The Gurlz--Who's Who

For "The Gurlz" (the hottest clique at Legion West High School in Opal Bay, Maine), life isn't all candy and roses.  Sometimes it's cauldrons and hemlock and potions and poisoned apples.  Throw in a few snakes and some lipstick, and you've got a typical day brewing.  But not only do they have to dodge tests and try to figure out how to pass without even showing up for school, now someone is out to get them.  And it isn't going to be pretty.

Meet The Gurlz:

First we have Addison.  All the boys love her.  Long legs.  Patent leather boots.  Spiked hair.  She may look like a girl who likes to always have fun, but cross her, and you'll learn to pay for it.

Then we have Dallas, the biggest tomboy you'll ever meet.  She loves sports and wears nothing but clothes that represent her favorite basketball team: The Walkers.  Even though this girl seems all-boy-all-the-time, she secretly is out to take all of Addy's boys, one by one, until Addy has nothing left. 

Then comes Phoenix.  Ruby haired, and a personality to match, she is considered the most beautiful (and the most dangerous) witch at Legion West.  It's a good thing the Gurlz have her on their side.

And everybody loves Parker.  Or so she thinks.  Parker loves to sing and dance.  And answer fifty text messages at the same time while in a conversation with you.  A sharp mind, and an even sharper tongue, she can cut you down size all the while calculating mathematical formulas in her head.  Parker is the girl everyone loves to hate.

Here comes Casey.  The girl in pink.   For real, the girl wears nothing but pink.  She was homecoming queen last school year, and hopes to be again, as this is their last year in high school.  She's also class president and likes long walks in the parks.  But she has a dark side she keeps hidden from the rest of the world (and from the Gurlz).  Too bad nobody will find out about it until it's too late.....

Morgan.  Dear, sweet, mousy Morgan.  The girls don't like her, but she drives a convertible and her family has lots of money.  And they travel a lot.  So she's always left home alone with nothing to do.  Whatever shall she do?  After meeting The Gurlz, she learns that being a "good girl" isn't all it's cracked up to be, and soon, it's all out war.

Revenge

Envy 

 

Anger

Selfishness 

Deceit

Rage 

Some girls make the bestest of friends.  

And some........are out to destroy each other.

Find out which, in The Gurlz. 

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Book Review: Blackbird House by Alice Hoffman

I just read both Coreography by Corey Feldman and Blackbird House by Alice Hoffman at the same time.  I feel I should tell you about both of these wonderful books.  First, I will start with The Blackbird House.

The idea that there is a house out there somewhere, filled with stories of love, tragedy, fire, birth, death, and otherwise, that spans over many, many generations and time frames, and the idea would be if that house could talk, that's what Blackbird House is.

Hoffman's prose is kind, gentle, harsh, and beautiful, all at the same time.  Her stories are timeless, as shown throughout the book, with repeating tales each one.  One being the blackbird that turned white.  Another, that no matter how hard you try to run away, life will always catch up with you.  And yet another, home is where the heart is.

Very few books make me cry.  And this book did with more than one story.  And rather than being a book of short stories disconnected from one another, each one was connected by a thread.  Sometimes that thread was the house, and sometimes it was the people.

This book made me long for my summer home growing up.  It was in a small town, with a private beach for those who owned homes there.  We'd get up and spend everyday at the beach, at the Ben Franklin in town, or out in the swamp--that was swallowing half of our neighborhood whole--catching frogs.  Life was easy, and simple and sweet.  And that's just what Blackbird House is: from the moment it was built by a lovestruck husband who'd give his wife anything in the world, to the girl who's parents bought it on a whim.  

Now I feel like I have to visit the cape in Massachusetts (the place at the end of the world), to see if the air really does smell sweeter or if the light is different from everywhere else, a peach light, a summer light.  I wanted to be there as I read it's stories.  For the stories are not Hoffman's, they belong to Blackbird House.

If this is ever turned into a movie, this song should be it's opening credit song, as when I listen to it, it seems to go well with the feeling of the entire book.  Even the lyrics fit quite well:

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The Other Half of Me: Part Eight (Conclusion)

We all walked out to our cars together, Norma with me and James with Sarah. It had been four months since that cold February day when Sarah and I got the letter. Our birthdays had come and gone, and now it was James' time to celebrate. Norma's was in November, so we had a while yet. And I knew I couldn't wait that long.

I decided earlier that day I was going to tell her about the letter. The truth this time. Last time we had told her what she wanted to hear out of love. Now I realize it wasn't completely out of love, but also out of fear. And fearing the truth was not the way I wanted to live my life.

I also realized that I was living a lie not only with Norma, but also with Sarah and James too. He had eventually come around to the idea of me being his sister. He even started calling me that from time to time, but each time he did, it stung me like a hot needle piercing my heart. I had taken his trust and manipulated it for my own intentions while pretending it was the best thing for everyone else.

And it wasn't that I was getting weary of Sarah, but she seemed completely unfazed by our lies to her family, perfectly content to feed them any BS they wanted to hear. I didn't work like that. And her lack of remorse for it seemed to jar me a little. It was just so much of the opposite of myself.

As I said my goodbyes to my supposed brother and sister, I got into my supposed mother's car and rolled down the window when she turned the ignition. Heat poured out and cooler night air poured in.

“You were a bit quiet tonight, Sweetie. What's going on?” she asked as she backed up out of the front row parking stall, adjusting her glasses on her face.

I took a deep breath in. “I just have something to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Why didn't you say something before we left?” She pressed the button to roll her side down, too.

“It wasn't the right time.” I closed my eyes and let the air pour over my face as I neared the open window. I wanted to remember this moment, this space in time when my fate hung in the balance, before I lost everything I came to love.

“Hmm, and now is? Okay then, let me find a good place to park.”

“We can go to your house if you like,” I replied. I really didn't want to be stuck in a car with her when I told her the truth.

“No, I prefer to do my big talkin' outdoors. I love nature and its a gorgeous evening out,” she flashed me her perfect smile.

“Okay, the arboretum?” I always loved that park, with nothing but a hundred year old trees everywhere you looked. It seemed like the perfect place to say goodbye to her.

“Perfect!”

She drove up Mulford and almost missed the turn-in because it was a driveway hidden by a fence. The arboretum itself was a piece of the next-door neighbor's land at one point, but they donated it to the city so everyone could enjoy its spacious grounds with ginormous trees everywhere you looked.

