MIRAGE 

 

Kirby Devlin, the youngest captain in the 1st infantry division, sat down on the curb, staring at the hot pavement. He removed his army dress hat, wiping the cold sweat from his eyes with his left hand; his right hand grasping the envelope.  27-year-old Army Captain Devlin has delivered this news before and at no time did it get easier. 

   It is the worst thing anyone must do. It takes a piece of him.  

He glanced down at his dusty dress shoes, the street curb, nothing, and breathed heavily.  He was having trouble catching his breath.  Deserts were new to Kirby, but there were hidden treasures and green expanses of lushness if one paid attention. Kirby was not paying attention that day. Appropriately somber yet comforting, he was known on the base as “the best” at this business.  

This coming coming coming business of War.   

Kirby raised his head. He looked off into the dust and thought: 

First things first. First, I must go pick up my chaplain. No one was to deliver the news alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1  

 

I never meant to throw away your tomorrows 

 

JANNY 

 

Sometimes I think I was born nature’s anomaly. I was born Janice Frances Kapinsky on December 5th, 1963 moments after my brother, James Franklin Kapinsky presented himself to the world. We went home to live in a teepee.  

Momma was living there with my first dad. The dad I don’t remember. Momma was a flower child, but admired Jacqueline Kennedy. So much so, that when Mrs. Kennedy’s husband was killed two weeks before we were born, momma knew our names had to have the initials “J.F.K.”  James Kapinsky, age 19 and Claire Raines, age 23 married and in love, had twins during a birth of change in the world. My parents and Jimmy and I had approximately 18 months together before my dad went into the army.   

My parents were married for three years before momma became a widow-  before Jimmy and I lost both our parents to war; each lost in a separate way. It is how Jimmy and I felt about our whole lives: Lost in separate ways.  

I hated my name. Everyone called me “Janny” but at school, when the teacher called my full name, it sounded like hissing. We were known as the  

“twins” practically everywhere although we both did not see what the fuss was about. I remember so many voices whispering, “what about the twins? the poor twins? the orphaned twins?” It sounded like we had a disease.  

Life just kept going on for us; changes in one’s journey never becomes significant until it is looked at in retrospect. But wouldn’t that perception always relate to my womb mate? Is that the message I was getting? The aloneness I was feeling was not possible. I had my twin. The shadow over the sun was Jimmy’s silhouette? How could such a light as Jimmy cast darkness, or even stay still long enough to cast a shadow?  No, I owned the darkness too.  I just knew I shouldn’t be feeling this way.  

 

 

Ohio – December 1993

  

  It was raining the whole way to Cleveland, the windshield wipers trying to

keep up as if they were out of breath. I was on my way to visit Kirby, who was 

still only saying 1-2 syllables since the stroke.   

Jimmy refused to come.  I didn’t push it because I somewhat-tried-to 

understand. Wasn’t that the sister’s job?  We were to be 30 this year and Jimmy 

made some “moral promises” to himself, not that I understand what that meant. I 

often wondered if he ever felt a spiritual calling; perhaps become a priest or rabbi 

or something? Maybe he was tired of having to do things just because he “had 

to”?  That feeling I could understand.  

I wouldn’t be the one to let Kirby down though, no matter how irrelevant the visit. Of course, I felt I owed much to Kirby. After my mother’s death, he continued to care for me and Jimmy, in a hollow sort of way. It wasn’t Kirby’s fault. He seemed more lost than us. At least we (“the twins”) had each other.   

We moved to Ohio just a few months after the funeral.  I’m not sure why we came here. I mean, why did he pick Ohio? Did we ask? Did we care? Were we walking in some trance like state?  Maybe we were told, and maybe I don’t remember and maybe it didn’t matter.  I was grateful we had a family, still.    Jimmy was different. He always seemed wanting more. I suspected behind  

Kirby’s emptiness throughout the years was a sense of also needing more.  

I couldn’t figure out why the two of them couldn’t help each other. Who did I have? For the past few years, both of my family members had become silent: One silenced involuntarily, one silenced by choice. Both silenced, for a time, by secrets.  

Kirby never became our adoptive dad although I considered him my “real” dad. There was no more talk of adoption as mom had promised us one day.  She and Kirby never married. After her death, when no other relatives came forward to claim us, the state of Arizona declared Kirby our legal guardian. Sounded like an arrangement, not a family.  

The rain finally stopped. After five hours of driving, I arrived at the rehabilitation facility. It was a VA hospital as Kirby also served in Vietnam but survived, unlike my dad. The doctors at the VA said Kirby was young to have had such a major stroke. He had gotten heavy and always had a beer or joint or cigarette in his hands. I also found out many ‘Nam Vets died young or had developed lifelong illnesses. At least Kirby tried to survive no matter what.   

Other people in my life seemed to have given up.  

My visit with Kirby was quiet as he slept away the visit. I wandered the ward, read a little of the “Wall Street Journal” and Stephen King to some of the  other residents, talked with the nurses, then left for a hotel. I always left a big card for Kirby, usually a heart, so maybe he would know I was there.  

I was now the same age as my mother when she decided she no longer wanted to be there to see my Valentine’s day. Maybe if I had made a card for her before I left for school that day? Maybe if I had left it for her, she would have waited another day? And then another? What would another day bring her?  It would be years before I dared to asked anyone the questions I had about momma. Even then, I couldn’t ask them all. Why, for example, did momma stop wanting memories with me? Would another day have made a difference?  

 

Tucson – 1969 

 

My brother and I belt each other with clay balls. We’re laughing.  We have red caked mud on top of our Arizona sun-lightened hair –  his blonde, mine dark brown.  We are the color of pennies. Mom opens the back-iron gate and  

begins to get the hose to wash us off. It’s 103 degrees.  

She must have changed her mind because she is holding the hose like she is watering something but no water is coming out. She is staring far away.   I think I should let her know. I go to get up to head to the faucet but she sets the hose down. It just drops from her hand.  She turns to go back to the house. 

 Jimmy calls to me, “Janny!”  before he scurries away and returns to catching lizards. My twin brother and only sibling, has a way of picking lizards off saguaro like he was a roadrunner. His movements are swift and sudden. I shadow him before he disappears but turn my head to look back at the screen door.  

I think of momma and think I hear her crying.  

When the desert magically begins its colorful descent into dusk, my dad comes home. He honks and waves from his truck as he comes up the drive.  

The clay stirs under his tires. Reflected by the sun, it looks like one of those Clint Eastwood movies we would see at the drive-in, although I usually fell asleep before it was over. I made Jimmy describe, in detail, the parts I missed the next day. He was a good actor, falling in the dirt like he was shot.  

I wished my dad was a cowboy. A little girl’s dreams that go on forever.     Kirby works on the base as a clerk and is a part time bartender at a fancy hotel. We like it because on “slow” days he lets me and Jimmy come to the hotel and swim in the pool. We watch TV (we don’t have our own), spellbound with the  

“Outer Limits”.  

We see news shows and black and white images of boys wrapped in muddy gauze on stretchers – carried by dirty scared – looking soldiers onto helicopters.   

Kirby was in Vietnam but never told us what it was like.  

 Our “first” dad was killed in that place. Jimmy and I were only three years old. It was so long ago and the war is still here. Still. Children losing fathers and babies dying.   

Part of me thinks that’s why mom is sad a lot but I can’t remember what she was like before.  

  Kirby shouts “hey” to us as he gets out of the truck and goes inside. Soon after, music comes out of the door and Kirby follows, smoking one of his sweet cigarettes. Mom brings Kirby a pop. Slowly, she places her arms around his waist.  The music is loud.  Someone is screaming to give them “’another piece of your heart” but I hear momma laughing through the lady screeching and the guitar.   

         Jimmy and I wipe ourselves from rags in back of the truck.  It’s cooler, suddenly, and a piece of moon is already in the sky. I feel giddy inside. Momma hugs us even though our skin is shriveled like an orange rind left in the sun.   

  Momma smells like coconut. She says the corn is ready so we all go inside to eat. Momma isn’t “lost in space” (that’s what Jimmy says). 

I get to eat without having to watch her all the time. That’s good, I think, because I am really hungry.  

One year later, the familiar brick landscape of the Southwest would be replaced by the damp Cleveland pavement; cactus replaced by streetlights; our hardened moccasin-like feet trapped in shivery cold wet shoes and socks.  

Kirby would be forced to buy clothes for us like scarves and things called

mittens.  Boots. Jackets. Rain gear. Alien concepts.  

At 6, my desert reality was turned upside down by a sandstorm with no indication of ever clearing. My life and place in the world had shifted.  

I didn’t even see the storm coming. I didn’t know my mother was going to kill herself.  

I never thought my life would not include her.  

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2  

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – Valentine’s Day, 1970 

 

Momma was earth and sweat and comforts and folds and wonder and was my magical connection to the world. That all disappeared on Valentine’s Day.   I was in the first grade. Jimmy, my twin, was still in kindergarten and only three days a week. Momma just insisted. He needed her a lot more. I was popular and smart. The night before Valentine’s Day, I stayed up late, cutting and gluing (31) cards for my classmates. We made card containers in class; milk cartons covered and decorated with construction paper and glitter. We were told to bring in  

cards “for all your friends.”  

I was determined to bring home the MOST to show momma. I wanted to see her smile. It had been awhile. I knew by making each card special and individual, my magic told me I would reap the same. I got cardboard from Kirby’s laundered shirts. White on one side, grey on the other. I had some construction paper and a red magic marker. I also had a jar of rubber cement. I used the white glossy backing for the hearts. By card 18, the bright red hearts I colored began to fade pinkish as the marker began to dry out. I tried to spit on the tip of the marker.  

By card 22, the heart appeared like a ghost trying to bleed. Good enough was unacceptable. While momma slept, the fan covering her comfortable body, I went through her vanity drawer. Her vanity was the only piece of furniture I can remember from that house.   

I heard the stale sound of the paint sticking on the drawer, while I rummaged for red of some sort. Momma did not wear makeup. Her skin was naturally smooth and soft and full of color. I finally found a single treasure in the form of the reddest red lipstick that was surely, brand new. 

Its case was turquoise and opal, a tiny gold butterfly on the top. 

I could not imagine momma getting this or using it. It didn’t matter at that point, it was red and hearts were waiting in their hopeful queue. This would be the day I would come home with my milk carton full of Valentine’s and momma would smile and hug me and tell me this was what she needed. Exactly what she needed.   

I always hoped something I did or said or gestured would be what momma needed; I could discover what worked! Maybe this hand colored some now very sticky) love would be enough. This time.  

My card strategy was a success! I held my bag tightly to my chest on the ride home. The bus left me off at the top of our road. I could see our turn off but not our house, the third one in. As I walked closer, I saw two red lights and a fire truck?  

I saw people standing around. Heads looked up at me.   

I heard torn bits of conversations and information.  

I knew it was unusual to see Mrs. Latchett, standing in our driveway in a bathrobe.  She smelled like tobacco and Jean Nate which I noticed the first time she lifted me   from the ground into her bosom. Then I saw ambulance lights. Another neighbor came and threw her arms around us. It got loud. The blood pumping loudly in my ears. Words were muffled. I sat at Mrs. Latchett’s kitchen table across from a nice police lady whose smile was on me but whose eyes were on the two officers talking to Kirby outside the window where we sat. She smiled and absent- mindedly stroked the inner part of my arm. It felt so good. Was that Jimmy at Kirby’s thigh? I realized I didn’t have my Valentine’s.  

My treasure of cards. I needed to find them. I had to show momma.  

I must have dropped momma’s Indian Purse that contained 31 Valentine Cards from my classmates and a special card from my teacher. 

   I never found it. Momma never got to see them.  

Was it my fault? I had not made a card for momma to leave by the coffee pot before I left for school that day. I meant to but fell asleep. I made breakfast for me and Jimmy (Kirby was on a double shift).  Momma slept in the mornings. 

Throughout the day, I thought of momma and knew I would make her one immediately when I got home. Maybe she would be napping. Momma had no way of knowing what day it was! If she had seen a card when she woke, maybe she would have smiled and thought of memories we could make that day? She would have felt loved and knew we needed each other?  

Could I have brought her another day? What would another day bring?  She had hung herself with a strong cord from our blinds. There was a chair involved. Everything became silent afterwards.  

Before the silence, on days her darkness escaped her, momma was tied-dyed curtains and curly brown-black hair like me. She was yellow flowers and the smell of baking and carrot juice. There was singing and music. We had homemade instruments and she had her guitar. She made special jam made from prickly pears. Jimmy loved to help her.  I counted the jars, inventoried the cache, listing the recipients on a yellow pad Kirby got from his desk job.  I even had a rubber stamp that read “YTIROIRP” and a black pad of ink. I loved the sound of that stamp hitting the pad.   

The same sound of the ambulance door closing.  I don’t remember a funeral but there was a small gathering. There wasn’t any music that day. I remember I held Jimmy’s hand and watched intently his tapping foot. Whenever I looked up, Kirby was there. 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3 

 

 JANNY 

 

Cleveland – December 1970 

 

        All I remember from our drive east was arriving in Ohio. The rest of the country went by in darkness or endless plains of blinding sunlight. I heard four students were shot in Ohio a few months ago so I was doubly frightened by the cold unknown. The hazy streetlights in suburbia were shrouded in sinewy drops of frozen tears.  

It was December already. We had turned seven without our mother. Twas the night before Christmas. Icy rain pelted the van; the drive down our new street was shiny like the silver chain around my neck. It was my momma’s cross.  

I unconsciously grabbed it when Kirby announced our approach to our new house. It was still warm from laying on my chest. I was cold and numb.  Jimmy sat up straight. It was nighttime, clouds covered the moon but everything looked steel gray. It was late so the few Christmas lights that were still on looked like guiding stars prismed by the sleet through the van’s windows. I imagined I could make myself climb an ice-covered light to meet momma in the sky. 

The houses were close to one another. Kirby had explained to us our new house would have a “yard” (which sounded small) but it looked smaller than we thought.  

   “You guys wait in the car, okay? I’ll leave the car running but be right back.” 

Kirby was going to turn on the house lights and “turn on the heat.” 

I had no idea how he would accomplish “turning on” the heat. The wood stove at home required cold mornings of work. 

I was more miserable than I had ever been (making us move was worse than momma dying!) The “joy and peace” of the season seemed phony and stupid. I didn’t care there would be no celebration or tree or presents. I wiped the fog from inside the backseat window and started to nudge Jimmy when I thought I saw a light go on in the front window of the house next door. I turned to hear what Jimmy was mumbling and upon turning back my attention to the cold shadowy new world outside, I glimpsed a ghostlike figure pausing in yellow light to give me the peace symbol. When I went to go wave, the light went out and the figure had vanished. Rachel and I would meet at another time. I didn’t tell Jimmy what I had seen.  

That night, Jimmy and I slept on quilts laid on top of wall-to-wall pink carpet in the largest bedroom that would turn out to be mine. Kirby promised us new beds for our new rooms in this musty-smelling house with an “upstairs”.   I cried all night; silently, like the snow that started to fall outside. Jimmy seemed to know and tried to comfort me.  

“Come on, sis. Everything will be okay. Try not to worry” he whispered.  

When I awoke as the gray outside was fading (we didn’t have curtains yet), I viewed my first winter wonderland. I felt a stirring of happiness.  

Kirby had set up a little Christmas Tree with multi-colored lights in front of  

the big living room window downstairs. The snow made it almost magical. There were four wrapped gifts under the tree; two for me and two for Jimmy.  

I investigated. Two of the presents were from Kirby and we both had presents that read “love always momma”, one large, one small.  I knew she wasn’t there. I knew she wasn’t going to appear in the doorway, her loud or quiet self-manifesting from the cold white blanket outside. I felt she was there to watch us. 

I felt her leaving us (“the quiet momma”) before she even died, preparing us for the day she vanished forever. But on this warm morning (I was guessing the “thermostat” we were shown last night was responsible for that), while Jimmy and Kirby slept, I held packages from my dead momma. I felt our connection again.   

