Zoey

Growing up, I had a friend and enemy I could never be rid of nor never truly wanted to. She was, in all regards better than me. She was cuter than me, smarter, athletic, charismatic, pious, and more clever than me. She was a nemesis I was eternally proud of.

Some say twins have a special bound. I don't know anything about that, but maybe it is just spending and sharing every experience with them that looks extraordinary to someone who hasn't experienced the same. Her firsts were my first and I would like to say mine were hers, but I was always a step behind.

Even when we got sick, she was the first to cough and for her blisters to open. It was Gods will. We were being tested so we stayed at home. We prayed five times a day for our deliverance.

I remember waking up that morning. The morning I woke up before her. I rolled over and shook her. I teased her. I sang in a mocking tone that I had beat her.

And I had. I had finally bested her. I survived.

It was all I had ever wanted for as long as I could remember. To be better than her. But the chase was over and I was hollow. I continued to improve in health and as I did, my parents grew more distant.

I had always known she was their favorite and if I am honest, she was mine. The wrong twin had survived. Their scorn grew and I became nothing more than tolerated. I was a reminder of what should have been. I was the inadequate replacement. I was the damaged goods. There was no option but to cast me out.

They say time heals all wounds. That in time the pain with subside. But I don't want it to. That pain is all I have of her. I would rather let it fester than to lose the last connection I had with her.

She would know what to do to make this all go away. She would be able to mend the bridges. She would know the right words to make everything better. But all we are left with is the wrong twin.