The gravel crunched beneath our tires and sunlight, which spoke of day's end, flitted through the treeline which gave an ethereal feeling to the entire drive in. It was calming to pay attention to something other than the task at hand.

We parked, and got out of the car and I perched myself on a large boulder near the entrance.

“Let's walk,” Norma motioned me to follow her as she went into the grass area.

We walked in silence for around five minutes when Norma spoke. “What's this all about, Emily?”

Her warmth always made her words sound like butter. No matter what she ever said to me, or anyone for that matter, never sounded mean, hurtful, judgmental, or anything what I used to a mother sounding like.

I drew in my breath and cleared my throat. “I decided that I can't live a charade anymore. I need to tell you the truth.”

Norma stopped walking and looked at me. “You are king of scaring me.”

“Well, I'll just come out and say it. Four months ago Sarah and I got our DNA results.” I pulled the letter out of my jeans pocket. “And, well, we never actually opened it.”

She looked stunned and looked at the envelope in my hands. “What? You two told me that...”

“Yes, we told you the results were positive. Sarah and I thought because you already lost a baby once, that if they were negative, that losing me again would be too hard for you. You were so happy when you thought I was her. How could I break your heart again?” Tears welled in my eyes.

She put a hand on my arm. “Emily, how could you be so sure my heart would have been broken? You never opened the letter?”

I jolted back. “What? You're not angry with us? With me?”

Norma laughed and reached out to pull me into comforting hug. “Angry? What for? You did what you felt was right to protect me, I feel honored you thought that much of me, with hardly knowing my family at all. You wanted to keep my family happy and safe. What is there to be angry at?”

I let myself be hugged, even though I wasn't much of a hugger. It felt good to feel loved. “But I lied to you.”

She pulled back and looked into my eyes. “Lies are only bad when the are malicious and meant to hurt people. You did what you did to save me from more grief. It's okay. And as long as you and Sarah are as close as you are, what harm have you done?”

I hadn't expected to be accepted by her. I had expected for her to freak out, to leave me at the park and drive away. She had every right to. I wasn't used to being around those who didn't feel that every move I made was selfish, even if this choice was for a little of that reason.

“So, are we opening this letter together? Is that why you brought it with you?”

I smiled. “If you're ready.”

“Oh Sweetie, I don't need a silly letter to tell me what I already know. But if opening it will make you feel better, then let's do it!”

“You honestly believe I am your daughter?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “No, I don't believe it, I know it.”

I hesitated before ripped it open. “What if it says I am not? What then? What will we do?” My eyes searched hers for some sort of knowing. She seemed to be firm in her belief, I just wanted to see if it was something that I could pick up on, something I could assimilate.

“I will humor your question, even though I know its not needed. So if that letter says you're not my blood daughter, I will fucking adopt you.”

My eyes widened as I burst out laughing, as did she. “Oh god! Twice in one night! That's a record for you, isn't it?” But then I realized what she had just said. “Wait, what? You'll adopt me?”

“Yes,” she stated. “I will adopt you. You are my daughter, whether that letter says you are or not, okay? Can we just open it now?”

Tears welled up in my eyes again. I could not believe what I was hearing. She would adopt me? All my life I had been someone to throw away, to forget about. Someone who was only good enough to be around when it was favorable to others to do so. I wasn't someone people wanted. I wasn't someone people needed in their life.

“Why?” I asked through my tears.

She put her arms on my shoulders to hug me again. “Because. You are a part of us now. I don't care if my blood courses through your veins or not. That baby I lost thirty-eight years ago isn't you even if it was you. Know what I mean? I can't replace that time I lost with my twins, all those years. But I have you now. Get it? I don't need to replace her anymore.”

My body heaved in sobs as she held me. I wasn't allowed to cry as a child, but it felt like everything I was supposed to be, supposed to have, was in that moment while she held me and let me cry. She was my mother, the one I was supposed to have. That moment was what my entire life until that point was made for.

And that was it. It was all I needed. The grief from the lies I thought I was living for the past few months disappeared. I cried until there was nothing left inside of me to cry about. I cried until I was empty.

And suddenly the wind picked up and threw our hair in our eyes, and storm clouds came charging in from the West. I reached down to my right hand with my left and took the envelope in both hands and tore it into little pieces, over and over again, until they were pieces of confetti.

And I let them go, into the wind, into oblivion, which carried them up past the hundred-year old trees and beyond. They swirled above us in a vortex of air and then like magic, they vanished.

We stood in that spot, the place of our becoming, the place of our pact between mother and daughter, and paid reverence to what has just transpired. We held hands and let the wind blow our secrets away: our shame, our fears, our pasts, our everything. And the rain came down and christened us with our new lives, our new future—together, as two halves of one. As hearts are infinitely divided, yet infinitely spaced with room for anyone who deserves to be there.

When we finally left that space, hair and clothes soaked, we drove home in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence No, it was a sacred silence between two women who had undergone a deep transformation together, content to just be in each others company without a word spoken between them. Content to just be, with the other half of me.

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Fragments: Jessica's Life in Stories - Story Three

She sat down in the waiting room after checking in and slid her worn copy of Turtle Moon out of her purse, one she had read at least three times before.  Alice Hoffman was her favorite author, ever since she saw the movie Practical Magic when she was thirteen.  Back then she had wanted to be a witch, like those she saw in the movie.  Maybe her life would have went better if she had been able to cast spells on those who betrayed her.  Or at least had a family like theirs who didn't betray one another.  The love in that movie family was palpable.  She had wondered if real life families could ever be that way or was it only in fairy tales?

Nicole Kidman played the part of Gillian Owens, who's sister nicknamed her Jilly-Bean.  She wanted a nickname like that.  Or a sister that cared enough about her to give her a nickname like that.  But instead all she had was an angry, hateful sister who she wanted to smack regularly.  Oh and she had nicknames for her.  Just not ones she'd repeat out loud.

A stack of parenting magazines sat beside her on a table.  She ignored them and read her book in silence as she waited for her name to be called.  Laughter came from her left.  She turned to see two young men in their early twenties staring at her.  Back in her early teens, she may have smiled and waved back, but not today.  Not at age nineteen after having a baby.  Well, of course she didn't actually have any children.  It was a surrogate pregnancy.  But she had the figure of a mother, so at least she got something out of it besides the money, right?  The men turned away from her as she looked at them and pretended to play on their phones, trying to suppress the smiles on their faces.