I trembled. I looked around for the first time and saw a beginning that did not terrify me. I did not feel alone. I felt some hope and warmth enter me for the first time in a long time. I finally put the presents back under the tree, unopened.  

I plodded into the kitchen and looked through some boxes for bowls and cups. I wanted to make cereal and toast and tea for my family. I heard a knock at the front door that shook me to my core.  

It was 8 A.M., according to the stove clock. I thought I could smell cooking when I approached the door. I don’t know what I expected to see. It was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She looked my age and wore a pink hooded winter coat. It had a white soft fur neckline which outlined her beautiful heart-shaped face and strawberry hair. She held a large basket that contained a thermos, muffins, fresh milk and a big container of something steaming.  

The girl’s momma helped to hold the basket. The momma wore a floral puffy dress with a large fur coat draped over her shoulders. Her blonde hair was so high and stiff it reminded me of a tumbleweed. I thought it might blow off her head and then the girl and I would watch this puffy flowered lady chase her hair down the street. It would leave a trail in the snow. Snow! I felt giddy.  

Rachel and her momma introduced themselves. Rachel was staring at my frizzy mop of hair. The mother wished us a Happy Holiday.  

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too, Janice!” her mother chirped. “Do you need any help carrying in the basket dear?”  

No, I would be fine. Where were my parents? Still asleep. Yes, they will enjoy the hot chocolate and “brisket with barley” (isn’t brisket another name for basket?). Yes, I was in the second grade. Yes, I would ride to school with them after the vacation. Yes, I will have to check with my parents first. Yes, ma’am, that is a VW bus.  

I began to shiver in the open doorway (oh look, that’s an icicle!). Then, for the first time, the girl smiled.  

My heart beat, oh so loudly! She was just the prettiest girl, like no one I had seen in Arizona!  How did I not notice that right away; not her beauty but her smiling eyes at me!?  I felt insignificant but in love! Could this beauty be friends with an orphaned, wild-haired relocated Westerner? Her smile gave all the answers. Yes, I will be your best friend. Yes, we will spend everyday together; every moment of time whispering, planning and plotting. Yes, you will soon know all my secrets.  

Despite no furniture, feeling displaced, motherless and (currently) friendless; it was still a happy Christmas – although the definition of “happy” was shifting like the snow drifts forming outside. Later that morning, Kirby, Jimmy and I had hot chocolate (which I envisioned my best new friend Rachel stirred clockwise, patiently, deliberately, making sure the milk would not scorch at the  bottom of the pan, adding the perfect amount of cocoa, sugar, vanilla and salt), warm muffins and later, brisket which was our main meal, after we unpacked the bowls and ended up eating on the floor on a blanket in front of the tree.  

There would still be surprises. 

After our bellies were full and I had given out my handmade 3D Christmas Cards from Arizona (that I do not remember making), Kirby presented our gifts.  Jimmy gave me the knowing look – I already had previewed the packages. The small box from momma was under the tree. I had put it back, right?  From Kirby, Jimmy received a really neat pocket knife, pearl inlaid, with two crossing rifles on the handle. I had gotten a lovely pink scarf with matching gloves. I scanned under the tree for the other two presents. Jimmy’s was there; was mine the small one? 

Kirby reached under the tree (with great drama and timing for Kirby) and pulled out two gifts. His countenance changed. In his low deep voice, he said,  

“these are from your mother. Your mom. . she, uh, wanted you to have these”. 

No need to say more. Still full and warm from my savior’s’ love-offerings, I was ready to tear open (more like untie) the frayed plum sized gift. It was wrapped in burlap and yarn and the card was a piece of plain paper, haphazardly taped and then tied, that told me it was from my momma. But she was in heaven supposedly, not the north pole which I never believed in anyway. I bet Jimmy quit believing in Santa too. I didn’t have to quit. I just never believed. Would this strange man, traveling in a sleigh, liking cold places, leave me a gift-wrapped in  burlap from my dead momma? Jimmy waited and let me open mine first.  

It was knotted. Jimmy gallantly reached across me, using his new knife, cutting the yarn in one, rapid movement. The lipstick case fell onto the floor without a sound. In slow motion, I scooped it up like a bird grabbing a beetle. I held it for a long time waiting to open my hand to reveal the turquoise and gold opal inlay in a lacquered wood background. I held onto it, palm and fingers sealed tightly, waiting to smell her bedroom: my momma’s crochet coverlet that had lay across her bed, the cedar of the drawers where I first saw this lipstick. Lipstick my momma never wore but I had worn down to a useless paste because I wanted to be popular on Valentine’s Day.  

I don’t remember opening my hand, but I do remember twisting the bottom of the tube expecting a flattened red squished mess. But instead, a new glistening dewy brilliant red point began to peak out of the top of the tube: an unused stick.  A brand-new makeup crayon. Someone had replaced the tube. It was a perfect point and then, a perfect day when Jimmy opened his large boxed present from momma: her blanket. I got to smell my momma for the last time after all.  

“I know this is not what we planned, but it is what we have.” Kirby said. 

“I loved your mom, and I love you guys. I am… I am glad we are together.”   

Jimmy was absently tracing his finger around momma’s blanket while I stared at Kirby. Kirby normally didn’t initiate conversation, so it made us both a little uncomfortable. His pauses were so long we never knew when he ended a thought either. We waited.  

“So, these few things I brought with us. I hope…I know you don’t mind getting them now. Yeh, I didn’t think you’d mind.” As usual, I came to the rescue.  

“We love this Kirby!”   

Kirby had months of sullenness from us so I felt he needed to know he did something right.  

Jimmy chimed in. “This is cool. It’s cool.” 

I know our family didn’t look or sound like a normal family was supposed to, but there we were. Comforting one another without our true feelings being said.  

The tree lights danced around our imperfect family. 

If I had a Christmas wish, then it came true. 

The week after Christmas, Kirby worked on rounding up furniture. 

We got our first TV, finally! (No Saturday morning cartoons for us in Arizona.)  The glowing blue light I had envied for years, always witnessing it from the outside of cozy windows, pouring out of framed silences – not knowing at the time I would be spending hours watching alone, with Jimmy, with Rachel in her plastic bright living room, their TV being the living room centerpiece housed in a huge wooden piece of furniture; her mother’s “collectible figurines” placed  symmetrically beside the screen on little wood shelves. Watching TV with Rachel, while little ceramic children in a permanent state of joy and surprise watched us. There was never any dust on those shelves. Ever. The children on the shelves and the TV were never sad or lonely.      

Kirby had no qualms about me spending so much time with my new best friend and next-door neighbor and her family. Rachel was an only child but had a real mother and real father. Her house seemed brighter and noisier than our 

house, even though chairs and sofa (called “a loveseat”) were covered in heavy plastic.  Everything in the house matched. The curtains to the bedspreads to the wallpaper to the little towels in the “guest” bathroom, all matched. Black paisley against an orange background. It was perfect. I pretended I was their long-lost sister/daughter and I would then wake up surrounded by real wallpaper in a real house with a real family. A family that counted.

The closeness continued once school began although Jimmy, who was helping Kirby over the holidays, joined my new family’s commute to school and back. Kirby was volunteering at the Firehouse plus working his nighttime job bartending. Jimmy and I ate dinners with Rachel and her parents practically every night. It was as if this was always how it was.  

Rachel wasn’t in my class, but Jimmy and I were put together and moved around a bit until they figured where we belonged. I still had trouble with cold, dark mornings interrupting my desert dreams. On days when Rachel had piano lessons, temple, horseback riding and her mom couldn’t drive us home – Jimmy and I would walk the 2 plus miles from the Elementary School to our house. He usually talked the whole time (this school brought out his social side) and made sure my scarf was wrapped tightly around my neck and face.  

It was nice having someone taking care of me. I think it was then I began to realize my brother, my twin, would always be there. I realized that he had lost a mother too. I stopped feeling so alone.  

It didn’t happen all at once, but I cried less and put my energy into school and making sure Kirby had something to eat when he got home from his jobs.  Rachel liked coming over too. I had a pretty white bed with a matching nightstand and a small writing desk. It had a secret small drawer hidden beneath the top which held one thing: my lipstick that once belonged to my momma. I now owned two things that used to be my momma’s. A silver chain and cross (I think put over my head at momma’s service, but I’m not sure by whom) and her lipstick which I imagined my mother holding and knowing it was the last thing I held of hers before I lost her forever. I began writing poems and started a diary.  

I liked sharing my poetry with Rachel. Rachel was the only friend who knew my momma had taken her own life. She never made me feel strange or different because of it, but I tried to explain to her how strange and different I felt.  

Rachel thought it was cool Jimmy and I were allowed to be home alone  

(did we have a choice?) and we began to lie to her mother about Kirby’s presence, or lack thereof.  Rachel and her parents thought Kirby was our father and knew my momma “had died” a year ago. Somehow, I knew the details were not something we talked about. We had secrets.  

For the next four years, Rachel was at our house (with no adults) or I was at Rachel’s. Jimmy started to go with Kirby more, because he was the boy and hanging out a fire station was something he enjoyed. When Kirby began working at an automotive garage too, I thought Jimmy was going to lose his mind!   

   Holidays at Rachel’s house were loud and loving and fun as she was, with a roomful of relatives pinching our cheeks or swatting our behinds or rubbing  

Jimmy’s head or handing us quarters. (Everyone said “twins? really?” when they met us, surely comparing his golden silken locks to my hornet’s nest on top of my head.)  

I learned about Jewish holidays that overlapped our Easter and Christmas, but also discovering the important holidays like July 4th or Valentine’s Day were shared. Rachel was lucky because she got presents seven days in a row at Christmastime. She liked to help color Easter Eggs (although I couldn’t explain what that had to do with Jesus). I liked to find the matzo and sip wine even though we were young and it seemed forbidden.  

Jimmy, Rachel and I were best friends (Jimmy by default) and we shared everything together, until we were all in 6th grade; after a performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” on Christmas Eve. Another day when more promises were broken. 

Only two days after Christmas, I discovered Rachel had betrayed me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – Winter 1974 

 

I was writing the play version of “Charlotte’s Web” for our 6th grade class to perform. With Jimmy taking guitar lessons and hanging out more with Kirby, I realized I needed my own activity. I had a few friends, tried hard not to be different, even though my curly hair made me stand out, but I never participated in Card Exchange at our new school in gray Cleveland. I felt ready to be creative.  

I thought about momma in the red plateaus of Heaven.  

Kirby was now working just two jobs (he had given up the fire department).  He came home kind of blank, grabbed a few beers, managed to eat my dinner, then go back to work. Jimmy set the table and set out the jam and bread that we had with every meal. I talked about anything that I thought might interest Kirby and Jimmy and always managed to keep a conversation going, albeit, sometimes one way. No politics. No wars. No dead students. No momma. Mostly cars and music.  Jimmy kept us entertained with jokes and would break out singing, mostly with made up lyrics from popular songs, mocking us. We loved it.  

  “How do we solve problem like our Janny?” from Sound Of Music or  

“Everyone is doing the Kirby Stare, now…” (come on baby, do the locomotion).    I was so busy with the play, running a household and watching my brother, that I didn’t, at first, notice that Kirby had been combing his hair and drenching himself in a lethal mist of lemon-lime-bug-spray cologne before he left the house for his second job. I continued to construct my life through bits and pieces of other’s experiences. If I could paste one of my many selves into another’s life (I will remain still if you need me to be) I could be the fit that was missing.  

Kirby found his missing bit of sky in the way of julienne, who joined us for Thanksgiving Dinner and stayed for a while. She would bring us dance and for a little while, laughter from Kirby. 

   Julienne smelled like lavender and patchouli. She was petite with perfectly straight hair and a pigeon-toed walk that I tried to emulate. She was an urban hippie with a coat made of stinky llama fur. Pretty hair clips appeared to tame my unruly hair, along with flowers and curtains and brown bagged lunches with flowers drawn on them. Special cupcakes. Milk money. Lotions, tampons, hair conditioner, peasant blouses and bellbottoms were finally part of my life. She made me feel like I was not an outsider.   

Kirby gave up the bartending job; we were all together at night.  

We looked like a normal family. We were a family. He never asked us if julienne could join our little family, as the relationship was a surprise to him as well. If he spoke about it, perhaps it would disappear? We all held our breaths and allowed her into our lives. There was inclusion. This was a new feeling. Was this the happiest I had ever felt? Was it fair to momma?  

Julienne was the opposite of my momma who easily could have hidden julienne under her skirt. Besides physical opposites, momma was practical and inventive (“wash your hair a few times – you never know when you’ll be able to wash your hair again!”) versus julienne who was ethereal and joyful. (“little bug –  let’s put ribbons in your hair and dance.”) Her mood stayed the same no matter what kind of mood anyone else was in. 

Here was a woman I could become. Here was a woman who knew how to make my hair soft using olive oil. Here was a woman with whom I could tell secrets to and never be deceived. Momma and julienne. They both cared for us, loved us but Jimmy foretold both their endings.  

Jimmy did not hover in the kitchen anymore, the way he used to with momma. He stayed outside most of the time on his bike, exploring the suburbs.  

(“Don’t you miss the desert as much as me, Jimmy?”) At night time, he included himself with the family.  

Kirby and julienne slept in the finished basement in which their king size waterbed just fit. Occasionally, Jimmy would come into my room in the quiet of night, sit on the pink carpet, share his chocolate milk, and laugh at my castle heroine dreams of this family. I hated him for his “who gives a shit” attitude but even more for the way he could laugh so easily, all the time so that no one noticed his deep pessimism and doomsday view.  

“Janny, don’t be so stupid,” he insisted. I slurped. 

He grinned his handsome grin with his eyes looking up through the brown bottom of the glass mug and continued:  

“Kirby’s girlfriend is fun for now. But do you think she wants to stick around for the rest of the kiddie-single dad show? Stop dreaming sis.” 

Jimmy gave off a golden glow. An ancient Navajo spirit lived deep within him: A gift from my mother’s heritage. An Indian man inside a blonde- haired blue eyed 11-year-old kid. He was polite, made people feel at ease, effortlessly, but I witnessed the skeptical glint in his eyes; the sarcastic statements under his breath, only meant for my twin heart to feel. It wasn’t cynicism or anger; I didn’t realize then it was hurt and longing and reaching for something that wouldn’t be there. I think he felt momma’s loss more than me. Why couldn’t I fill that hole for him? I felt I wasn’t “adequate” for my own twin. What did that say about me? 

  I hoped he was wrong about julienne. 

 

CHAPTER 5 

 

Janny

 

Right before the Christmas holidays when music and dancing and julienne were a solid fixture, I worked frantically preparing for my debut performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” for the Grover Cleveland Elementary School. My play was to premiere, right after the chorus was to perform. Serendipity, in the form of band food poisoning (something to do with the tuna casserole served at the Battle of the Bands Regionals three nights previous) left a gaping portion of time in the Annual Christmas Pageant. My teacher and champion advocate, Mrs. Flanagan, suggested my “little class project” as a possible replacement – and our principal said Yes!  

My cast knew their lines (while holding the script) but we had no scenery, costumes or stage directions. Our prior performances were basically reading   my “play version” of the book (my favorite book in 4th grade) in front of two other classes inside our classroom. This change of venue was a major coupe for me! But how to perform on a real stage? Thank God, julienne designed and sewed the costumes and made the best one for my character of Charlotte the spider. Jimmy was originally my Templeton in our class presentation. He also had to read the part of “Avery” and “Wilbur” as I had a shortage of boy volunteers from my class. In fact, Jimmy was the only one boy in the play. None of the other 6th grade boys had any bravery or talent, apparently. Rachel played the perfect Fern. With her perfect (non frizzy) curls and red hair, she transformed into Fern with pigtails and a gingham dress. I wasn’t sure how I could pull this off, as there were times when the rat and Wilbur had to appear together on stage. Mrs. Flanagan suggested she be the voice of Templeton (as a puppet and therefore, hiding herself) since Wilbur was the main character. Jimmy focused on his hog-like character, enduring 65 minutes on his knees inside a pink pig. julienne created Wilbur as a Trojan horse, built from papier mache’, paint and felt. Kirby built a barn set and a carnival set.  

I thought: E.B White would be proud.

