help him, and I was the one to wear the horror of his death on me and my face.
_ « … maybe you could say something, you know… »
_ « What do you want ? » These were my first words to her after years and I could hear in my voice the same angry little girl I was when I insulted her and her doll. Maybe if I could really hurt her, her face would distort, her body would move under her hiccough and tears, and maybe then she could be ugly. Or even worse : commonplace.
But she wasn’t hurt enough. She had her hand on her belly, I had hit her.
_ « I want… I want my sister back. »
_ « That’s silly. I’m not your sister, you know that. We might have had the same parents, but we have nothing in common, nothing to keep us together. »
_ « You are stupid. Or crazy. Maybe both. »
_ « I am not stupid ! I had to endure your humiliating beauty every day of my life. Every day I had to wake up knowing that I could have been you, but I am only me. I will never have the chances you got in life, just being splendid as you are ! It’s unfair ! I don’t want to live with this ! »
_ « You are crazy ! We are identical TWINS, you stupid ! You have the same face as me, the same voice, and even the same body. We are equal, everyday of our life ! How can’t you accept that ? »
Twins, twins, twins, we are twins, I know we are twins, I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear I had the same chances as you. You stole my beauty and my identity. I have to say this :
_ « You are the perfect doll, I am the broken one. »
_ « The perfect doll ? Great ! I don’t want to be the perfect doll ! It’s boring ! See, after you left I had this car accident and… »
She lifted her skirt to the top of her leg. A huge scar was running from her ankle to her hip.
_ See? I can make stupid things too !
But I wasn’t listening to her. I kept looking at this scar and I could not get off my mind how ugly it was on this soft skin. This leg was unfinished, unclosed, roughly sealed. All of a sudden, I could see the broken doll in her. As my eyes were going up her scar I could see every broken things I had not seen before in her. I could see how she never sang in tune, and sometimes even whistled things atrociously. How she always torned my books cover and give it back to me with chocolate or cream on it. When I looked at the knee I was thinking about her being afraid at butterflies, and how she always implacably killed everyone of them, especially at night when they were like stuck on our lamp. When I looked at her thigh I thought of those boys she dated : the most stupid and selfish boys on the earth, they all came in our basement to see her in private. I thought of her way to scratch her cheek when she was embarassed or had nothing to say, leaving a small red mark. I remembered how her white skin became red or pink after just two minutes under the sun, just like mine. I remembered she was as much a broken doll as everyone. And when I came to the hip, there was no scar anymore. There, I thought about me, my husband, my sad blue eyes, my white skin, my soft voice and how I see the world. Maybe my doll is not that broken after all…
She was still talking and I said :
_ « Could we see each other tomorrow ? »
She looked at me with her stupid eyes, and I did not even liked her yet, but I loved her having stupid eyes.
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