She was used to the stares, as they came regularly.  She was a scathing beauty in her early teens.  She got compliments wherever she went.  There wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't admired in one way or another by strangers.  But ever since having a baby, they all stopped.  When she was pregnant, everyone knew and fawned over her growing belly.  But now, she was overweight without a baby to show over it.  So, she had to figure out a new way to get attention.  So, in a rash decision a week before, she got out a shaver and gave herself a mohawk that was three inches high and dyed purple with dye she got from the neighborhood punk store.  It wasn't a large mohawk, but it was wild enough to get attention.  That, added to her size, made for an unusual combination that generated a lot of looks.  Just the thing she was going for.  Attention was attention, whether it was positive or negative.  Eventually she'd tired of the negative and find a way to make it positive again.

Her mother hated how she looked.  But she was comfortable with her mother's hate.  It had been there for so long, she didn't know how to live without it.  And the idea of getting pregnant at age eighteen only to give her baby away did nothing for their relationship at all.  Although Jessica was more convinced her mother was angry she had ruined her figure with pregnancy and shaving her hair off, rather than losing a grandchild.  But the truth was, Jessica had stopped being a stick-figure many years ago.  Her preteen years left her round and curvy, but as she got into her older teens, the curves turned into jiggles.  Small jiggles, but jiggles nonetheless.  And her mother was always there, pointing this fact out as much as she could.  But never as much as when she was pregnant or after giving birth.

"After I had you, I was back to a size two in a month!" she'd screech at her.

"Yes, you starved yourself and worked out obsessively until you'd pass out!" she'd reply with a finger in her mother's face as she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, but it worked, didn't it?  I have never had a weight issue like you do.  Because I know the meaning of hard work!" she'd yell right back.

Jessica would storm out and go home, to the apartment her surrogacy money paid for a year back.  With it being private and not through an agency, there were no rules, so she demanded she got paid at least three-fourths of it up front to pay for expenses.  The couple ended up paying her more than agreed upon, much more than any agency would had paid her.  Unlike her mother, she knew the meaning of doing less work for more money, which was a far better way to live in her opinion.

Jessica had never mourned her child.  Because, at the time, she had convinced herself it was never her baby to have.  There were recent nights, though, that she'd rub her still-swollen belly in bed, and remember what it felt like to have life inside of her.  To be honest, she really didn't miss the actual baby. What she missed was being pregnant.  But it had only been six months since the baby was born, and it was too soon to get pregnant again.  The doctor had told her to try to wait at least a year, when she asked about it, if not more.  Being that her surrogacy was probably illegal due to her age, she had lied to them and said she has given the baby up for adoption (which wasn't a complete lie, she just got paid for it).  So she couldn't go back to the same doctor if she made the choice to do it again anytime soon.  What started out as a way to make enough money to leave her mother's home for good, seemed, now,  like something that might turn out to be her calling.

Surrogate motherhood.  Being pregnant could be her job.  Granted, it might not make enough to pay her bills forever, but if she played her cards right, she could afford to do a lot with it, along with working part time to cover the rest.  But if she found a way to become a professional private surrogate, maybe she could ask for more?  She smiled at the idea of living out her dreams.  A life away from her family.  Never really having to work a nine to five.  A cushy job with nothing but benefits. 

She didn't want to actually keep the children she'd eventually have.  Unlike other mothers who wanted the exact opposite of what she did, she just wanted to carry them.  Do their dirty work, so to speak.  Everything about being pregnant enthralled her.  Buying new clothes.  Parking in maternity spots.  Strangers asking when she was due.  The fussing over her during doctor's appointments.  Everything about it was thrilling.  Even when she has placenta previa during her second trimester: what other pregnant women saw as a horrible situation, she saw it as somewhat of an adventure.  The daily ultrasounds.  The hospital stays.  When the placenta eventually grew upwards with the baby and away from her cervix, she was almost disappointed.  But, soon that was replaced with constant heartburn and swelling of her feet.  Every little thing was a chance for being doted upon.

Deep down, Jessica knew her mother was jealous of her.  Whenever she would make a point of talking about the pregnancy, she would change the subject while Jessica was speaking, to revert the conversation back to herself.  When her mother was pregnant with Jessica's older sister, she was stuck at home with her own mother, living in Mexico, destitute, forced to panhandle for practically nothing.  Her mother, a local prostitute, made a few peso's a day, and they ended up having to live on the kindness of others.  Which in rural Mexico, meant absolutely nothing, as nobody had a pot to piss in, much less any food to share.   

Jessica's white American father had come into her mother's town as a Catholic missionary, saw her very pregnant mother, radiant with life inside of her, and he felt instantly in love (as the story went as her father told it) and "saved the day" (as story went as her mother told it).  Neither one spoke the other's language, but it didn't matter.  He brought her back with him, gave her food, a safe place to live, and that was that.  Later, she popped out two more children with Jessica being the third and final child.  Eventually her mother learned enough broken English to get by in life, but not enough to make any lasting relationships with her neighbors or friends outside of her home.  Jessica was sure she preferred it that way.  Being unable to converse with the world around her, she could always be the victim that needed her children to take care of her.  But now, Jessica was the only one left, as her brother and sister disowned their mother years ago.  And with with her new found financial independence, she could do the same.

And the fact that Jessica had insurance with her first pregnancy (something her mother had never even heard of before coming to the states) drove her mother insane.  "You have no idea, mija, what it was like for me, you spoiled brat!  You should have to be forced to know what it was like to eat out garbage cans and not know if you'd live through the night.  Then you'd know what real life is like!  All you've ever known was luxury!"

It was true.  She had only known luxury.  Her father had been a high up official in their church and went on many missionary trips a year.  The church was very generous with their family due to her father's work (and Jessica assumed the pity they felt for them because of the generosity of her father for saving her mother from a life of poverty).  But the only luxury Jessica knew as monetary.  She never knew what it was like to have a mother say "I love you."  Or what it was like to feel any kind of love at all.  All she was knew was belittling, secrets, anger, violence, and domination.  "The man rules the roost!" her father used to chant while drinking beer after church on Sundays while he chased Jessica and her brother around with a belt.  She vowed to never marry.  She was going to be the one who ruled the roost in her home.  If she did ever marry, he would be a man who knew his place in life.  She was never going to turn into her miserable mother and constantly need others to do things for her.  Jessica learned at young age to only depend on herself.  She realized that when you can't even count on your own mother, then who else was left?