There was a manger set up on the stage for the chorus recital which we followed. Baby Jesus was a doll that belonged to Rachel. Her God didn’t mind us using it. As we weren’t permitted to touch the manger, our set was placed around it. The barn and carnival were the wings of sleeping Baby Jesus. We were only able to rehearse once. Allowances were made in the form of index cards with the lines. Cues were reinforced by julienne. It was crowded and hot behind the stage even after the chorus students cleared out and found their way onto the stacked bleachers. Kirby and julienne made their first appearance together at my school, working to get everyone in costume and sets in place: I didn’t correct anyone who referred to them as our “parents”. I hid behind the dream of forever and pushed aside my inner doubts. As if sensing my spinning loss, Mrs. Flanagan (and Templeton) put her furry arms around me. Tonight, would be okay.  

It was splendid. Instead of me portraying Charlotte “on stage”, Mrs.  Flanagan and Kirby rigged up a sheet and spotlight (in front of the manger) to silhouette my 8 legs, made of wire hangers, felt and masking tape. Just the shadow of a spider (with the web-like hair of an 11-year-old) appeared to the audience behind a black painted web drawn on the front. The words in the web were created with pipe cleaners, lots of them, shaped into 2-foot letters that dangled over the sheet. 

I was in charge of standing in front of the light, or shutting it off when not being featured. Wilbur and Fern and the other characters talked to the negative space on the screen. It was quite brilliant. Even though I couldn’t see what was happening on stage, julienne whispered off stage to “stand back, we can’t see you” or “turn out the light- you’re not in this scene” and “get ready to release the confetti over the sheet” (baby spiders) and “you look GREAT out here!”  I could hear Fern and Wilbur and puppet Templeton by the fence post and knew everyone was doing great. We messed up a little, left out a couple of scenes but still got a standing ovation. Kirby carried me out at the end as a dead spider (and playwright) draped in his arms. With my eyes closed, I felt the heat of the overhead stage lights and imagined my lifeless body was covered in stained glass rainbows.  I knew Kirby was smiling too. I hoped momma was smiling down at us.   

The day after Christmas, I ran next door right after breakfast to wake up  

Rachel and show her my Christmas gifts. She didn’t come over Christmas Day as planned since her family was hosting out of town relatives. I was invited but needed a day to come down from my play. For the first time, I felt embraced by a real family- my family. Jimmy, Kirby, and julienne. Cooking, relaxing, singing, napping, even Jimmy played games with me. For the first time, I didn’t get a stomach ache thinking of my momma not being there. The house protected me from the cold snowy wind outside and wrapped me like a cocoon.  

Breathless (my lungs were still adapting to wet cold), my gloved hand barely made a knocking sound when Rachel’s mom opened the door slightly, peering through the crack – something I had never seen her do before. She usually swung the door open wide, loudly announcing my arrival. I held my breath when I looked up to an uncharacteristic scowl. Why wasn’t she smiling at me? What had I done? 

Before I found my voice, Rachel’s mom pronounced: 

    “Rachel is not feeling well today.”    

I tried to answer as she closed the door before my words got out. I waited until noon then dialed Rachel’s house. The phone rang and rang before Rachel’s dad answered. He, at least, was friendly.  

“Hi Hon,” he said quietly yet forcefully. “Happy late birthday and Merry Christmas! I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the performance, but well done by the way!”  

   “Th-th-thanks” I stuttered. “Is Rachel up?”  

“No Sweets. She and her mom left earlier! They are going to stay  

with relatives until after New Year’s! I’ll tell her you called. Bye Sweets!” 

I slammed down the phone, ran upstairs sobbing. julienne followed me to my room and listened to me as snot dripped from my nose and mouth. I was so confused. Pieces were missing. Always, pieces of my life seemed missing.  

“Why is he lying? Why did Rachel’s mom lie? Why didn’t Rachel tell me anything? Is everyone lying to me? Did Rachel have to run away because of me? Did someone die? I hate her! I NEVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN!” 

Julienne listened calmly while I ranted and cried and screamed. In the midst of my confusion, I knew this was about me, not Kirby, not momma and not Jimmy. But me. This was my pain and betrayal and abandonment. Julienne tried to comfort me, give me answers: “maybe they just had to go away?”  

She liked to state the obvious. I didn’t even need julienne to say anything, although she made attempts. Kirby seemed lost too but kept smiling at me.  No one knew why Rachel left so no one could comfort me. Why were they trying to make me feel better? Even in my rage, it felt nice having that feminine smell envelope me. Rachel knew almost everything about me! How could I be so stupid to trust HER?  

Rachel was like our sister. I was like her family’s daughter. Her mother told me that all the time. Rachel was with us daily. How could I start school without her? Would she come back? Why did they go away so quickly? I pictured Rachel’s father coming home at dinnertime, handing his wife a package of fresh steaks, kissing her, kissing Rachel AND ME on the head and all is well. Where did that go? 

When I was 11, I had figured my life was set. I was a bare cactus, but in bright eastern sunlight. No escape from my scraggly past. Is that an oasis ahead?  

Or is that just a mirage? Jimmy’s predictions for our future snuck into my thoughts. Who would leave next? Julienne? Kirby? Jimmy? I continued to imagine the worst, especially that I would never see her again.  

Approaching New Years, Jimmy stayed away from my room. He just stayed away from me and the household too. Maybe two days went by before I saw him.   Kirby patted my back a few times. No words spoken. I was distraught. I slept through New Year’s. It was Kirby who came to the rescue. After the first, there was still no word, no call, no letter from Rachel. Kirby went next door to talk to Rachel’s father. I thought he was going over to ask about still driving us t school, but we had julienne now for that. He was going over to get answers. He

had met  Rachel’s parents twice in two years. Once, when he came by Rachel’s

to see if I could spend the weekend and the other time this past Christmas Eve, at

the pageant at Grover Cleveland Elementary School.  

I was upstairs. My small window faced Rachel’s garage. I watched Kirby’s forceful strong body in full military stance, walk up to the house. His ears looked cold. The cherry tree right outside the window was bare so I saw him clearly, thinking the color of his ears matched the cherries in summer.  

It wasn’t odd that Kirby was trying to make things right for me. He and I were both quiet (although, I was a big talker on the outside) but we liked answers.  Jimmy possessed the outward joy, drama, sadness of the family. Jimmy was like our momma – although she had rare periods of joy. Kirby was the one delivering the news about our father’s death; packing our things after momma’s death, calmly explaining the move. Kirby gave us the headlines- what was necessary to continue.  

No in-depth story to follow. The Cliff notes.  

Before he went next door, I heard Kirby speaking with julienne.  

“The poor kid. She must know something. She has to go back to school.  

She’s been a hermit this entire vacation.”  

So, this was it. Kirby the truth-seeker, not toiling through the Arizona dust and red sky, but marching beneath the winter winds of Cleveland, Ohio to find out what happened to my best friend. And, he came back with answers. I was not to blame.  

  I was waiting at the top of the stairs, waiting for the right moment to appear when Kirby opened our front door, letting the cold wind rush up the landing. He saw my pleading eyes: WHERE IS RACHEL?  

“Rachel had to go to her aunts” he volunteered immediately.  

I startled him by charging down the stairs and bursting into the vestibule as julienne helped remove his scarf. He gazed off for a bit, not at me, not at julienne, but that Kirby stare-at-nothing.  

“Her aunt who lives in New Jersey?” he continued, now meeting my small brown eyes. “You remember Rachel’s mom talking about her? You met them all last summer?”  

Yes. Yes. Kirby. I remember. Please. Get on with it. I had always been highly impatient, but his halted way of speaking was getting to me.  

“It seems Rachel’s grandma had a stroke and they all went there to help out.  

They may be there for a while.”  

One never knew if Kirby was done saying what he had to say. I swear, he took the LONGEST pauses. I saw Jimmy out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure when he got there or where he came from. julienne broke my icicle stunned silence. It appeared Kirby had no other information he was willing to share.  

“Does everyone want soup?” asked julienne. 

While Kirby slurped soup, he listened calmly as I barraged him with questions, all met with: Don’t know. Don’t know. I don’t know anything else, honey. Sorry. Jimmy said, “this will have to do for now, sis.” Always the pragmatist. 

Jimmy did his best to keep me occupied after the winter break was over.  It got dark early but we were able to try out our new sleds and boots. I loved my leather-bound diary from Kirby and julienne that was etched with a pine cone.  

It was inscribed: For Janny’s dreams, hopes and wishes.  

When I wasn’t playing with Jimmy or baking with julienne, I was using my set of 18 rainbow magic markers (my birthday present from Rachel) to color and imaging my life in dreams. It was forced because without Rachel, my best friend around, I felt dreamless. How am I going to go on like this?  

Friendless. Motherless. Fatherless. At least I had my twin.  

 

OHIO – 1993 

 

The hotel by Kirby’s hospital was not where I typically stayed. I usually 

went for the $49.95 rates with free cable but this time, I treated myself to 5-star 

elegance. Behind the brocade of the curtains and bedspread and the lushness of 

their bathrobe, the spa feel was lost on me. I was instead, trying to remember my 

first memory of Kirby. Just being near him in mileage like this had this effect.   

He is the smell of sweat and dust, a certain knock, a certain pause; my mother’s shoulders shaking, then she is on her knees holding me. I look over her to see the lower legs of a giant in Ironed Military Green. (Did I know that because it is a crayon color?) I look up slowly, mesmerized by a hat, an out of place slightly crunched wrinkled cap that clashes with the starchiness that was this man. It was if the task of absentmindedly hitting his thigh (yet grasping a little too tightly to be a habit) indicated his lack of eavesdropping and by happenstance, merely found these three sobbing colorless beings under his gaze.  

It was as if he had not carried the official news of my father’s KIA status. It was as if he did not have to look into my mother’s endless black eyes and not be able to face her “at that moment”.  Privately, Kirby never forgave himself for being the one to deliver the news. That was one secret I knew for sure.  

Did I ever forgive Kirby for ruining our lives by happenstance? Did he know he would be feeling too much this time for this young mother and her fatherless toddlers? Did I ever think if Kirby wasn’t in our lives, both my parents would somehow, be alive? How was he able to come home from Vietnam? Why would he stick around and promise to be there for us? How was that supposed to make us feel? Loved? Lucky? Lacking? 

I knew Jimmy might forgive Kirby but wondered if he could ever really, forgive my mother? And not just for her death; rather for her slowly disappearing into the dusty years before she took her life. He claims he remembers her telling us when were two, that we were a mistake and that her life was a mistake. Jimmy had no more secrets. He was there to remind me. To be my observer.  

 

I felt a deep silence suddenly and looked over at the clock radio. The classical music I had absentmindedly turned on (I always had to find NPR on the radio) stopped. The phone rang. It was Jimmy. I guess I knew that.  

“Hey,” the familiar voice said.  

         “Hey,” I answered from the darkened room.  I was thirsty.  

         “Did you know it was me?” 

         “Of course.” I didn’t tell him that I didn’t always feel him. “Well, I wanted to ask how your visit with Kirby went and if you planned to stay around for awhile.” Jimmy continued: “I know you are shocked.  

But I want to come over. I want to see you.” 

 

If there was a word beyond shock, that was it. I was beyond shocked.  No one had seen Jimmy (including myself) for the past 8 plus years. We communicated via phone weekly and there were cards and letters, but I had not shared a real moment with him since we were 21. He had not seen Kirby since the stroke. He had missed meeting julienne’s new grandchildren (she married a wonderful man and had three beautiful step-daughters). He had missed Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas and our birthdays. I had a brief fantasy that maybe this year, we will share our birthday together? 

Jimmy ended all suspense and gave me the best surprise. 

“Sis? I will see you tomorrow. Breakfast, maybe brunch at your fancy schmancy hotel.”  

He gave me some flight details which I don’t remember writing down, but there was scribble written on my Hotel stationery (on a back of a hotel postcard because I couldn’t find a pad) – my handwriting with an airline name and flight information. Even though we made sure we were always able to get in touch, his absence over the years was great. I knew I had my twin but still resented him for not being there for Kirby. I’m not sure what I expected, but I knew this visit was going to be something important for the two of us. More so for Jimmy, when he got to see Kirby.   

  CHAPTER SIX 

 

  Jimmy 

Tucson – April 1968 

 

My mother is crying. I have seen her cry before but not like this. Janny looks scared. Kirby is not comforting her. He has his head turned down, away from the t.v. – away from other people crying on the news. I am told a famous man was killed. I don’t know who that is but he must have been important to my parents. I wonder if her got killed in Vietnam like my dad. I wondered if Kirby knew this reverend when he was in Vietnam. 

We pile into the truck, the four of us crunched together in the front seat of our pick-up truck, me feeling like the last topping someone puts on a taco. We are going down a pebbly driveway to a church stuck in the desert in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t remember much about going to church but knew my mother had  

Indian blood and I wasn’t sure what kind of religion that might be. This church (they told me we came here for Easter) seemed to help my mother act “normal”.   

Janny wishes our mother tied back her crazy black hair.  

Janny and I are pushed into a row of benches and told to hold the hand of 

the person next to you. The people pouring into the room resemble the desert 

landscape at dusk: every shade of sand and clay. Everyone is sad. Someone 

speaks about a “great leader to the cause” whose work inspired this congregation 

reach the Promised Land. A king.  

Janny asks me to read the hymn words to her because at 5, I could read better than her. No one bothered to ask me that in kindergarten. Janny was labeled the “smart one” after all. When the people at the front stopped talking, the congregation began singing “We shall overcome”. I know this is making my mother sadder. “I will take care of you” I say in my head. We are all still holding hands. Kirby did a good job of taking care of us. He was bigger than my dad I think, with a deeper laugh. He laughed easily. Often. Mostly at himself. I have his sense of humor. I try to do stupid stuff to get my mother and Janny to laugh. But I  didn’t get why he wasn’t comforting my mom now.  

A few months after our visit to the Baptist church, my mother tells us,  

“another Kennedy has been killed” just a few months after Dr. King. My mother explains the meaning of our initials. I didn’t realize we had such a big connection with the world.  

I remember thinking after my mother died “well, I kept her alive this long.”   

I felt free.  

   

  

Ohio – DECEMBER 1993 

 

It has been a long time since I have seen my sister. She doesn’t understand why. She blames herself (surprise surprise), but I wanted her to respect my decision. The problem is it hasn’t been a conscious decision. I had some things I needed to find out on my own. She is stunned when I reach out to her. We talk regularly (regularly enough for me) minus a few years of total radio silence. I am hoping this gesture of mine will be of some significance. Calling her while she was visiting Kirby and our birthdays approaching, I feel the significance.  

 I fly in from N.Y. the next morning to arrive at Janny’s hotel early. As I recall, she does not do early. I decide to check in first. I wasn’t planning on staying, but I get a room and ask the front desk to send up some toiletries. I will do a quick rinse in the room. 

As I was drying out my shirt and underpants, I lay under the bedspread and call home. I get the machine. We should change the message, I think.  

  “Hi. It’s me. I’m in. I decided to stay the night. Gonna see Kirby. Love you.  

Happy birthday to me.”  

The phone rings back almost immediately.  

“I’m glad I knew where your sister was staying so I could track you down.  At least one of the twins is responsible” my darling wife says, with no irony or sarcasm.   

  “I know. I am a lovely man. How are you?”  

         “I was just getting out of the shower when you called. You just can’t drop a bombshell like that on a stupid machine. Seeing Kirby is a big deal, Jim.” God, I loved her.  

“Well, then, you will look forward to my return. I shall report news from the front.”  

 She heard stories of Kirby’s no-bullshit-approach to things. I’m no

different.  

  “Beth? Are you there?”  

  “Yes. Looking forward to your return.” Her tone was loving.  

She wished me (and my sister) a happy birthday. There was little unsaid between us.  

I go down to the gift shop just as it opens to pick up a birthday gift for Janny. Besides a candy bar or magazine or Santa, what can I possible get? There are white lights draped around the displays to make them look festive. On a dusty glass shelf sits a row of snow globes. There are several scenes but the one I choose…it’s the last one. 

Inside this miniature glass dome is a small cabin, a cactus and a red pick-up truck. The cactus is covered in tiny multi-colored Christmas lights. A cat is in the driveway. I make it snow on the tiny scene. I can almost see two children inside the cabin.  

I try to remember driving cross country and seeing snow for the first time. I think I can remember. The globe is $15.95. I buy a Scientific American magazine and a candy bar for later. They do not have gift wrapping but the young cashier does have a bow to put on my purchased package. I realize I don’t have a card.  

She points to the back. I run and grab the first blank card I see, as I hated the  

Hallmark printed words. It has a photo of two penguins. I will write the  

appropriate words which will probably be “Happy Birthday, Love, Jim. Your 

twin forever.”  

I thank the cashier and walk across the lobby to the restaurant where I am to meet Janny. I am slightly nervous, but can’t wait to see her. I am looking forward to our reunion. Finally, a birthday we can celebrate together.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 CHAPTER 7  

 

Jimmy  

 

Ohio – December 1974  

 

Rachel was my sister’s best friend. She was always around and a part of my relationship with my sister. I felt protective of Janny. People came and went in our lives. It was the nature of things. I knew this even then. I would keep a non- noticeable distance from friends, schoolmates and family – just in case.  

I had friends I hung out with, but I didn’t have a best friend like my sister.  I was funny and entertaining, appearing as if I was popular. I think Julie, my dad’s new girlfriend, brought that out in me. She brought everyone out of themselves in our family. She was a good fit. I was glad she would be in our lives for a while.  Only Janny got to witness the dark side of me. I reminded her to keep some space between herself and others. She believed me too, but never held back her love, affection and attention from anyone. I shouldn’t have taken the joy out of her hopeful life.  

Rachel and I got closer the night my sister put on a play at school. Quite a project. The entire family and neighborhood seemed to have a hand in making the play successful. Janny was out of her shell and doing great as writer, director, and star for elementary aged kids. I never felt my age. I felt more comfortable hanging out with Kirby and his friends at the garage. They were interesting, talking about nothing. It felt like they respected me for who I was.  

I was happy for Janny that Kirby and Julie were part of the play. Finally, something just about her, for her. I was proud to be her brother. It would be a few years before I told her that.  

Rachel and I ended up having some down time, at the same time, in the cramped closet backstage: the “dressing” room. Finally, there was a lull in all the frantic activity. The play was over – hugs, bows, applause finished, auditorium emptied. Only a few last minute clean up duties to tend to. Although we were permitted to keep the sets up during the holiday break, Kirby dismantled some ahead of time. Janny was out at the truck with the parents loading up some scenery.  Rachel and I were waiting to see what else they could fit.  

“You were really great tonight!” I said, although not feeling obligated to talk. Rachel was almost like a family member and I was more comfortable with her than I had realized.  

  “Thanks! You too.” Rachel said.  

  “Are you coming over Christmas morning?” I asked knowing the answer would be “of course”. 

  “Not this year.” We both paused. We both looked down. 

  “Okay?” I said as she clearly didn’t want to talk about why. Rachel looked up at me with her big blue eyes. We were sitting practically on top of one another, a top boxes and piles of clothing. I was too warm and started to sweat. I was only 11, but had peach fuzz on my chin and hair on my underarms and groin area.  I think seeing me uncharacteristically ill-at-ease made Rachel fill in the blanks quicker.  

“Janny doesn’t know I have to go away for a while. Something is happening  

with my family. Me. My family. So, I’m not sure when we’ll even be back.”  Rachel practically whispered.  

  “Why do you have to go away? Why doesn’t Janny know? You crazy?”  

I said playing the role of big brother.  

She laughed.  

  “I’m sick, Jimmy. I found out when school started. My mom kind of didn’t want anyone to know. I have to start treatments after New Year’s so we’re leaving for freezing Minnesota tomorrow. We rented an apartment until dad can come, ya’ know, join us?”  

 “Are you…okay, Rach?” She was telling me she wasn’t, but I didn’t want to believe it. For Janny.  

  “I don’t know” she said slowly.  

We poked our heads out to see if anyone was looking for us yet, ready to go home. It seemed we still had time.  

We didn’t talk about Janny not knowing Rachel’s secret after that. I didn’t care about Rachel’s decision not to tell anyone. It really didn’t matter, did it? Janny would find out tomorrow. And I was good at keeping secrets.  

It would be weird not having Rachel around. The slight enclosure, our combined breaths filling this small space, created an intimacy we never had before. Janny was always there with us. Was this the first time I was alone  

with Rachel? She was so pretty. I don’t think I had noticed that before.  

“Janny doesn’t know things about me either. About us.” I said.  

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel asked.  

  “When I was little, I heard my mom talking. I was little, but I remember

 what she said.” I was saying things out loud I hadn’t even uttered to myself.  

  “What was it?”  

  Was I about to disclose things to this girl I had never revealed to anyone before? Will saying it out loud make it truer? Was Rachel’s impending absence allowing my protective shield to drop; to no longer keep this secret invisible? Was I about to pull off the cloak?  

“My mother was talking on the phone. To her uncle, I think. Anyway, she  

said ‘the twins will always be the twins, no matter where Jimmy came from.”  

It felt like a confession saying this. I had never told anyone. I thought perhaps I was too young to really remember this. Janny would have laughed if I told her I thought I wasn’t related to her. Rachel didn’t laugh.  

  “I don’t understand. How can you be different like that, I mean, with where you came from, if you’re Janny’s twin?”  

A fair statement from Rachel that clearly had never occurred to me like that.  

  “I heard my mom talking about it another time too. To Kirby. Our bedroom was right off the living room, so I could hear the two of them at night while sis was asleep.” 

We both knew once Janny was asleep, nothing could wake her. Rachel and I played the record player loudly, even while Janny slept in the same room.  

I continued my story.  

“Mom was in one of her good days. She had very sad days (I wasn’t sure how much Janny had told Rachel about our mom), but that night she was chatty with Kirby. She used to get him to make her promises about me and Janny. Like ‘taking care of us’ promises in case anything happened to her.”  

Rachel knew the story of my mother’s suicide. I knew they had shared a lot over the years.  

“So, she told Kirby once my ‘real parents’ had ‘left the planet’ just so Janny and I could be raised together.”  

Rachel held my gaze softly. No shock or judgment registered.  

  “Once I knew my parents weren’t aliens (I laughed a little too loudly), I put together I was left with the Kapinskys – Janny’s real parents. I was left by dead people to be raised by a mother and father – who both died too.” I took a deep breath.  

The words surprised me saying them out loud for the first time. Had I just realized ALL FOUR of my parents were gone? It felt as if I was talking about someone else. I didn’t feel that damaged.  

  Rachel had tears streaming down her cheeks.  

  “MY biological parents were friends of my dad – the dad who died in Vietnam, not Kirby? I’m pretty sure.” I’m not certain how I knew all this.  

I think at that moment I knew Kirby was my “real” dad and would always be my father. The one who mattered the most. The one who stuck around.   “Claire and James rescued me- prevented me from going to an orphanage or something. They got to name me and pick my birthday, so…” 

I kept hoping Rachel was going to interrupt me. I was used to answering questions, not just giving information to people about my past.  

  “The difference between when I was born and when Janny was born didn’t matter. I guess.”  

Did I deserve anything of my own?  

“So, you and Janny – it was just decided you would be raised together, as like, twins?” said Rachel trying to make sense of my crazy story.  

I had forgotten how much I had known. How much I filled in with lies. 

How much I didn’t really know.  

Rachel asked the obvious questions: Who knew what when? She was surprised Janny didn’t know we weren’t “twins” (if Janny knew, Rachel would have known too) and Kirby didn’t know I knew?  

This is why secrets become complicated.  

“Didn’t you ever want to know your REAL birthday?” Rachel asked.  

I had a real birthday. It was Janny’s. We were twins. We shared everything.  It didn’t matter if the day was a little different. I sure wasn’t going to be the one to take that from her too.  

I thought my mother’s death was the most complicated secret one could have.  Stories about parents are not regular tales told by 6th graders and their ilk, but people did wonder about Kirby. I was embarrassed (for Janny) whenever we had a Mother’s Day project or parent-teacher conference meeting. “This is Kirby. He stays with us?”  

I didn’t like reducing Kirby to a side-note in my life, but he was a side-note: Someone who got caught up with a woman who had two kids (pretending to be both their mothers) – all because it was his job to inform her our “father” was KIA in Vietnam? Why did it seem this war followed me my whole life? Why did I feel closer to Vietnamese children 9000 miles away then I did with my school friends?  I had an orphan’s heart. I had a picture in my head of James’ face before he was killed. Maybe some child over there saw him die. He was so far away when he was killed, so very far away. Now the war was over, lost and forgotten. I wanted to hold on to and remember his love, my first love from a father, even though Janny and I were just babies, practically. I shared that with my sister. We were twins because we lost our parents together.  

Together, as a family, we all teared up when Nixon announced a cease-fire in the beginning of the year via Mr. Walter Cronkite. We mourned together, laughed together, struggled together – an unlikely thrown together family, but still family. Rachel understood it all. My sister was lucky to have her. 

Rachel and I wondered aloud why Kirby never told me or Janny the truth about us. I don’t remember what happened after our conversation in the school closet, other than we all went out for ice cream. Since Rachel was gone the next morning, I chased all thoughts of our secrets away. It’s like it never happened.  

 

 

CHAPTER 8 

 

Janny 

 

 Ohio – 1975 

 

It was six months since my successful production of Charlotte’s Web. The summer had arrived: hot, boring, with days stretched in front of us like a flat dusty highway. Rachel’s dad had left the house a few months before. Rachel’s house remained empty. Uninhabited. I climbed the willow outside our garage, staring at her upstairs bedroom window. Jimmy stopped trying to get me to come down.  

  “At least come swimming with me, Janny!” he shouted.  

Jimmy tried to snap me out of my summer misery. My first summer in Ohio without Rachel. My first summer with a “step-mom”. No plans laid out for the twins, although Jimmy was signed up to be a boy scout.  

I was sulky, and julienne’s sunny nature wasn’t working either. She got a job at a local nursery and was not around as much. I entertained myself, usually by writing in my diary, for hours on end. In my room. Under a table in the dining room. In a corner of the yard. Alone. No need to uproot and explore. Jimmy seemed free – he was the wind. Not me. I was serious, like Kirby. Down to business. I learned to keep myself busy when momma entered her own little dark world, maybe not so little.  

I learned to be ignored was not necessarily rejection. (Leaving me was 

though.) It was an opportunity for pretend-time. It was the only release I had.

   I read a lot of books that summer: Catcher In The Rye, Siddhartha, 

 

Richard Brautigan, Vonnegut, Sylvia Plath. I listened to Jethro Tull, Marvin 

 

Gaye, Joni Mitchell and Loggins & Messina. Unfortunately, everything 

 

reminded me of Rachel.

 

I pictured Rachel was there with me, listening to my plastic turntable with the two detachable plastic speakers. The stereo came with a 45-rpm disk in case I wanted to listen to Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger or Donovan; records Rachel and I  

bought together. I had huge headphones with thick rubber insulation on the ear pieces. I heard every instrument and every note. I spent hours listening to my records, laying on the floor, looking at my neon butterfly wallpaper. I cut out pictures of Robert Redford on a horse; George Harrison cross-legged with long hair; and dead rock stars. Jimmy had cool posters in his room and made fun of my wall art.  

No matter where Rachel was or what she was doing, I imagined us on the same page in the same book, our fingers poised mouthing the same words at the exact same times. Listening to my music, side by side. Plotting, planning as best friends did.  

Jimmy had his own friends and, often left to go fishing or some other adventure without me. All our memories together seemed sad now. Well into July, one hotter than usual summer day, I temporarily abandoned my committed misery and let myself trail Jimmy and Sal (Jimmy’s boy scout buddy) on bikes down to the path next to the river. It stank on certain days, but it seemed less muggy by the water. We liked climbing into the sumps – huge sewer pipes – where the dark mustiness enveloped us like a cool compress – a respite from the stifling heat. Playing spy games (“Man from U.N.C.L.E.”), we lost ourselves in the deeper meaning of unfettered imagination.  

Jimmy and Sal were rushing ahead of me on their bikes. I was hot and called  

“Jimmmmmmmmy- Waitttttt upppppppppp!” but they seemed to be teasing me by going faster. Jimmy was easily influenced by the person closest to him. Now, it was Stupid Sal. I called Sal “Stupid Sal” ever since he had difficulty trying to figure out how much change to give me after I bought a pickle from his father’s deli. I had given him a quarter and the pickle was a nickel! Jimmy was not as judgmental or as harsh as I was. I chalked it up to being in an extra bad mood that summer.  

The boys disappeared quickly. Sal threw a piece of tinfoil at me from the  

bread julienne had made us. And then they were gone. I still knew it was Stupid  

Sal’s idea to escape from me – hop off their bikes under the bridge and dash into  

the sumps. I was quite a way back, but this portion of the river sidewalk was  

straight and their bikes were easily spottable.  

We hadn’t passed anyone on the path. I was glad because yielding on this concrete edge scared me. The river was blocked off by a chain-link fence, but the water was still 9 feet below. I was not in a hurry since I had no plans to follow them into the sewers. They were easily several “lights” ahead of me by now. If they thought I was going to chase them, they were wrong.  

A sump “light” meant approximately seven concrete tunnels in- a grate of light appeared above where the road ran on top and water drained through. The opening and first light in, was usually dry, just garbage and broken bottles. Past the first light, the cement floor of the pipes had to be straddled so sneakers stayed dry.  I planned to stay outside the tunnels for a little while until they both came out. I had to show Jimmy I didn’t care he was ignoring me in favor of his stupid friend. (Sal was thrown out of the boy scouts one year later for punching another boy.)  

I waited in the sweltering stillness, surrounded by the deep echoing summer sounds of the cicadas. The river beside me was still, mucky and smelled rotten. I looked both ways on the path. I laid my old black used Schwinn against the boys abandoned bikes. I wondered if Rachel’s new three speed was still in their garage or if she had it, wherever she was? I had no way of knowing. No call. No letter. No signs that she even existed.  

I stayed out in the sun for probably 20 minutes. Rain clouds were forming across the river. I briefly wished I hadn’t come with them and had stayed home to read. Now I had to catch up to them inside the sumps.  

I stood by the shadowy opening to the sumps. The coolness rushed out. I was going in, but still was not going to call them. I hummed loudly, my sneakers and singing reverberating in the sludge. Bottles, used condoms, cigarette butts and general slime disappeared in the enclosing darkness.  

I went through the tunnels steadily and easily. I wasn’t sure how far behind from them I was. I felt alone and scared. The ground was dry by the time I got to the first light, after losing sight of the tunnel opening. The dark space in front of me got curvier and smaller. I stopped humming and whispered “Jimmy?”  The dank silence was my answer.  

 

 

 

CHAPTER 9

  

  JIMMY 

 

Ohio – July 1975 

 

Sal was a pal. He knew how to get out, get in and get it going on with anyone and anything. He was not what my family called “a good influence”. Kirby did not like him, but he and I had an unwritten code that neither of us ever criticize nor judge one another passively or otherwise.  

Sal could draw and mold clay pieces into cool figures. We painted models of monsters together. He liked the smell of the little paints. We snuck sips off Kirby’s beer when he fell asleep in his chair in front of the t.v. We smoked cigarettes we stole from Kirby’s pack: Camels – filter less. We made elaborate mud tunnels, paths behind the houses- deep in moss, using cattails and rocks to form mini- waterfalls and dams where our figures encountered unescapable peril. We brought all our trucks and army men to their massive obstacle course. Most were doomed as the mud on plastic and clay eventually turned into cement. Kirby got tired of reminding us to wash everything off at the end of the day. Our army looked like victims of Vesuvius, melted together in a caked frozen mass, unrecognizable. Sal and I saw pictures of the town in Italy one day- the residents paralyzed in their last expression- mostly horror or surprise. They looked like something we could mold or play with. It was cool.  