Her rules, her way, forever.  That was it.  That was her motto she lived by.  Now that she was of age, and moved out on her own, she implemented her motto every single day of her life.  Nobody was going to control her ever again.  Nobody.  Not even her mother, who could die bitter and alone, for all she cared.

She looked down at her watch.  Her appointment was eight minutes ago.  She laid her book down in her lap and sighed.  Two more minutes and she'd walk out.  She wasn't allowed to be ten minutes late to her appointments, was she?  No.  So therefore it stood to reason that nobody was allowed to be ten minutes late for her, either.  Respect was something you demanded in life, not sat around and waited to receive (the only thing she admitted to learning from her late father).  A pregnant woman came out of the closed door to the doctor's office and the two young men left with her.  Jessica tapped her fingers on her chair for as long as she could stand it.  Her watch clicked another minute gone by.

She looked around, annoyed.  There was nobody in the room anymore but her.  She picked up her book, thought about the characters.  If she were a witch, she'd just wiggle her finger at the nurse's area and her name would be immediately called.  But she wasn't a witch.  She was a mere mortal.  The clock ticked another minute that went by.  She may have only been a mere mortal, but she had the spirit of an angry witch who had had enough of waiting.  So she put her book nicely into her purse, pulled out her sunglasses and keys, and got up.  One more glance around.  Nobody was coming.

It wasn't all a waste, she thought to herself.  She had in less than ten minutes worked out more than most people do years.  She knew what her life plan was from that day forward.  And no matter what happened next, she knew it wasn't going to happen in the same town where her mother lived.  Just like her siblings before her, she was getting out.

She slipped on her sunglasses as she let the OBGYN's door slam shut behind her.  "Fuck 'em," she said aloud to the bright, sunny world around her.  "Fuck 'em all."  A smile spread across her painted red lips as she got into her blue Ford Acclaim and left everything she knew, and hated, behind.

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The Other Half of Me: Part Seven

 “Are you going to finish that?” I asked James, poking his steak with my fork.

He playfully slapped my hand. “Get off my meat! You should have ordered your own instead of the chicken!”

“Stop bothering the birthday boy, girls,” our mother said as she handed James the bread basket.

“Jesus H. Christ mom, I am fucking almost forty,” he rolled his eyes at her.

“Language! We are in public for heaven's sake!” she covered her face to show she was embarrassed.

Sarah rolled her eyes too. “You'd think that you'd be used to it, Ma, he's been swearing for thirty fucking years.”

“You two! I don't know what to do with you guys. I obviously did something wrong, raising a couple street hobos!”

“Yes, Ma, 'cause only hobos swear,” Sarah winked at me, and then leaned over to whisper in my ear. “My mom blames everything on hobos. If you're not acting right, you must be a hobo!” We both laughed.

“Tell me Emily, what did your parents do so right raising you with such good manners?” our mother turned to ask me.

I could feel my face get hot. I didn't like to be put on the spot, especially about my family. “Um, well, nothing really. I basically raised myself. But I was around more adults than kids my own age, so maybe that's it?”

She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “How awful. I am so sorry. Didn't you go to school?”

I shifted in my seat. “Yeah, but I didn't get along with the kids at school. They picked on me.”

“That's horrible! What on Earth would they pick on you for?” she asked.

I didn't want to say it.

After some silence Sarah chimed in. “Ma, they called her Little Orphan Annie, on account of being adopted.”

Norma looked shocked, like someone slapped her in the face. “Oh.” I thought she might cry, but instead added, “Kids are fucking stupid, aren't they?”

It was Sarah's turn to look shocked and we all started laughing.

James reached over and hugged her. “I knew it, Ma, I always knew it! One day you'd come around to see things my way,” he sighed and we all laughed harder. “This is a day to remember, he said, holding up his drink. “My mother said the F word. Cheers!”

We all clinked glasses, even Norma, and said “Cheers!”

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The Other Half of Me: Part Six

Trauma had a way of sneaking up on you when you weren't paying attention. During the weeks we were waiting for the DNA test results I had repeatedly awoken most nights drenched in sweat after dreaming of being run over by a semi or a bus. I was also a nervous wreck walking through parking lots, and eventually it got the point of having to wait until a front row stall had opened for me to use in order to not have to walk behind parked cars. It was getting a bit out of control.

Sarah and I had also been spending a lot of time together during those weeks, both at my apartment and at her house. Her brother James spent a lot of time away from home, especially when I was around. He didn't take well to not knowing he had a sister that supposedly died and then came back to life. I couldn't blame him, though. It was a pretty creepy idea that someone could accidentally switch your live baby sister with a dead one.

About 3 weeks in to our wait, Sarah and I were vegging out the couch, eating some cheese puffs and watching The Price is Right.

“Plinko is the bomb,” Sarah said, while shoving a puff into her mouth.

“What do you think of Drew Carey over Bob Barker? Yay or nay?” I asked.

She sucked some cheese dust from her thumb. “Meh, he's okay. But I'll tell you this, when I was a kid, we used to pretend a chewed up piece of gum on a straw was Bob Barker's microphone and we'd introduce the next game.” She broke into laughter.

“For real?” I giggled back.

“Yeah, and Drew? He doesn’t have that same panache Bob did. I don't think kids today pretend they are Drew Carey doing anything, much less the host of this show.” She was cracking up.

“You do have a point there. I will say he was kick ass on Whose Line Is it Anyway? I think that was his best gig.”

Sara grabbed her straw and put a cheese puff on it and used it as a microphone. “Where the lines are made up and the points don't matter!”

I doubled over in laughter. “There needs to be a home version of that game!”

“Oh my god, Ryan Stiles is so hot!”

“Right?!”

Our laughter was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

I got up from my seat and put the bag of puffs on Sarah's lap. “I'll get it.” My slippers made a scratchy noise as I crossed the wooden floor.

The doorbell rang again just as I was opening it. “I am right here.”

“Sorry ma'am, you have a letter you need to sign for,” said a mailman I had never seen before.

I perked up once I realized what it could be. “Oh, thank you. Where do I sign?” I asked as I took the pen-like stick from his worn fingers.

He pointed to the small space on his machine for me to sign and then handed me the letter as I gave him back his stylus.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You're very welcome, Ma'am. Have a great rest of your day.”