Summer was about being outside all day, no boy scouts, riding around on bikes, creating mud trails and forts and hideouts: Buying comic books, eating 

candy, climbing trees, pretending. Janny always spent her allowance early so I

always had to buy her junk comic books too. I got paid extra for occasionally 

helping Kirby out in the garage. Janny had no interest. 

We caught fireflies and came in dirty and tired at dusk. The house smelled from fragrant soups Julie was cooking. The herbs came from her backyard garden as did all our vegetables. Sal never ate a vegetable before coming over to our house. He learned to love zucchini. I think he had a small crush on Julie. Life was good.  

Sometimes a few of us took our bikes down by the river. We knew it was kind of “off limits”. One of our favorite things to do there was to explore the tunnels, counting how many lights we could get to. The first sections of the giant cement pipes were usually dry, but the further one went in, the wetter and smaller it became. It smelled like rats and wet leaves.  

 

We were ready for another adventure. It had rained a few days in a row and we had been housebound. Sal slept over and we woke up to a clear day. We planned to make it to the river before it got too hot. Tunnels, here we come!  

“You two are going out where?” asks Kirby, his voice and look on the edge of retracting the tone of his question.  

“Dad, Stop.” I finally began calling Kirby “dad” at some point.  

“You’re still a kid. God help me when you become a teenager. But for God’s sake, you’re still a kid. Be back by sunset. Take your sister?”  

  “Okay.”  

“Hey, Jimmy? Don’t go down by the river.”  

 

And off Sal and I went. I called upstairs for Janny to join us. Sal groaned.  

I tried to feel my sister’s pain of losing her best friend. I never told her about my conversation with Rachel the night of the play. I didn’t see the point in telling her anything because she refused to move on. She went to school and came home right after. Julie gave her piano lessons. They sewed. The watched “The Guiding  

Light”. But no plays, no spontaneous singing or dressing up. No following me everywhere, asking me questions. This was her first summer without Rachel and  

Janny didn’t appear interested in having any other friends. Julie and Kirby didn’t force her into some sort of activity (like they did for me – it wasn’t my idea to join the boy scouts). Janny disappeared for hours (or I just lost track of her) but she was pretty quiet, generally. And never in the way. I guessed I missed her. Imagine, missing your twin? I didn’t want her tagging along with me and Sal, but I complied to Kirby’s wishes.  

The three of us stopped at the candy store, about 20 minutes away from our house, mostly a downhill ride. Getting home was going to be another matter.  We got cokes and wax filled candies and gum. Janny got a huge sourball.  

“Hello, children” said Mrs. Kalisman, the store’s owner. A kind faced, hunched over woman who gave us taps on our hands after we paid. A playful gesture.  

  “Hello, ma’am.” I answered. Sal and Janny were quiet.  

  “Ach! Look at you two – twins, eh? Your sister looks like your film negative!” She handed us our small bags. “We finally have some sun! Going to the pool?”  

“Yes, ma’am. Just headed there now” I lied. I saw Sal pocket some bubble gum cards. I didn’t say anything.  

We grabbed our bikes off the sidewalk and continued to the sumps down by the river. It was probably close to noon by the time we got down there. Julie had given us some fruit and homemade zucchini bread in our packs before we left.  There were steps leading down to the path next to the river- forcing us to carry down our bikes. Because of the heat and warm cokes, we stopped at the top of the stairs. We found a grassy spot in the shade and ate our bread. Sal and I were ignoring Janny, only because she did not make her presence known. She wanted it that way. To be an observer but not commit to joining in fully. That was fine. I could not be responsible for her happiness my entire life, I decided. (Although, my gut told me it was my job.) I had always felt that way. Not just because of the “twin” or orphan thing either. It was because of who she was. Janny was wickedly funny, especially with me. Her soft-spoken comments, not meant for anyone other than me, were biting and sarcastic. She had dead on responses to “Kirbyisms” as we liked to call them – Kirby’s way of delivering life messages like he was reading them off an embroidered pillow. I was her best audience and vice-versa.  

Janny was the opposite of Julie, who lit a room up with light when she entered it. There was an ease that came about with anyone lucky enough to share a space with Julie. When my sister came into a room, no one noticed. She kept her dark hair in front of her face and hid in big baggy clothes. I had no idea where her body began. Not that I cared.  

“Do you guys want to go now?” I signaled to them both. I wanted Janny to stop staring into space and get ready to get up. She didn’t move real fast.  

“Let’s go, Jimmy,” said Sal as he grabbed his bike and leapt onto the path, tossing an apple core behind him.  

  “Janny, we’ll see you down there!” I yelled, before I abandoned her. I had no more patience and didn’t want my friend to beat me to the 3rd light, as that was where the sump challenge began.  

“I’m coming!” Janny said petulantly behind me, looking like a hamster with a giant sourball in her cheek.  

Sal and I kept a fast pace, throwing down our bikes and darting into the tunnels. The water covered the floor almost to the first light. A few critters swam between our straddled legs. We didn’t have a flashlight, as we usually went with a bigger group where someone else seemed to have the light. Sal and I were not always good together. We were too much alike. Boy scouts indeed.  

We got to the fourth light which immersed us into total darkness. The shadow from the grate produced a slivered sunlight, scattering the muck below into brown one-inch fabric pieces cut for a quilt. The occasional car drove over us and shook the metal above our heads, sending down a rain of loose asphalt and dirt. We were about to light up a cigarette when I realized Janny was nowhere to be seen –  Or heard since I bolted after Sal. We propped ourselves at an angle, our butts on the incline with our feet placed across the span of pipe, our faces towards the faint  dusty light, our legs placed over and under each other, crisscrossing in the tight  space. Road vibrations and water droplets the only sounds.  

“Ready to light up?” asked Sal, stating the obvious.  

Out of a Marlboro pack, Sal pulled out a joint. Fat, tightly twisted at both ends, taking up the space of two cigarettes.  

“Guess who got a new boyfriend?” asked Sal.  

Sal’s parents were divorced and although his dad had custody, he saw his mother too. I pretended the joint was no big deal.  

“I had a bong hit once at Kirby’s friends party.” I lied.  

  “Well, then this will get you blasted, my friend.” Sal was fearless.  

  “Does the boyfriend know you took it?” I asked.  

  “By the time he realizes it, he will be too drunk to know he had it.”  I understood. Sal’s mother with another loser.  

“He was in ‘Nam though” added Sal.  

Growing up with Kirby wasn’t always easy. I didn’t know what he went through in Vietnam, but I saw him get angry with himself easily – and then needing a few beers or a joint to be able to fall asleep, or to check out.  

I watched Julie reaching out to him when she sensed he was going to a dark place. Sometimes, I figured it was our mom’s memory who sent him there. I saw him go through a few jobs too. One thing I was sure of – Kirby would forever, be in our lives. I had no reason to know nor believe this, but I did. Without question.  

Even after Julie discovered our deeply flawed selves and moved on, Kirby was steadfast in his parenting. I don’t think it was devotion to us, as much as how much he was once devoted to our mom. We were the prize in the Cracker Jacks.  

I was lucky that way- having a guy always around. Janny wasn’t a “girly girl” who seemed to miss having a mom. But when Julie arrived, I saw the big hole in Janny’s life being filled. I guess having a mother commit suicide will do that.  

When my mother was alive, I felt she needed me all the time. I felt like I was the only one allowed to enter her world of darkness. She needed me to remind her there was a way out. A child does not judge a parent’s sadness. It was watched closely with curiosity and wonderment. It is seeing your superhero without her costume.  

Janny doesn’t remember our father. He smelled like leather and shoe polish.  He had jet black hair, like my mom but looked like Captain America. I think when one super hero loses their other superhero, the surviving super hero doesn’t survive at all.  

As Sal and I toked on the joint, I told Sal the story of the parents who raised me until coming here – the story of my mom – the part of her killing herself but not the part of it being my fault. How that day, I should have known the blackness was all around; how I could have stopped her.  “Was your dad cool?” asked a very stoned Sal. 

“Which one? Kirby is a cool dad.”  

“The dead one?” clarified Sal.  

  “Yeh. He was cool.” What else could I say about my dad? That I lost my mother when we lost him? Janny and I had almost three years with our tidy family unit, until dad joined up and went to fight the commies. Until dad didn’t come back. When Kirby told us he had died a hero, I thought “heroes don’t leave their kids”, even if one of those kids was a fraud. 

“Let’s go in deeper,” Sal suggested “and light up again at the next light.  

Get it?”  

I nodded in the filtered traffic dust from above. I heard a sharp metallic sound after a car drove over our heads. I was looking up, smiling at the patterns of silt. I smelled exhaust and was about to say something profound when I realize that sound had come from Sal – he had fallen over and was writhing in a large puddle of water, blood trickling from his head. I screamed his name then instinctively, called out to Janny.  

No one answered. Sal’s arms and legs looked locked up and there was spit around his mouth. He was laying on his side, with a broken bottle beneath his cut open head.  

I pulled my bandana off my pants loop and placed it on Sal’s head. I cleared away some glass and one that was stuck in his head. He had stopped shaking but just lay there, eyes open staring off into nothing.  

“Sal. Sal. Sal. What’s going on? Are you okay? I have to go get help. Can you hear me, man?”  

I heard a whisper behind me.  

“Jimmy?”  

I was so happy to look up and see Janny. She had followed us in and found us. There was only one way to get into the sumps, but we were far in. Janny was crying. She was looking down at Sal and tears were running down her face.  

“Janny, I don’t know what’s going on. You stay here. I’ll go get help.”   “Don’t leave me here!” Janny said quietly.  

“Guys? Shit. Ow. Fuck.” Sal was stirring and trying to sit up. I took his hand and placed it on the handkerchief which had crusted onto his forehead wound.  

  “Damn Sal- what the hell, man? Hold this on your head.”  

  “Man. That was good pot.”  

  “Sal, you’re crazy man. You convulsed and fell and hit your head!”  

  We both started laughing uncontrollably. Janny was kneeling in the puddle besides us, whimpering. Coughing up spit, tears and blood, Sal and I looked like we came through a war. 

    “I’m so tired, Jimmy. Dizzy” Sal tried to say through his stoned giggling.  This caused Janny to cry harder.  

  “Can you get up?” I asked. “Do you need to stay here? Can you make it out with us?”  

  “Sure. In a minute. Damn.” Sal answered.  

  “Yeh, okay. That’ll be good.” I was shaking and didn’t know why.  

I noticed the blood wasn’t dripping down his face anymore and it seemed as if his head had stopped bleeding. We continued laughing. I soon realized Janny was gone. I think I saw the shadowy ripples across the puddles, but I couldn’t see or think further than that. We were enveloped in darkness. I positioned myself, my hands on Sal’s shoulders guiding him to lay back down. My stomach hurt from laughing as I put his head on my legs. We started to catch our breaths. We both sighed.  

Without speaking, we both got up at the same time. Unsteady. Shaky.  Stoned. Arm in arm like wounded soldiers, we limped hunched over and plodded through the tunnels. We didn’t bother to straddle and instead just waded through the murky waters, kicking away occasional cans and other unidentified objects.  

The light was bright at the opening. It seemed far away. A chill I didn’t realize I had begun to leave my body. My teeth were clenched. I started to sweat.  

Sal was breathing heavily. We hadn’t said a word and stopped at every tunnel segment to catch our breaths – concentrating on the task of getting to our bikes. I wasn’t sure what to do then. It felt as if we were under fire and Sal had been shot. 

I thought of Kirby and felt like I understood him more. Brotherhood was everything. As we got closer to the opening I felt the stifling heat, now producing steam from a summer storm encroaching. I saw Janny’s face peeking down at us.  

  “They’re HERE!” she shouted to someone.  

Two big silhouetted bodies came to greet us in the dark and quickly dragged us out the few feet to the entrance. It was Kirby and another man I had never seen. Or maybe he owned a store nearby. 

“You two are lucky I was just at the shop! Thank God for your sister!”  

The stranger and Janny were leading our bicycles back. Kirby picked up Sal and carried him over his shoulders.   

“I’m Okayyyyy…” Sal grunted as he bounced along with Kirby’s gait.  

“We’re at the steps now. Almost to my truck. Hold on.”  

Janny was next to me on the narrow sidewalk. She handed my bike off to me, so I could carry it up the stairs to the street.  

“Are you okay?” she whispered to me.  

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking, yeah, I’m fine, how did you get us, how did you know and, thanks? 

Kirby had thrown our bikes into the back of the truck and Janny and I hopped in the back with them. She stared at me the entire drive to the hospital,  

where we met up with Sal’s mother.   

Eventually, we found out Sal had a seizure in the tunnels, his second one since he was 5. They kept him for a few days to figure out what kind of medicine to give him. He was expected to make a full recovery. I wasn’t sure Janny could recover from what was about to come. 

 

CHAPTER 10

Janny 

 

July – 1975 

 

Before I found Sal and my brother in the sumps, I had begun to hear  

Jimmy’s voice a few tubes ahead. Just a deep echo of rumblings from the solid darkness. It made me feel warm. Finally, I saw a hint of light filtering down in the near distance. When I came upon them, Jimmy was kneeling over Sal’s body holding a bandana on Sal’s head. Sal was perfectly still. His eyes were open. I was terrified. I caught Jimmy’s gaze, got his attention, but when he looked back down at Sal, I turned around and ran as fast as I could, hunched over to reach the  

entrance. Luckily, it didn’t feel as if we were that far in.  

I got to my bike in no time and took off. I dropped my bike at the bottom of the steps, ran up to the main sidewalk and went into the first store on the boulevard. I recognized the hardware store from trips I took here with Kirby.  

Kirby and I didn’t share any hobbies, but whenever he went to the hardware store on Saturdays, I got to go. Jimmy and Kirby spent afternoons together using the tools or items we purchased. My Saturday afternoons were spent with julienne. Since Kirby didn’t show much affection, sitting next to him in the truck alone was a treat. 

The owner of the store saw my tear-stained face, listened to my out-of- breath sobs and called Kirby. I remember the feel of the cool linoleum floor and the smell of mixed metals. Mr. Joe wiped my face and tended to his store while I waited for Kirby to arrive. I hadn’t given many details other than my brother and his friend might be hurt and stuck.  

Kirby swooped in, asking me to show him exactly where the boys entered the sumps. Mr. Joe closed his store, grabbed a first aid kit and came with us.  

Kirby got us to the spot and effortlessly, took command.  

Jimmy looked stunned to see us, all of us reaching the tunnel opening seemingly at the same time. Kirby lifted Sal over his shoulders like a bag of dirt.  Julienne was at the hospital when we got there, running over to me and Jimmy.  

Kirby was in with Sal until Sal’s mother arrived. I never understood how grown-ups managed to be in the places they were supposed to be. I wondered if I would ever feel in place. Poor Jimmy was coughing, both of us filthy.  

We were wrapped in hospital blankets and the doctors gave us little doctor pins. One doctor said I was brave to go rescue my brother. We were turning to leave when I saw her. She was taller, her red hair, shorter, but I recognized her right away. I first thought it was a mirage.  

There are many falls along the way, but none could be avoided in order to bring you to the place you were meant to be. Those rare times when things finally make some sense. Seeing Rachel after all this time felt like months had dropped away in a mist of lost memories. Nothing mattered. Nothing else mattered.  

It was julienne who called out to Rachel’s mother. Their backs were turned, reading something off a board down the hospital corridor. 

“Louise? Louise!”  

Rachel and her mom both turned around simultaneously, smiling at us. 

 

“Oh my! Hello! I hope Kirby is okay, my dears. Is Kirby okay?” said  

Rachel’s mom in her usual effervescent way.  

Julienne assured her we were all fine. Her mom continued.  

“We JUST got back into town – can you believe it? What blessings! Rachel is receiving wonderful care, and everything is looking good for our girl.”  She pulled Rachel in close to her.  

“I had heard a little bit and didn’t have a chance to fill in Janny yet” said julienne.  

Rachel and I were staring at each other, grinning. I wasn’t mad or hurt. I started to pay attention to the adults with that last comment. Rachel took my hands and held them.  

“Janny. I’m sorry. I’ve been sick. Real sick. But I’m better now. My dad got transferred back here and my doctors in Minnesota said it was okay to stop  

treatments for now. I am okay.”  

I wondered about secrets. Stories. Each story held a secret or two. Momma held the biggest secret of anyone I knew. To this day, I don’t know her secret. The hidden pain that was so terrible she had to kill herself. Was she sick too? Did they forget to tell me that too? Why was I accepting of others hidden revelations?  

Why didn’t I demand more from people? Jimmy always seemed sure. Kirby seemed sure. Was it just me who was like the drain in the sink? It all swirls down to me, eventually?  

I think I spoke. I think I asked Rachel if I was going to see her soon. I remember the grown-ups making quick plans, pleasantries and whisking us away.  

Julienne squeezed me and told me how happy she was I had my friend back.  

 

Once home, we took baths, had soup and julienne handed me small pieces of missing information like pieces of warm bread. I learned what she knew about  

Rachel’s cancer: How it came on quickly; the sudden move (that wasn’t so sudden for them), better hospitals, and her father’s job. Julienne apologized to me- saying she heard the news about Rachel just a few days ago while at the food co-op. She said she wanted to tell Kirby first, then sit us down and explain Rachel’s disappearance and now, recovery. I said I understood. I was quite, tired, stunned and needed to talk to Jimmy alone. I wanted to know if he had any secrets.  

Rachel Rachel Rachel Rachel was back in my life! It felt like the best day ever. She was my distant mirage that was now real. Kirby told me how proud he was of me – how I saved Jimmy and Sal. All that mattered to me was Rachel was back – sick but now better!  

Jimmy was shaken up. I could tell. I could always tell. Even though I began ignoring him this year, I knew what he was feeling and when. He always seemed to be fine. Tonight, was different. Even after his bath, he continued to shiver every occasionally. Julienne was quite sweet with him. And he allowed her to fuss.  Kirby was attentive as well. He didn’t run out to hide in the garage as usual. I saw Jimmy had quite a few scratches – bruised knees and elbows. I heard Jimmy tell Kirby I was crying in the sumps, but I don’t remember. It felt so good to get between clean sheets, my blanket pulled up to my chin.  

Jimmy was propped up in a sleeping bag next to me on the floor. Kirby had carried a TV into my room, so we could both watch and recover together. julienne was upset with Kirby for letting Jimmy crash here, but had no reason to tell him to go into his own room. For him to tell Kirby “no, I’m cool right here,” I knew that meant he was off his game. I was here. It was okay. For a change, he had to lean on me. For this moment. We were finally alone for the first time in a long time.  

“Jimmy. Do you ever think about momma or Arizona?” I asked in the darkness once the house was asleep. The light of the streetlamp was dim through my purple paisley curtains, but shed light on Jimmy’s perfect profile. My nose was crooked. 

“Yeh. Sometimes.” I was surprised he answered so quickly. “I miss those neighbors. That neighborhood. Where we played. She will always be there, in those memories.” he said, oh so wisely and beyond his years.  

“I do. I wish she was here tonight.” I didn’t realize I had felt that way until I spoke the words.  

“Me too” answered Jimmy.  

Back in Arizona, when momma was alive, Jimmy and I spent all our time together, until school separated us. I hated it. I hated being away from him. I felt it was unfair that he got to stay home with momma too. If I had pretended to be stupid, could I have stayed home and not have to learn math? Not leave momma’s side? 

Suddenly, I had a realization. Since Jimmy was not with me on the bus that day and I don’t remember seeing him when I was told about momma’s death, where was he? Where had he been?  

“Jimmy? What um, what do you remember about her?”  “I remember things that she said. Ways that she looked.”  

“I remember the way she smelled” I added.  

He became quiet. I felt a warm breeze on my face from the open window.

  

I waited for more.  

“You should know something. I knew about Rachel,” Jimmy said into the darkness.  

“You knew what about Rachel?” I heard my voice crack.  

“I knew. I knew this whole time. Since she left.”  

“YOU KNEW WHAT ABOUT RACHEL?” I said so loudly it caused Kirby to knock on my door.  

“Everyone okay?” he said as he opened the door.  

Someone had switched the lights on. It may have been me. I started to cry.  

Kirby sat down on the edge of my bed.  

“Jimmy – want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.  

“It was just…Rachel told me about her cancer…6 months ago…before she left. And I never told Janny.” he confessed to Kirby. 

“YOU BASTARD!” I screamed.  

“Yeh. That’s the other thing I need to tell you.”  

 

CHAPTER 11  

 

Janny 

 

Jimmy had lied to me. I didn’t buy the “I just didn’t tell you” routine.   Whatever he wanted to call it, I felt like he was a coward, who had been lying to me all these months. How dare he! He knew I blamed myself for Rachel leaving.  (How could it not be my fault somehow?) He figured, if I knew she was sick and not able to do anything about it, it would be worse? For who? Me? He was trying to protect me? From what? The truth?  

Kirby had a calming presence and sat there as Jimmy talked. He didn’t explain over him or try to patronize us. He just was there. There to catch us if we fell. Jimmy was falling.  

The only thing that saved Jimmy that night from me hating him forever was hearing his “big secret” of not being related to me by blood. Kirby did not appear shocked when Jimmy dropped this bombshell on us.  

“You know you were wanted by your father, James and mother, Claire, right?” Kirby said quietly when Jimmy was catching his breath from all his confessing: “You were loved.”  

Somehow, I knew Jimmy needed to hear this many times, throughout his lifetime. Was this something Jimmy knew? He was loved and wanted?  

Did I know, somehow, he was not my real twin? I remember hearing my mother talk to Kirby about Jimmy several times. It was hard for me to understand, only that there was a possibility Jimmy and I didn’t grow together in her womb.  

Because this information seemed familiar, I wanted to pretend I was hearing it for the first time and thus, being very brave for my brother (for Kirby’s approval). I would have to seem a little bit sorry for him. I was relieved to hear Jimmy had known all these years. We were together for a reason and no one really belonged to anyone in our family. This was perfectly normal. The three of us thrown together in a windstorm.  

When Rachel arrived on my doorstep the next afternoon ready to play with us, I had forgiven Jimmy for the time being. He and Kirby stayed up and kept talking but I fell asleep. He was still here. Rachel was back. The summer was salvageable after all. If I chose to look at my brother any differently after that, it was never for the reason he thought – that we were not connected through blood.  He betrayed me by not telling me about Rachel. We were still twins in my heart and mind. One day, I would realize, he was also betrayed.  

Rachel wasn’t sick at all. We took our bikes everywhere that summer. She told us stories about being in a bed for months, needles, throwing up, operations. I guess their family must have felt ashamed? Why else do we hide things?  

Julienne drove over to Rachel’s new (rental) home everyday to bring them fresh vegetables, cooked foods. She told me she felt terrible we hadn’t known all these months. Even though it wasn’t her fault, she felt badly she hadn’t been able to do anything for them. Julienne loved fiercely.  

I found myself avoiding julienne. We used to spend a lot of time together but not lately. I wasn’t sure why. julienne never mentioned anything about Jimmy “lying” to us about Rachel’s cancer. It didn’t affect her in any way I could tell.  Maybe it didn’t seem like a lie to her. Maybe she felt Jimmy was just being loyal to my friend: Honoring Rachel’s secret.  

  I realized we hadn’t seen one another after I passed her in the hallway on my way to my room. Rachel and Jimmy were still outside, but I had torn my pants (again) on a tree we had climbed earlier. I wasn’t a total klutz, but if something were to get broken, torn, stained, ruined, I may have had something to do with it. My lack of grace got more enhanced in my teens. I already was starting to develop, faster than any of my classmates and certainly Rachel. I had to wear a bra already (thankfully purchased by julienne) and sanitary napkins too for staining. Hair was growing in places. Julienne told me my mother was probably the same way. Hearing someone else talk about momma like that felt strange.  

  Julienne gave me permission to talk about momma. She seemed to know when I was thinking about momma and mention her. This is why julienne never seemed…real. Real things were taken from me.   

  “Baby girl, come here,” julienne said in the hallway as she reached out to me.  

  We hugged.  

  “I know. I miss you too. It’s really great all you’re doing for Rachel’s family. She really appreciates it. Me too!” I said.   

  It was nice having girls around. Kirby and Jimmy were a different species sometimes. Why didn’t either of them tell me SOONER about EVERYTHING they knew about Jimmy’s origin into our family? And the question I asked him regularly: Why did you think it was protecting me not to have told me about Rachel? Kirby and Jimmy- their job as the boys to protect me, I guess.  

I didn’t feel protected, just lied to.  

  “Why don’t we go to the flea market this Saturday? Just you and me? Leave everyone else at home.”  julienne was making a date with me.  

  “Sure. Let me talk to everyone first and see what’s going on. But sure.” I was sure. I guess.  

  Saturday came, and julienne woke me up early.  

  “Come on, Janny. I want to park in the shade.” julienne had scouted out many Ohio flea markets.  

  It was so early. Rachel was in the sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. She told me to go. GO!  

  I slid on my jeans, Kirby’s large t-shirt and tied an orange bandana around my head. Julienne handed me a piece of warm zucchini banana bread with cream cheese and honey, sprinkled with a little bit of cinnamon. 

  “We’ll eat in the car, okay?” she said smiling.  

  We got into her yellow VW Super Beetle (that had no heat in the winter) and drove off with the windows open. It felt good to hear the chirping of the engine, julienne singing along with Joni Mitchell. (She looked like Joni Mitchell!) We were away from Jimmy, Rachel and Kirby, just the two of us. The bread tasted so good.  

  We parked under one of four trees located in a giant unpaved parking lot, dotted with vendor booths and tables. It wasn’t crowded yet. We were early. There was absolutely no breeze and I had already started to sweat, my hair frizzing in front of my face. Julienne glistened.  

Wandering from booth to booth, we looked at blankets, scarves, birdhouses, honeys, baked goods, civil war memorabilia, photographs, ponchos, coins, pottery, goldfish. Pretty much everything.  

  Our first purchase of the day was at a coffee stand. We had iced tea and croissants. We sat on a small picnic table under an umbrella.  

  Julienne asked me about Jimmy. She wanted to know if I was mad at my mom for not telling me the truth about my non-twin? Acknowledging how much we had been through, she asked if Jimmy and I wondered why my mom pretended we were twins?  

Was it pretend? Was I mad at her? Didn’t we both really know for years and never mention it to anyone? Weren’t we pretending too? Did it even matter? 

  “I don’t know. What did Kirby tell you? Did she even have time to tell us?”  I responded. Janny coming to the emotional rescue of a dead woman, again. 

  Wasn’t I supposed to be mad at momma for killing herself? (That’s what the counselor in Arizona kept asking.) Why couldn’t I SAVE her? If I hadn’t had my twin, then I would have been alone too? An abandoned child to face all this loss?  Did I know and not care? Was not admitting the truth, a way to hold on? I was mad at myself for everything. I was probably the real reason Rachel went away. I was probably the reason momma died. NO ONE wanted me knowing about Jimmy and that was my fault. I was mad at the stupid world for getting my father killed. I was mad we had to leave Arizona and reminders of the desert and momma’s clay worn face. (How can I carry memories around without losing them over time?) I was mad Jimmy told me julienne was going away one day. (I was mad he was probably right.) I was mad at Kirby for not telling me something every day about momma. I was mad Sal got sick too. I was mad I had to be the one to get help. I was mad Rachel got sick. I was mad the summer was ending. I was mad I had to go into Junior High School without my best friend (Rachel lived in a different district now). I was SO mad at Jimmy for not telling me Rachel was going away. I was mad at him for never telling anyone anything – like I wasn’t his sister? Why didn’t we share that? I was mad at myself for not trusting my brother enough to tell him my doubts about our history. I was mad julienne was so perfect and I was the opposite. I was mad I had frizzy black hair and big thighs like my momma. I was mad I started my period this summer. I was mad Kirby was quiet all the time. I was mad Kirby wouldn’t get us a dog to keep Ms. Lucy company. I was mad julienne changed my cat’s name from “miss” to “Ms.” I was mad I had no momma for over 7 years. I was mad I didn’t know how to ever stop being mad.  

  I told this to julienne. All of it. It came out in shouts and sobs, her not caring about the stares from passerby’s. She just listened. When she thought I was done, she encouraged me to drink my (melted) ice tea. It was hot out and snot was dripping down my nose. The tea tasted good. julienne stroked the parts of my hair shooting out from the bottom of my scarf. She waited to make sure I had stopped speaking. The silence felt good.  

  “Little bear, you are a precious being. Always. Sometimes our gifts are not…easily revealed. You have unique gifts. It takes time. And trust me, one day you will know why you are here. And one day, you may stop being mad. For now, it makes sense you are this angry.”  

  Another person there at the right time, telling me the right things. I felt

 rescued. A flood, one last deep sob, flew out of me from a deep place.  

My shoulders shook, my ribs ached. I was taking short shallow breaths. 

 Julienne was rubbing my back now. Breathe, she said. Breathe, little one.   “Jimmy and Kirby didn’t tell you about having a different mother and father than you because, well, because they’re stupid.” 

  I laughed. This time the snot came shooting out of my nose.  

  “For real. Men don’t like saying things out loud, sometimes. It scares them.  It makes things too real. They are uncomfortable with darkness. They both loved your momma very much though. And you. And now, in the light, the darkness can go away. Yes?”  

  I nodded, trying to catch my breath, then hugged her.  

  “Good. Let’s go look at the vegetables now.”  

  We brought home interesting looking vegetables we didn’t grow in our garden and made food in a wok that night. It was delicious. The brown rice balanced on my chopstick tips reminded me of our family: Precarious before it entered my mouth, but one bite contained all the savory goodness.  

  No one talked about momma at dinner; or where Jimmy came from. Maybe none of it mattered anymore.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12 

 

Jimmy 

 

Ohio – Summer 1975 

 

  Janny, Rachel and I spent the rest of the short summer together. We talked about music, the girl’s poems, movies. They listened to me play guitar: I sang music by Stephen Stills, Lou Reed, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder – I learned to play what Kirby listened to. The girls forced me to listen to Carole King and Laura Nyro.  

I was relieved Janny now knew everything about our “twinness” and forgave me for not telling her about Rachel. She was an orphan just like me. I lost four parents, she lost two. We had each other.  

We went swimming, spent weekends at the lake with Rachel and her family, and Janny helped me with my paper route. (Girls weren’t allowed to have their own paper route.) We helped in the garden. We even played with my trucks and cars in the backyard, even though we were way too cool for all that childhood silliness. We ate candy all day, read MAD magazines and occasionally, got high together. Entering junior high school was formidable.  

  Janny and I weren’t in the same class until we came to Ohio. We both “tested” smart, and were put in advanced classes. Kirby suggested we begin junior high in the general academic program. Julie disagreed. Kirby felt we had too much pressure in our lives, but Julie thought we needed the challenge. We were still referred to as “the twins” and apparently still treated as if we were one mindset. I never talked about it with Janny, but I didn’t mind. Or care.  

  I felt less afraid, not realizing that seemed to be my normal state when we lived in Arizona. Without the weight of being my mother’s keeper, I felt free. I made friends easily and felt okay if Janny and I were apart. I no longer held the burden of worrying about my mother. Janny and I never really talked about her anymore. Her life or her death.  

Kirby told me what I already knew the night Rachel returned, the night  

Janny learned all the truths. He was sorry he never told us sooner we were “twins” from different mothers. He never thought it mattered. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t know that much information. He forgot about it since we came to Ohio. I was “taken in” by Janny’s birth parents around the same time she was born. Kirby was sorry he didn’t know more. Or so he said.  

  Janny and I formed a new connection but perhaps, due to the honesty and raw notion of it all, we lost something too. Janny felt betrayed by Rachel, then me.  

Janny didn’t know I blamed myself for Rachel’s absence. And it had nothing to do with her illness or keeping her secret. I had told Rachel my secret before my own sister. I thought it was TOO horrible – her parents had no choice but to escape the weird neighbors from next door. An orphan boy? The crazy army vet and his hippie girlfriend? Two kids living a lie as twins? Lost desert souls, unprepared for Ohio winters. The house, without a shiny new car in the driveway. The house with a sea of wild flowers (weeds) in our yard in comparison to the manicured sameness, greenness of our suburban neighbors. Sunflowers that were so huge they hung over our neighbor’s fences on all three sides.  