“Who was it?” Sarah called from the couch.

My hands shook as I looked down at the letter that said it was from Delta Laboratories. “The mailman. He brought our letter Sarah. Its here.”

“Oh my fucking god! Are you serious? Bring it here! Don't open it yet!” She jumped up on her knees to look over the back of the couch in my direction, knocking cheese puffs all over the floor.

I smiled at her childish behavior; it was refreshing. Then I ran as fast as I could and threw myself onto the couch next to her.

“Is that it? It's already here?”

“Yep. Looks like it.”

We both sat there for what seemed like forever, staring at the envelope as if it was the Holy Grail or the lost map to the City of Gold.

“What do you think? Should we open it?” I asked.

For once Sarah was quiet.

“Well?” I prodded.

“I—I just don't know. What if it says we're not sisters?”

I felt the weight of her words clearly, because I wondered the same thing. “What if we are?”

Sarah slowly nodded. “What if we are? What will change?”

I furrowed my brow in thought. What would change? Anything? Nothing? Everything? “I don't know.”

“Well, for one, you'd have a mother. And a brother. And an actual twin sister. Rather than just being newly formed BFF's, we'd share our DNA, our blood.....our, souls.” The last word she said as eerily as if we were telling a scary story.

I laughed and smacked her in the arm. “Nerd.”

“Ha! Soul sisters! We could tell everyone we're like the movie Twitches and have magical powers and shit.”

“For real Sarah, what about your mom?”

“What about her? She doesn't have magical powers.”

I rolled my eyes. “What if the test is negative. It would be like her losing a child all over again. Can we put her through that?”

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The Other Half of Me: Part Five

Sarah got quiet again. “Oh wow, yeah. I never thought of that.” She slumped down into her seat.

I circled the letter between my fingers, turning it over on itself again and again.

“We just won't tell her,” she finally responded. “No matter the results, we'll tell her they were positive.”

“For real? We'll lie to her? I mean, its not like this is about something as simple as a piece of mail from a friend or something. This is literally life and death.”

“What choice do we have, Emily? We started this. Well, I did, with my car, but that's besides the point. The point is, there is no other choice. IF, and that's a big IF, you aren't my sister and they really did switch the babies and my sister is still out there? What are the chances we'll find her? Odds are that you are it. And if you aren't, odds are you will be the closest thing to it for the rest of our lives.”

I chewed on the idea for a bit. She had a point. If the letter turned out to be negative, then all was lost for her mother. I knew what it was like to lose everything. I couldn't do that to her. “Okay. So, will we lie to your brother, too?”

Sarah threw her head back and laughed loudly. “That bozo couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it! Good lord, if I told him we were lying to our mother he'd be the first one to tattle on us!”

“How old is he again?” I gave her a cock-eyed look.

“Old enough to know better. He's my best friend don't get me wrong, but wow is he immature.”

I looked down at the letter still in my palms. “So, we've made a pact, we're going to stay sisters, no matter what this letter says, right?” I knew she already made that clear, but I was the type of person to always expect the bottom would fall out at any moment.

She took my hands into hers and looked straight into my eyes. “Yes. You are my twin sister, even if that piece of paper says otherwise. Pinky swear?” she let go of my hands and held up her right pinky.

I giggled. I hadn't pinky swore something since seventh grade, but I gladly put my right pinky into hers. “Pinky swear.”

“So that's settled. Throw that paper away,” she said as she jumped up from the couch.

I couldn't believe I was hearing. “Wait, what?”

“In the garbage. We don't need it. We are twins. Whether we are blood twins or not, who cares? We look identical. How often does that happen with strangers?”

“Um, all the time. Look at celebrity look-a-likes.”

Sarah shrugged. “So?”

“Aren't you the least bit curious?” I knew I was.

“Kinda, but not enough to ruin things with opening that letter. Now, let's just throw it away and accept what we are and move on, okay?”

I looked down at the envelope again. Again, she had a point. It really didn't matter what the letter said. Not really, right? It was like finding out the sex of your baby, as long as it was healthy, it didn't matter the sex. But the difference was at the end of a pregnancy you are guaranteed to know if the baby was a girl or boy. With this we didn't know if the baby was alive or not, or even if it was, if it was me. If I threw this away, I'd never really know. Was I okay with that?

I stood up from the couch and walked towards my kitchen. “Okay, okay, throwing it away. You're right. It doesn't matter as long as we accept us being sisters as truth.”

“Yup!” she yelled from the bathroom.

I opened up the cabinet where the garbage sat and went to drop the letter in. I stopped, felt it in my hands one more time, and folded it in half and slipped it into the pocket of my pajamas. There was a gas bill on the counter in front of me, so I folded that in half so you couldn't see what it was, and dropped it into the garbage instead. “Done!” I yelled back.

“Let's take that garbage out so we don't get curious later. We'll take it right out to the cans before the garbage man gets here.”

I smiled and grabbed the bag out of the can and tied it shut. “Today is garbage day. Good idea.” I slipped on my slippers and hurried out the door, bag in tow.

As I dropped it in, I had a feeling of relief wash over me that the letter wasn't in there, but instead tucked safely in my pocket. It gave me a sense of power, in this very powerless situation. If I was her sister, I had a family again. If I wasn't, I'd still have a family, but it would be a lie. And I was the type of person who would rather know the truth than be comforted by a lie. But her mother had suffered for so many years, would it really be that bad to lie to her? To let her live her life out thinking what she thought to be true was real? Was that really so bad?

I rubbed my hand on my pocket, feeling the hard edges of the folded envelope. No, it wasn't so bad. Not everyone was like me. Some people need to hear what they want to hear in order to be at peace. And wasn't peace worth a little lie that didn't really matter in the end?

And besides if the real twin showed up, if it wasn't me, it would still be worth it. I might lose my new family, but at least I'd have them for a little bit.

I looked up at the picture window and saw Sarah smiling at me. I waved. She waved back. Yes. That was my sister standing there. Blood or not, she was mine, and I hers. And for once, I felt at peace with not knowing the truth. Well, yet.

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The Other Half of Me: Part Four

I was glad I only had cats to feed and not dogs to let out and or anything else I had to be responsible for so I could just spend the night somewhere without it mattering. By the time we got back, it was almost 9 at night, which was my normal read-in-bed time, but I had to admit this was so much more exciting.