We were freaks and now everyone will know, I thought after the night of the play. I figured Rachel wouldn’t be able to look her best friend in the eyes anymore.  I didn’t mean for her to know I wasn’t related to anyone by blood- it casually came out even though I thought I had locked that piece of knowledge away deep. 

How did something “come up” that wasn’t even in my head? Is that how aliens get here? They don’t show up on radar and arrive without notice? Were we all abducted at one point? Is that what killed my mother?  

I was later to find out, my demons hadn’t even begun to emerge. But this summer, the last one Janny and I really hung out together until our trip at seventeen, was a  brief moment of liberation from an unacknowledged internal war; unrecognized  until the freedom is once again, lost. 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

  JANICE 

 

Ohio – 1980 

 

  By our senior year, Jimmy had practically dropped out of school. He started to drink, smoke too much (with Sal, whose epilepsy didn’t seem to stop him) and cut classes. I guess it started soon after julienne left. No one was around to monitor us anymore.  

  Jimmy had a job on weekends, working with Kirby at the shop. I was getting A’s, keeping the house clean and stocked, and staying sort-of-popular. Kirby did the laundry. I disapproved of Kirby and Jimmy’s smoking (of all kinds) but I felt content when the two of them came home at night, smelling of motor oil and tobacco.  

  Kirby dated a little after julienne left him (us), drank a little too much and stayed out more. He stopped being a mechanic for a while, sleeping to 3 PM, having breakfast while I was just getting home from school, leaving for another bartending job at 5, then volunteering at the firehouse for several overnights. But for the past couple of years, the three of us fell into a familiar pattern of domesticity. Kirby settled down again, before anyone else would notice Jimmy was following in Kirby’s bad habits. I missed eating dinner in front of the t.v. with Jimmy. At least his weekends with Kirby forced him to have a schedule. 

  One wet, cold fall Saturday, Jimmy brought home a friend from the garage.  

His name was Alan. He had a long mustache that grew all the way down his chin.  It was hard to tell where his sideburns ended, and his mustache began. He had long wavy brown hair, just under his ears. He smelled like cherry pipe tobacco from the slender brown cigar, he chewed in the side of his pouty mouth. He made my heart flutter. Not since seeing Rachel for the first time had I felt this way. I wanted Alan to touch me. I wanted to touch Alan. I wanted to feel his mustache on my skin.  I wanted to kiss him and not just practice kiss like Rachel and I had done – a real womanly kiss from deep within me. I wanted to be needed and I wanted to be wanted: did that make sense? I wanted Jimmy to disappear and leave us alone! Oh God, Jimmy, don’t introduce me as Janny!  

  I walked languidly through our kitchen while they sat drinking beers on stools by the black and white (peeling) vinyl covered center island. I imagined I was a character in one of my books du jour, which always involved an independent Victorian English woman whose family’s minimal expectations of her did not repress her irascible spirit. I casually retrieved a pop as elegantly and nonchalantly as Mrs. Dalloway arranging her flowers.  

  I needed someone to explain this desire this non-intellectual beast had on me, right out of a D.H. Lawrence novel. I needed a mother. Julienne wasn’t there anymore to explain love or boys or what herbs to grow for my cramps and make into tea. She was the one who used to be there. The one who kept promises and tried to bring out my memories of the desert and momma. I discovered how to make compresses for headaches with my second mom’s horticulture knowledge.  

No make-up tips (I had Rachel’s mother for lessons with hair spray, hair straightening, and lash contraptions.) But julienne was my steady woman, there if I had questions. I had zillions, but usually asked just enough so I wouldn’t burden her. I didn’t want her to leave too.  

Many of my questions were internal: Why did Rachel and her family deny me the truth at 11? Why did Jimmy not trust me with his secret? Why did momma kill herself? What is this massive desire and wetness in my loins? Will it ever be filled? Does Alan notice me? Did he just smile? He smiles at me but goes back to talking with Jimmy. I’ll be patient. Just like the characters in my books.   No suspense that Alan was my drunken first. I was just turning 17, he was 24. He was paying attention and did notice me. It began with flirting the few times he was over visiting Jimmy. We accidentally touched, a lot. We tried to hide our mutual attraction from Jimmy. 

  It was our birthday. Kirby wasn’t home and Alan, Jimmy and I were drinking tequila. Jimmy had just gotten a 1962 Mercedes coup and was celebrating. I wasn’t sure how he felt about our shared birth date anymore, but it was the day we became twins. Hopefully, that’s how he looked at it. Alan and Jimmy seemed to know how to drink tequila quite well. My only experience with alcohol was at Rachel’s Seders. Thick wine that made us giggle. Rachel’s mom even added soda water, but the wine was still rich! This was tequila in a clear bottle, not the dark bottle I would see the Indians drink out west. We used lemons. Salt. Shot glasses. Jimmy was making us laugh so hard we’re crying. Alan’s cute grin and silly teasing. Lots of deep laughter and tears. We talk and laugh into the night. Jimmy nods off. I am tongue kissing Alan. We are laughing again, drink more, taste it on his lips. Salt. Sweat. Sweet. Sour. I feel…womanly. He is touching my nipples through my sweater. There is a cough. Jimmy wakes up.  

We all run to get our coats because someone yells “snow!”. Wet sneakers leaping into a newly white landscape. We are rolling in snow. Wrapped mitten-hands around a bottle. No more lemons. Gulping and passing. I’m spinning. Falling in the snow, Alan on top of me. We are inside again. Someone makes hot chocolate.  Jimmy has vanished upstairs. Alan takes me to the front door, wraps his leather coat around my shoulders (what happened to my coat?), grabs momma’s crocheted blanket from the couch. We stumble to the side of the garage, under our childhood climbing willow tree and a row of pine trees silhouetted like a 2D mural. I feel so sick, but warm and happy and dizzy and touching and tongues again. I’m lying on the blanket but it’s cold and wet. The darkened willow branches above me look like a crazed woman’s hair. I am wrapped around Alan like twine. There is the smell of oil mixed with winter air. He smiles down at me, I think, and tells me to slow down. I am excited and there is pushing and skin and hands moving. I’m touching him. My pants are down. He is groaning. Or maybe that’s me. I start to feel sick. I turn to my side and am retching from deep in my gut. I’m on my back again, he’s wiping my hair out of my mouth but continues to fumble between  my legs. It’s starting to hurt. I try to say please just stop wait one minute but an arm is across my chest and my crotch is burning. I feel dry and scared and my desire is gone. I am in pain, he is moaning, pushing, everything is blurry from night tears snow sickness and I can feel his penis tear at me. My eyes roll back. I wake from what, passing out? What again? He’s pounding me. It hurts so much. I start to shiver and cry. I turn my head to the side. I hear laughing and he’s off me. Oh baby, I hear him say. Somehow, we are up, holding my pants and underwear, wet pine cone needles sticking my skin from the blanket wrapped around my waist.  Alan crashes onto the couch. I find my bed and fall into it. I think I just lost my virginity. I don’t want Jimmy ever finding out about this.  

  It’s barely light when I open my eyes again. I feel crusty everywhere: My mouth, eyes, vagina, armpits. I drop last night’s armor and throw on sweatpants and my tie-dyed t-shirt. I notice I am dirty and bleeding. I use a damp towel to clean up and have to wear a maxi-pad. It’s quiet downstairs, so I hurry back into my room, wishing I had a glass for water. I take out my diary. I wonder if everyone’s “first time” was like that, if I would look and feel differently now, if anyone (Rachel?) will be able to tell? I wonder what julienne or momma would have said to me?  

  I stayed in my room until I made sure Alan had left. I knew nothing would be said between him and Jimmy about me. Alan was a grown man, even though they acted like peers. I wondered if Alan had given me a thought before he left.  Alan. Sweet Alan. Our two shadows probably remaining under the eaves, beneath the trees, forever frozen now. My secret to keep.  

  Alan stopped coming around which was good because our only interaction was him winking at me before I disappeared. I bled for a long time after we had sex, but didn’t ask anyone if that was normal. It eventually stopped and we all went on with our lives. Soon, Jimmy would once again, not only know my secrets, but become protector of them.  

 

 

CHAPTER 14 

 

  Janny 

 

I knew enough to know that when my period didn’t come after New Year’s, or by Valentine’s Day, I was pregnant. Panic spread throughout my body, but I felt numb at the same time. I, of course, did not know it at the time, but the journey of this pregnancy, would forever change my relationship with my brother. I did not have a plan, until a serendipitous discovery about my father’s side of the family, came to light.  

  It was March, the ground still frozen. It was a quiet walk home from school.  

I was clutching a new sanitary napkin I kept in my winter jacket “hoping” …hoping for cramps to come. I wasn’t carrying any books. So unlike me. I decided then “I will tell Kirby to ask julienne to take me to the doctor.” The doctor in my head was a nice old man, finding me a wonderful home for unwed girls. I would be able to stay there, getting served breakfast in bed, getting fatter, until I gave birth and handed my beautiful dark-haired newborn to a loving mother and father.  Surrounded by flowers, Kirby and Jimmy would drive me home, cook me pancakes and be extra nice. All my friends at school would act like nothing happened, like I hadn’t gone but they were still really happy to see me.  

I got to the front of our sidewalk and, noticed both Jimmy and Kirby’s cars were in the driveway. I spotted a pussy willow struggling on a spindly twig. It looked soft in contrast to the harsh, gray environment surrounding me. I did not bound in the door as usual. I stopped at our entryway to look into the window of the house next door; the two story brick home of Rachel’s, before their family moved out. I remember how cold and dark and lonely I felt the day we arrived in  

Ohio. But, this block, this house; Rachel’s ghostlike warm figure smiling at me – a strange little girl with wild Brillo-y hair covered in dusty desert tears, lost in a new life – Rachel’s presence transformed me.  

Having this memory gives me a sudden peace. All my worries of pregnancy, anger from betrayals and sadness from losses lifted. From the top of my woolen beret and worn slouching shoulders to my high top sneakers, I shuttered with pure joy, faith and wonder. Holding my breath at the same time, I suddenly had all the answers by no longer having questions. It was freedom. Truth.  

When my consciousness returned, and thoughts began to invade, I laughed, thinking now I might discover twin carved soap dolls hidden in the crack of a dead oak tree, feeling like we all did when we read Scout open the door to reveal Boo Radley.  

   The clarity and awareness I had dissipated as soon as I entered the front door. I usually came in the back kitchen door to let in our cat. The cat was a new addition to the family. She appeared one day this winter and never left. We called it “Cat”. I knew I should never be a mother. Julienne had taken Ms. Lucy when she moved out two years ago.  

  “Hey Kiddo,” Kirby greeted. “Have a seat. Jimmy and I have something to show you.”  

  This was intriguing. I forgot about my important news. Jimmy slid down the couch and signaled me to sit beside him – that twinkle, that wink, patting the seat cushion. Kirby dragged a box, so it was between my and Jimmy’s feet. It was a regular sized box, like for a very large cowboy hat or a wrapped newborn baby.  Since it was open, I peeked in and saw letters and some books and some dusty 45s. Jimmy was not looking in it, so I surmised he had examined the contents before I walked in. Jimmy began to explain.  

  “So sis, here’s the deal. We, uh, well you, have living relatives.”  

  Did I mention Jimmy’s way of getting to the heart of matters? According to letters found in a water-damaged box, we…I had biological relatives. A strange discovery at a strange time. A loss leading to a discovery. My grandfather, who I never met, died during WW2 when my dad was an infant. His brother sent a letter to my mom when we were all still in Arizona. Daniel Kapinsky aka “Uncle Dan” was my father’s uncle. Our father. The father I have no memories of, no real stories, other than he died in Vietnam. I fully understand the two separate events of my father dying and Kirby arriving, but for years it coincided in my toddler brain as “after Kirby came, your daddy wasn’t your daddy anymore.”   

  Kirby knew about the letter, as he had read it ten years ago when it arrived, soon after momma died. He told us he “sorta forgot” about this box of assorted Arizona items as caring for your dead girlfriend’s kids, then moving across the country just got in the way (my take, anyway). The box was rediscovered this morning, ten years after it was first sealed, when Kirby’s waterbed had developed a leak, flooding all basement contents. The serendipity thing again.  

  Kirby and Jimmy had spent the entire day together going through that box:  each letter, each photo, each trinket, two warped records, and three canning jars full of prickly pear jam. I felt jealous and a little left out that the two of them were sharing memories of momma, and I was not a part of it.  I resented Kirby, but not Jimmy.  

Jimmy was my steady memory. My male blonde mirror, experiencing the same time, in the same space; providing the easiness, the knowingness, the steady voice of my conscious that followed me like a shadow, providing the joy.  Jimmy was my constant entertainment and truth-teller. I hope he never felt “less than” because he was my everything.  

Jimmy later told me, Kirby was patient with his questions that day.  Together, they had pieced together bits of information about a family we did not know existed. We lived day to day, so never had time nor inclination to wonder about this phantom notion of “other family”, especially since not one relative was at momma’s funeral.  

  “Don’t think I give two shits about the ‘family’ thing, but it would be cool to see if anyone knew our dad.” Jimmy confessed.  

  I was relieved and shocked to hear Jimmy still refer to them as “our parents”. This meant I wasn’t alone. Neither was he.  

  One week from when the box was opened in the living room of our Ohio home, Jimmy and I were on a bus heading to Missouri to visit our great aunt and uncle: Daniel and Esther Kapinsky. Kirby found their number as they were at the same address from ten years ago. They had known my father was killed, but reached out to my mom after hearing she and James had two children. (Two!) They wanted to desperately meet their great niece and great nephew.  

  Jimmy and I were on a bus with new knowledge: his knowledge of my pregnancy, our knowledge of new relatives – on a voyage to hear stories that perhaps, might help to define us. I wanted evidence of my mother’s existence other than from just us. Momma guiding us like Mother Mary.  

Jimmy found a clinic for me outside of Missouri. The plan was to have my abortion, rest a night, then visit our uncle. He brought $600 of his cash for the procedure. Kirby gave us a check also, money for a hotel stay. Kirby knew but julienne did not. I swore them both to secrecy. I was not in the mood for her  

nurturing and teas and concerns and her dike doctors and yoga and back rubs and flutey music – I just wanted this thing OUT. Over and out! Kirby was fairly nonchalant about my news, that afternoon of discoveries (Kirby’s stoicism drove Jimmy crazy sometimes), asking if I needed money, if I was okay, if I had wanted him to contact “the boy” …? 

The boy! Again, making my life into an arrangement! I yelled at Kirby (he often let me rant) reminding him how stupid he was! No wonder women leave him! Then I let it go. I saw what was coming next, but I said it anyway. I wanted to hurt him badly.  

  “YOU’RE THE REASON SHE KILLED HERSELF!”  

 I couldn’t take it back. It was too late. I gulped in sobs, staring and waiting for Kirby to respond. The smell of the mildewy basement contents made me sick to my stomach.  

  Kirby then did something remarkable. He stood up, opened his arms and reached out to me. I threw myself into his giant chest, feeling like I took my first good deep breath in years. He held me until I finished crying. Reaching into the box, he handed me an eagle feather.  

“You’re my tribe. I am your dad, forever.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15 

 

  Janny 

 

Somewhere-in-the-midwest – March 1981 

   

  Through the nauseating fog of bus smell and sweat and my constant need to pee, I managed to focus on how nice it was to spend time with Jimmy again. He let me go on and on about what book I was reading, including detailed plot and characters. He talked about his trade school and did great imitations of the people working at the deli. He never asked about Alan or what happened that night but did mention several times “this is the right thing for you”. I knew he wouldn’t bullshit me.  

  Jimmy fed me sandwiches (cheddar cheese, avocado slices and bean sprouts on pita bread) made by julienne who thought the trip was just to see an old aunt and uncle. Kirby had called and arranged our visit. It was during my Spring Break, so it was perfect timing, if I didn’t count being pregnant. I think Kirby also preferred not being there when I had the abortion. Knowing this intuitively about Kirby made me insist even more I did not want him (or julienne) around. Julienne kept to her word when she left Kirby- she would always be there for me and Jimmy. Always. This was no big deal.  