We had rented two movies: 13 Going on 30 and Under the Tuscan Sun, both sufficient girlie movies for a sleepover. We had picked up a DNA test, each of us paying half. We also picked up 2 boxes of movie theater popcorn, 2 packets of facial masks, and box of curlers for our hair. Well, her hair. I could only curl my bangs.

And a bottle of wine, which was not something I remember having at my 13-year-old sleepovers, but it made for a better party.

When we awoke the next morning, it looked as though a hurricane had swept through Sarah's room, which was once a pristine haven decorated in light purple and gray, but was now covered in popcorn, CD+G's, and broken curlers.

“You look like hell Sarah. What the fuck did you do to your hair?” I felt someone kick my legs gently.

I was not normally very cognitive when I woke in the early hours of the day, but being laden with a wine hangover didn't make it any easier to not only remember where I was, but to figure out who the hell was talking to me. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Jesus Sarah. How much did you drink? You have shit on your face, curlers hanging in your face and your hair is gone!”

I felt a slight crust on my face, and realized I had forgotten to wash off the clay mask completely. The curler bounced off my forehead. I slightly gained some clarity and realized this was Sarah's brother talking to me. And he thought I was her. I started laughing hysterically, even though it made my raging headache ever worse. I rolled over in the bed and accidentally slapped Sarah in the face.

The force of my hand caused her to bolt straight up in bed and scream “STOP FUCKING HITTING ME, ASSHOLE!”

“Oh, THAT'S you Sarah. I thought your friend was you.”

This caused me to laugh even harder. It felt so good to finally laugh again, even though my head disagreed. “Sarah!” laugh “Your brother!” laugh “Thinks I am you!” laugh “Little does he know!” hysterical laugh.

“Oh fuck, he's in for a surprise, isn't he?” she laughed back.

“What? You finally got yourself a lesbian girlfriend? Well, that explains a lot,” he replied, which earned an a very hard hit with a pillow in his face.

“Um, your lady man just hit me.”

“Fuck you! LOOK at her, James. Just look. At her face. Then look at me.”

“What are you talking about, freak?”

“JUST DO IT!” she screamed.

“Fine, geez,” he relented, and got about 3 inches from my face. “What. Am. I. Looking. For.....wait.....”

“You see it right?” she smiled.

“Jesus H. Christ, Sarah,” he said as he backed up. “Why does she look like you? Is this some sort of freaky joke? Or are you two in a club where you get plastic surgery to look like each other?”

Sarah swallowed. “My head hurts.” Curlers also hung precariously from her hair, smacking her in the eye as she talked.

“Stop stalling. Answer me.”

I looked at him. He did slightly look like us, which made me hopeful for the DNA results. I then remembered the test. “Where did we put the test, Sarah?”

She looked around and reached over to her end table and opened the drawer. She picked up the test and threw it to James. “Here. This should explain a little of it.”

He rolled the box in his hands. “So, she's a bastard child of your father's?”

I glared at him. “No, dumbass, I'm your sister's twin sister. Which makes me your sister, too.”

He took my comment and pretended like I had stabbed him in the heart. “She...she called me a dumbass, Sarah! Your....wait, what the fuck did you just say?” He stood up straight.

“Go ask your mom. She'll tell you the story. Its too early for this shit,” I say as I roll back over and close my eyes.

“Seriously Sarah. What is going on here?” he demanded.

“Seriously James. Go ask mom. And shut my door,” she said as she laid back down as her brother reluctantly exited the room.

We both looked at each other and laughed again, but our heads screamed out for more sleep so we relented and closed our eyes and drifted back into dreams of twins and sisters, and finding our paths crossing with those we didn't even know we loved yet.

Well, and I dreamed of getting hit by a car a few times, but that was besides the point.

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The Other Half of Me: Part Three

When Sarah said the surprise would excite her mother, she had no idea just how much. She was right though, we did trick her. Her mother thought I was her and rubbed my head and wanted to know where my hair went. I had laughed uncontrollably as Sarah walked in and said “Psych!”

We expected her mom to laugh too, or at least be a little stunned, but instead she screamed at the top of her lungs and ran from the room.

“Did we break her?” I whispered to Sarah, who stood motionless as if not knowing what to do next.

“Um, well, I really don't know. I need to go check on her, wait here.” She left the room and went down the hall towards where the sound of a door slamming was heard just minutes before.

“Shit,” I mumbled to myself. I had hoped we didn't give her a heart attack. I couldn't live with myself if I had killed Sarah's mother.

After what seemed like forever, I heard a door open. “Emily? Can you come here?” I heard Sarah's voice from down the hall.

“Sure,” I answered shakily. I stepped slowly down the hall, afraid of a seeing her mother's dead body sprawled across the floor, all because we decided to prank her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted quietly with each step.

I neared a room at the end of a long hall with the door half open. I peeked in, but saw only darkness at first, so I gently pushed the door open to see Sarah holding her mother at the end of her bed, who was holding something in her hand.

“Yes? Is everything okay in here? I am so truly sorry.” My voice came out half-cracked.

Sarah just silently motioned me to come over to where they sat. “You need to see something.”

Now I was really, really confused. What was going on?

I sat next to her mother on the other side. “Okay.”

The woman, not as old as Sarah made her out to be—actually barely old at all, looked over to me, her face bathed in a weak light coming from her nightlight by her bed. She reached over and shoved a picture into my hand.

I looked down at it, and saw two perfectly content little babies, naked as jaybirds, still not cleaned yet from their birth, laying on a table covered in a blanket. “What is this?”

“I told him! I told him that dead baby wasn't mine! I knew it!”

I just gaped at her in horror. “Are these babies dead?”

The woman laughed. “Oh no my dear, they were very much alive in that picture.”

I was confused. “Did one die?”

Sarah cleared her throat. “She was told one died. My mom had an emergency cesarean section, she was seventeen, and they put her under. She never saw both her babies alive, except in this picture, which wasn't until two weeks after she went home from the hospital. I guess when she saw it, she realized that wasn't the same baby they showed her after she woke up. She mourned the passing of that baby, as if it were her own. But when she saw the pic, she realized it wasn't hers at all. But nobody believed her.”

I looked up at Sarah. “You knew about this?”

“No, not until just now. My mom never told me.”

“I could not have my daughter's birthday be shadowed by her sister's supposed death-day. Even though I always knew that baby wasn't mine. Everyone thought I was just a grieving mother. Nobody thought for one moment I was telling the truth,” her mother explained.

For the second time that day, I was in shock. Was she trying to say I was that baby that was lost? How could that even be possible? Could this woman be my real mother?

“I don't know what to say.” And I was telling the absolute truth. I had no idea what to say, or even think.

The woman cupped my face in her hands. “It's okay. You don't have to say anything at all. I am just so overwhelmed to have both my girls under the same roof again. Even if I never see you again, I know you're alive and okay. That's all I needed to know. But I hope you choose otherwise and stay a part of our lives.”

Tears streamed down my face. “What if I am not her. Don't we need a blood test first before jumping to any conclusions?” I could not accept this gift without proof. I could not be hurt again and lose someone else I thought of as a parent.

“A mother knows her daughter when she sees her. But yes, get the blood test, my dear. If you feel you need one, I am all for it,” she said through her own tears as she withdrew her hands.

I could see Sarah by herself next to her mother. “Sarah? Are you okay?”

“Um, yes? I guess so. I am just totally weirded out right now. When I said I was convinced you were my sister, I assumed maybe a half-sister, if anything at all. Not an actual twin.”

Her words bothered me on some level. My dream for a sister was finally possibly coming true and she sounded like she was bothered more than excited. I was not one for leaving things unsaid, so I prodded her. “Does having a twin scare you?”

She shot me a look that I could not decipher. “FUCK NO it doesn't!! Are you joking? This is amazing!” She jumped to her feet. “I have a stupid brother who is always making fart jokes, even though he's thirty-fucking-eight. I never had anyone to do girly shit with like shopping and makeup.”

I looked over to her mother who sheepishly grinned. “Guilty. I was born a tomboy. I can fart and burp with the best of them.”

Sarah came over and grabbed my hands. “Oh wow, we have so much to make up for, Emily. Wait—Mom! What was her name at birth?”

She looked off into the distance, as if caught in a memory. “Willow,” which came out as both a whisper and a breeze.

Sarah crinkled her nose. “Willow?!” she said, incredulous. “Willow? What were you thinking?”

She turned to us. “I was a hippie wannabe, girls. I couldn't help it. I was also seventeen and Willow was a hip name back then. I was going to raise you two in a commune and that name would have fit right in.”

“Oh gawd. Make me barf, mom. A commune?” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Why did you name me Sarah then? Why so normal? Not that I am complaining or anything.”

“Your father wouldn't let me name both of you hippie names. He named you Sarah, and I named you,” she pointed to me, “Willow”.

Sarah lost her happy face. “Oh. You never told me dad named me.”

He mother smiled. “Oh Sweetie, we both agreed on the names. I loved the name Sarah as much as I loved the name Willow. Sarah was your father's mother's name. She was a lovely woman.”

She seemed a little relieved by her mother's explanation. “Oh, okay then.”

“Sarah, they have DNA tests at Walgreens. You think we should go pick one up?”

Her face perked up. “Ooh sister shopping! Let's do it!”

She grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hall to where our purses lay.

“Girls, it's snowing out. Maybe you should wait and stay here. Emily can stay here tonight,” her mother called from down the hall.

Sarah's eyes got wide. “Sister. SLEEPOVER. Yes! Let's go get your car, stop by your place for necessities and come back here for popcorn, movies, and karaoke!”

I couldn't help but laugh at the amount of energy this woman had. “Yes, but remember, I can't sing.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “Remember, we are most likely-probably-pretty much for sure-twins. So that means I can't sing either. But ask me if I give a flying rat's ass?”

“May I ask, are you on speed or high or something?” I asked, only half-joking.

“Only on life, Sister. Only on life,” she exclaimed as we walked out the door.

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Fragments: Jessica's Life in Stories - Story Two

“What, are you fucking stupid?” he screamed as he ripped the tent pole out of the little girl's hands. “Maybe I could ask a trained monkey to help? They'd do a better job than you!”

Jessica pushed her thick, plastic rimmed glassed up her nose. Her skin burned with embarrassment and shame. Her throat felt thick, as her eyes teased her with the possibility of tears. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't. Not in front of him. If she did, there would be hell to pay.

“Are you listening to me, you little idiot?” Spit flew from his dry lips and landed on the canvas tent fabric.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. She didn't want him to hear her voice shake.

“I can't hear you!” he belted back.

“Yes, sir,” she said louder. “I am sorry. I will try to do better.”

“Of course you will.” He threw her pole back to her. “Now, this time, try not to fuck it up.”

She winced as he said it. His words stung, but she knew he was just frustrated. He always got like this when he was frustrated. It wasn't his fault. She just needed to do better.

So this time, when her father yelled for everyone to hold the poles tight, she closed her eyes and held on as hard as she could. She refused to let go, even when she could feel it slightly slipping between her hands, giving her burns on her palms. Just a little bit longer, she thought to herself. When she felt she couldn't bear it anymore, she started chanting in her head. One a penny, two a penny, three a penny, more. Four a penny, five a penny, that's a nickel more. Six a penny, seven a penny, eight a penny, more. Nine a penny, ten a penny, that's a dime for the store.

“All right guys, good job. All done,” her father exclaimed as the pressure released from her hands.

The tent was up finally. Jessica sucked in a deep breath. She could relax.

“See, now that wasn't too hard was it now?” her father joyfully asked his family.

Her mother turned away and went to the car to get the bedding. Her sister sulked over to the picnic table and took up her book. Her brother just sneered and stomped off into the woods to gather sticks for a fire.

“Oh c'mon guys, it wasn't that bad, was it?” her father laughed as he gathered up the bag the tent was wrapped in.

Jessica smiled at him. “No, daddy. It's okay.”

He reached down and ruffled her chin-length hair. “That's right, pumpkin. Now we can get down to business! Now, where's your brother with those sticks?”

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The Other Half of Me: Part Two

The cafe smelled like roasted coffee beans and that brisk smell of cold weather that always made me feel cozy. The temperature outside was slowly falling as night overtook day and the wind picked up, turning the light snow into a sparse sideways wall of white.

“I am more of a chai latte kind of gal,” remarked Sarah.

“I prefer a dark roast of coffee, but with both cream and sugar,” I replied.

She blew into her drink to cool it. “My favorite color was red as a little girl, but now I absolutely adore the color silver.”

“I also loved red as a little girl. I had red stirrup pants, do you remember those?”

Sarah almost choked “Oh my god! I wish I could forget them! They were like leggings but with elastic strips at the bottom, for what reason?”

I laughed. “I think to keep them tucked into your socks or legwarmers? I guess. How many pairs of legwarmers did you own?”

She thought for a moment. “Um, I think like seven? I wanted to be just like Olivia Newton John.”

“Good lord, that's sad! But then again, I always wanted to be Cyndi Lauper,” I shrugged.

Sarah giggled and stuck her tongue in the whipped cream that creeped off the top of her cup. “I think I wanted to be everything when I grew up, but mostly I just wanted to be famous.”

“Oh yes, me too. The funniest thing I ever wanted to be was a singer. I don't understand why, because I couldn't sing!” I laughed. “I think that I thought that it was just something you could decide to do and one day just do it. Rather than actually have a good voice from birth.”

“To be young again. No bills, no responsibilities, just a kid with dreams and ambitions. Now its like I am grown up and everything I've wanted to be has come and gone. Or maybe I'm just lazy?” she sighed. “I think I just don't have the ability to actually do the things I wanted to because they're too hard.”

“Right? I have probably a billion things I want to do with my life and they overwhelm me into doing none of them.”

“You can say that again, Sister.”

I smiled. I liked the sound of that: sister. “So, what do you think? Are we really?”

She drew a long sip from her latte. “I am starting to wonder. At first I thought maybe we just looked alike, but...” her voice trailed off.

I tried to read her face but could not make out what she was thinking. “But what?”

“You really sound like me. Like your freaking voice. And we have the same mannerisms. I was paying attention to the way you held your cup, the inflections in your voice, the tone you use, and it's like I am hearing a recording of myself or looking into a mirror. Only one with much shorter hair,” she smiled.

“So...what's our next step?”

Sarah looked at me with a very matter-of-factly stare. “DNA testing, obviously. But first, you have to meet my mother! She's going to get a big kick out of the fact there's two of me.”

“Ha! Two of you? How do you know there's not two of me? What if you're my doppelganger?” I retorted back.

Sarah jammed her cup down on the table a little too loudly. “Oh I've got it! You need to walk into the house and tell her you cut your hair! Then ask her how she likes it, and I'll walk in after and scream surprise!”

I laughed at the idea. “You think she'll believe I'm you?”

She sat back smugly, obviously proud of her idea. “Of course. Its like Parent Trap and shit. She'll never know the difference. Then we'll do yours!”

The smile quickly faded from my face while I looked down at my empty cup, the leftover smell of dark, deep coffee wafted up to my nose reminding me of days past. “My mother died six years ago. And my father will have been gone fourteen years ago later this year.”

Sarah all of a sudden looked very solemn and gray. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn't know.”

I shook my head. “No, you couldn't have known. It's okay.”

“First I run you over, and now I bring up the fact you are an orphan.”

I give her a pouty look. “That was my nickname in grade school, you know, Little Orphan Annie, because I was adopted.”

“Oh my god! Stop it!! You're killing me here!” she dramatically threw herself back in her seat.

“I thought you were the one trying to kill me here? Or did you forget just a little bit ago?” I held my face tight, trying not to laugh.

“Seriously, I am sure you are actually my sister now. Nobody would be trying to guilt me so much unless they were related to me. C'mon, let's get out of here before you make me feel bad enough into buying you another coffee.” She stood up and started to put on her coat and scarf.

“Aww, are you feeling guilty?” This time a smile spread across my face.

“Yes! So let's go and have some fun instead,” she replied, raising her eyebrows in jest.

I grabbed my purse and slung it over my coated shoulder and noticed that the ibuprofen I took when I first got there was kicking in because my ankle felt so much better.

“Should I tell your mom you tried to run me over?”

“Oh god, please no. She'd never let me drive her car again.”

“Maybe she shouldn't,” I joked, stabbing her in the side with my elbow, for which she took as an invitation to take my elbow into her own. I had never had a friend close enough to me to do such a thing, but with Sarah, it felt like old times.

The cold air stung my face as we left. I realized I should have worn a hat. “Well, I am looking forward to meeting her. Even if we aren't really related, it would be nice to be in a home, even if only for a moment, that had more than just me and my cats in it.”

“You aren't married either?” The snow was slightly accumulating and there was a slight crunch now as we walked.

“Was. Divorced. He was an asshat. After my mother went, I had no reason to stay with him anymore.”

“I am sorry to hear you've lost so much in your life. That sucks. I just haven't married yet. I haven't found the right guy. My father split after I was born. I guess fatherhood didn't agree with him. Being raised by a single mom has taught me to be extra picky with men.”

Crunch, crunch, our feet went in the snow. The wind was picking up and I could feel it deep in my wool jacket. Too bad I had left my scarf in my car.

“Job?” I asked.

“Receptionist. I make a decent wage. I still live with my ma though. We're very close.”

Her words unknowningly stung me. I hadn't been close to my own. “I am a writer. Novels. I do okay. I also freelance for the paper as a reporter for a regular monthly wage.”

“Very cool!” The wind picked up her hair and threw it back into her face. “Wow, its getting chilly out here. Let's get the heat on in the car.”

We both entered her old car and then drove me to my own to get my scarf, in which I surprisingly and thankfully also found a pair of gloves.

“Do you really think your mother will not realize I am not you?” I asked as we drove to her house.

“She's getting blind as a bat. You could wear a paper bag on your head and she would think its me. She never wears her glasses either, so that makes it a hundred times worse. Which is good for us!”

I smiled, thinking of a funny older woman seeing me and what she would make out of it once her real daughter walked in. I sighed in contentment at the thought of her doubled over in laughter.

“She's in a for a real treat tonight! She's always complaining how boring her days are. We might excite the old girl so much she might need a nap!”

I looked out the window at the swirling snow and thought of winters, now long gone, when my father used to help me make snow people and snow cats and other snow animals in the front yard which faced a golf course. Winter was always a wonderland growing up. The summers may have been filled with memories of playing baseball and adventuring with my friends, but the winters were reserved for family. When everyone else was hibernating in their houses, my dad and I were busy ice skating on the frozen golf course, sledding, making snow forts, and having snowball fights. So while Sarah had her mother, I had my memories of my father—something she'd never have. The thought saddened me greatly and made me feel guilty. I did not revel in what I had, but it made me feel less jealous for what I didn't have.

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