  The irony was not lost on me (probably due to my latest Jane Austen book) that I carried the potential Kapinsky bloodline: great-grand-nephew (or niece) inside of me. It was the first time I had internalized the word “pregnancy” as well. I did try to glimpse a future of very pregnant me, being fed brisket by two sweet loving old relatives (I tried to picture Rachel’s relatives) who would raise my baby and me, the four of us nestled in Missouri somewhere. Jimmy wasn’t even in this picture I imagined, nor was Rachel. Just me and my baby and two elderly strangers. I imagined sitting at an inlaid wooden desk, overlooking a vast garden of yellow roses, writing long letters each morning while the baby played in the crib besides me in the sunlight. 

  The rest stop finally came after a long day. I used the bus bathroom six times, so we moved to the back of the bus to make it easier on me. The smell seemed worse in the back. I felt I was suffocating in diesel fumes and cigarette smoke. I was looking forward to a donut and coffee. No tea (like in our thermos). I wanted a new magazine and a newspaper. I wanted a bathroom that maybe didn’t smell like homeless people and urine. I needed a coke too because I felt as if I could throw up any minute. We had to wait while the other passengers in the front retrieved their belongings from the upper rack. I desperately, needed to get off the bus. I had a sudden feeling of vertigo. I was already standing. 

Jimmy didn’t notice and grabbed my arm to lead me out of the seats down the aisle. We were carrying packs, one each, both in fatigue green. Jimmy was wearing Kirby’s old army shirt as a jacket, decorated with peace and a “go f*ck urself” buttons.  

  The bottom of my stomach heaved hard. I became clammy and weak-kneed.  

By then, we were at the front of the bus, about to step off. Jimmy sort of half caught me as I came down the few steps on Greyhound’s finest. The bus driver uttered “watch your step, Miss!” as I started to throw up the tea and trail mix and cheese sandwich. I managed to aim it into the gutter by the curb since I was no longer standing anyway. Jimmy took off my backpack, took out his handkerchief (Kirby’s military influence) to wipe my mouth. When he knew I was done vomiting, he handed me a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, our favorite. I was bent over. It began to hurt. Really hurt. Stabbing sickness like a bad toothache that wanted to rip out your insides. I thought I experienced gut wrenching pain when Rachel first left, but I also had my share of physical injuries over the years, as well. I was a tom-boy, and ultimately, had to keep up with my twin. Stitches, broken collarbone, knocked out front tooth – yet NOTHING had prepared me for this pain. I screamed “THIS IS NOT FAIR” as cramps ripped through my abdomen. I thought for a stupid moment “I’m going to have a baby” and felt a rush of adrenaline. Jimmy quickly guided us through the terminal, steering us towards the closest woman’s bathroom. I remember the sound of a loud fan, Jimmy saying “oh shit. I have no change” and his boots scraping on tile as he crawled into a paid stall. I hear a click and Jimmy is coming out the stall and leading me back in. 

  “What do you need first? Toilet or sink?”  

  I push him away, latch the door behind him, and start clawing at my pants. I hear “don’t worry – I’m right here” and for a moment, congratulate myself for thinking it’s funny wondering what the other bathroom patrons are thinking. There are screeching waves and waves of motion sickness and cramping. I’m cursing in my head, cursing Alan for doing this to me, cursing at Jimmy for not knowing my every mood or feeling instinctively. Get me a fucking wet towel, you jerk, realizing I had said that out loud. Jimmy did not bang on the door or get hysterical.  He just sighed and under the stall, handed me some wet brown paper towels and some dry ones.  

  He said, “I’ll be right back with a coke” and left the bathroom. I was alone in a bus station 15 cent toilet, unaware of what state we were in, crying from pain and, having a miscarriage (“spontaneous abortion”). It didn’t feel like this was a good omen for the beginning of a journey. Not at all.  

  We missed our bus. It drove away without us. Luckily, we had our backpacks with Jimmy’s camera – something he had taken up recently, but our luggage and his guitar were still on the bus to Missouri. I was in that bathroom for 3 hours and 45 minutes. During that time, Jimmy brought me a coke, two aspirin, and a comic book. Occasionally I heard him say “hi” and then a higher pitch “pardon me” as he sat on the floor outside my stall. There were at least ten separate stalls. He didn’t seem to mind nor explain to the sea of women coming in what he was doing. He read me things out of the newspaper, while handing me water and eventually, a clean t-shirt. It said, “Kansas City Rocks”. Jimmy washed out my underwear, drying it under the hand drier, sang softly while I flushed away an unwanted mess of bloody cells and bought me a Royals hat. He was told we could catch the next bus to our stop in Missouri and, a nice ticket agent called ahead to rescue our luggage. Jimmy was told: “It will be waiting for you, young man. Not to worry.”  

  After my bathroom fiasco, Jimmy and I were sitting on a horrible sticky metal bench, shivering, waiting for the next connecting bus, Jimmy turned to me with that glint in his eyes. That nod. That smile.  

  “Hey, sis. We have two extra days now before auntie and uncle expect us…and $600. Where do you really want to go? “  

  A side of my personality came out that seemed spontaneous and a little wild. 

It kind of scared me but I liked feeling a little dangerous. I had no one to take

 

care of, no one to worry about, no one to watch or judge or have to decide ‘who 

to be’ to satisfy someone. I was finding me. Yes, Jimmy! Let’s go somewhere! 

 

The Kapinsky’s weren’t expecting us right away- let’s do it, Jimmy! We’ll tend to 

 

our living relatives much later.  

 

  Jimmy and I dropped off the world for five days and for that time, never looked back. I felt purged. I was freed in a Greyhound station. I had my whole life in front of me and the weight of a lifetime’s guilt, anger, pain and emptiness had been released and seemingly vanished. I felt tired and crampy and weak and sweating and a little lonely but mostly, a sense of freedom. I was granting myself permission to let go.  

  It was time to visit our ancestral desert spirits- our mother’s home, once our home. We bought two tickets for Tucson. The dry clay of our youth called to us. Maybe we were listening to the sounds of ghosts. I hoped Kirby remembered to feed Cat. I pulled my new hat down over my eyes. I had three sanitary pads on. I felt like a toddler with a loaded diaper. We boarded the bus, unfettered. Returning to the desert for the first time in eleven years.   

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – 1981 

 

  We did the right thing and called our new-found relatives in Missouri to say we were to be “a few days late.”  Kirby was frantic however, as we hadn’t checked in to our Holiday Inn near the Kapinsky’s. Neither Jimmy nor I had bothered to call him. He had yet to find out I miscarried or that Jimmy and I were taking a 1000-mile detour. Kirby agonized for three days before calling the  

Kapinsky’s, wondering how to tell them their “wonderful niece and nephew” were AWOL. When Kirby found out we were arriving in “a day or two or three”, he asked the Kapinsky’s to “PLEASE HAVE THEM CALL HOME AS SOON AS YOU TALK TO THEM.” The Kapinsky’s were put off by this step-father’s tone and mistook his care and concern for abruptness and aggressiveness. He was worried sick.  

  Kirby learned to hide feelings a long time ago in order to survive. Jimmy and I, selfishly, never considered him or his feelings or that perhaps he needed to know our whereabouts. How could we be cruel to this steady rock? I don’t think Kirby imagined this life either, yet was there for us. We were focused on just us now, turning down a different road, which up until this point, had swept us in a landslide of loss and left us orphans. Kirby was still our “dad” and we failed him. I was not thinking then how to repay him. I was focused on my freedom.  

 

  Jimmy and I get off the bus in Tucson. The sun is high in the sky. We are both shocked by how dry it is, the sweat evaporating from our tight skin as soon as it appears. It is too bright and too hot outside the terminal. We have our packs but no other bags, rerouted to Missouri. The people coming into the station are brown and weather-worn.  

 

  a man laughs on the subway 

         his face cracks- & falls into pieces,  

         of spit scum and slime on the floor. 

         I look up but quickly turn away 

        I hope he didn’t see me 

 

  We decide to get a map and see if we can find the name of our elementary school as a landmark. We are not sure how to get there and don’t know how much a taxi will cost to take us. We look up our old neighbors in the phone book. Terry and George Latchett are still listed, along with the address. It begins to come back to me. The sun is warm on my face. A familiar smell fills me, every sense smiling from a place I thought had died: Laughing with my brother until dusk, chasing tumbleweeds, running into momma’s arms. Kirby’s face is the one I see in my head. Not momma’s. I thought momma would be everywhere, as she usually was.  I had to bleed, uncontrollably, in a mid-west bus station to rid myself of her ghost from my womb/mind. I had to destroy the life force inside me as she had destroyed her own, and mine in the process. Daughters and mothers, left behind lifeless.  

Jimmy the brave one, calls the Latchetts. Jimmy rolls his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear. Apparently, Mrs. Latchett is screeching and squealing by the likes of us. The twins had come home.  

  George Latchett comes to pick us up in his beat up beaverboard station wagon. Mrs. Latchett insisted.  

“What would Kirby or your dear mother say, bless her heart, if we were to leave you two to fend for yourself?”  

  Mrs. L. had always said “you can take the woman out of Kentucky, but you can’t take the Kentucky out of me!” I had the desert inside of me. I understood now what she meant.  

 It was just a 20-minute drive, not including the McDonald’s stop. Mr. L.  

said “you both just seem hungry.” He told us about the neighborhood, who had left and who had stayed. No one I remembered. He let us know our house was still there, rented by some “very nice young people which is nice to see, nowadays.”  

The land is endless taupe and orange flatland, dotted with random green and yellow from flowering cactus. Vast miles of dramatic cloud shadows, greeted by mesas that give no clue how far away they are. The horizon is infinite. Every other building heading out of town seems to be a realtor. Sun Vista Realty, Desert Sands Realty, Cactus Highway Realty, Golden Star Realty, Orange Plateau Realty. I replace “realty” with “reality” in my head. It fits.   

  Our old neighborhood is more spread out than I remember. I recognize the turn into our block. Our old house is across the street from the Latchetts, but it does not look familiar. It is painted white (not brown like I remember), a wooden fence now around it and a porch added to the front. Mrs. Latchett is an old lady now. Gray hair, yellow teeth. She is shocked by our growth as well.  

  “I just can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!” was her reaction to seeing us.  

  There were no silences while we all ate her homemade cherry pie. Jimmy told them about Ohio: his music, the engine he and Kirby were working on, my poetry (I was honored he mentioned it!). Mrs. L. asked if 

Kirby “that poor man” had remarried. Jimmy looked at me and together we said “no, not really.”  

“Oh, look at that, George! The twins speaking together again!” Mrs. L.  laughed. “Yes, you two have always been quite a pair! Finishing each other’s sentences, singing the same song but be in different rooms, drawing similar pictures, liking the same food. It’s uncanny y’alls connection. Uncanny!”  

It feels incredible to have a looking glass to our past. Kirby held onto the secret of Jimmy, the shame of momma – so pre-Ohio was just not ever a part of our conversations. Besides the trinkets of momma’s, we received our first Christmas in Ohio, the “story of the twins” had vanished with the death of Momma. It didn’t seem to bother Jimmy. The Latchetts memories of us felt precious. 

  It is wonderful to hear stories about neighborhood Christmas parties and the other children we had played with 11 years ago. Mrs. L. said it was a shame when our poppa was killed “in that war” but what a nice man Kirby was and how grateful we should be to have him. We learned others saw momma’s sadness too.  People were keeping an eye on us. Mr. and Mrs. Latchett never had children so they acted as our grandparents. They were sorry they lost touch after we moved.  Kirby had never written to them. We avoided talking about “that day” which changed everything. We talked around it. Mrs. L. asks us to spend the night. She hands me a bottle of Tylenol after I come back from washing up. She said she saw me grab onto my “tummy” and that she “remembered those cramps well.”  

  Jimmy and I decide to visit our old house. It’s a beautiful morning.  

After a lovely cup of tea, Mrs. L. writes down the names of the family living there, writing out the address too for some reason. Older people were…thorough. She gives us some “nice muffins” to take over. I only had to change my sanitary napkin twice that night, so I finally feel rested. Weak but rested. The Latchett’s house smells like vanilla, mothballs and Kmart musk.  They insist on keeping air- conditioners in every room to “keep the desert dust out”. Mrs. L., our savior southern lady reminds me of Rachel’s mom, the love was the same. I began to realize, I do have amazing woman role models in my life: Teachers that cared, neighbors that cared, my julienne, Rachel. I wasn’t as motherless as I had previously imagined. I had no real demons. Why then, was I afraid of facing the memories that waited for us across the street?  

  While we had tea, I ask Jimmy “what do we say when we knock on their door? What if they say no?” Maybe I jump ahead of myself sometimes. 

  “Well, we say ‘hi, we lived here, and our mother killed herself in your living room – may we come in?’ and then hand them muffins.”  

  All four of us burst out laughing; Mrs. L. despite the maudlin reference.

  “You idiot” though I am still laughing. “Yeh, let’s lead with that. You go first.” 

  “No sis, don’t panic. I be so nice. But first I finish this cereal, yes?”    My brother was always so charming, fake accents and all.   

  “Let me ask them. Or you. It doesn’t matter.” I was getting nervous.   What if I felt nothing over there? What was I looking for? Was this trip really a good idea? I just lost part of my insides!  

  I call Jimmy into the back guest room where I am staying. I thought we needed some privacy away from the Latchetts before seeing our old home. We sit next to each other on the frilly, flowery decorated single white wrought iron bed.  

  “Seriously,” I say to him. “All this time. All this way. Here we are.”  

  We don’t touch but I feel his breath. He isn’t looking at me when I speak.  

 “You told me things, all these years, things I wanted to hear. Maybe thought I needed to hear? I appreciate that! I appreciate you! You know that with all your heart, right?”  

  I love my brother so much. He saves me all the time. Sometimes just by being there, with the knowledge of someone else authenticating your every experience. It is real. This is happening. I am not crazy. As long as we hold onto each other, we will be okay. We will continue to survive and never have to accept the path given to us by our mother. We can create our own fate.  

  Jimmy told me over and over, momma was his momma. He said he didn’t care who gave birth to him – or who didn’t raise him. Still, I wondered how angry was he with momma? Was he angry with her? I asked again during the bus ride and he answered, “how can I be angry at a person who wasn’t well?”  

  Where was Jimmy…the day momma died? Did I get off the bus alone?  

I think I remember holding his hand? What did Kirby do when he found her

body?  Was he home with her? Did she leave a note? (Why hadn’t I ever asked 

Kirby?) I remembered cars and officers. Awhile back, I berated Kirby with 

questions about Jimmy, but he provided little information. Jimmy and I were 

forced to have counseling at school, but we just talked about the “afters”. Kind of 

the what ifs. But never the day of – because it wasn’t relevant. Now, it felt 

relevant. We had chased down our ghosts.  

  I need to hear Jimmy’s thoughts. My job was to remind him of who he was, not the one hiding behind all the bullshit and charm. Did he have questions about who he was, like me? Would knowing somehow justify our existence?  

Without it, were we no longer valid?  

Did our worth cease by not knowing your roots? Did we cease to exist when my mother chose to die? As I rolled around my fantasies over the years of where Jimmy came from, I never separated his connection from my own. We were alone, together. It didn’t matter. Children without their parents. We came, they left.  Hold on to each other, my dear brother. Guidance is obtuse and fleeting. Random parenting replaced both our beginnings. Kirby becoming our parent was random.  Kirby was seemingly there at the beginning – part of our forever memories. I needed to have those memories back and hoped to find them across the street. I realized I was mad at Kirby. He took us from here. He took away both our parents.  I’m supposed to believe Mrs. L., and think of him as some kind of hero just for being there for us? Wasn’t that the decent thing to do? He didn’t hold on to julienne. There had to be something wrong with him. I went to him all the time for things, but had been feeling lately “yeh, big deal, the man is doing his job.” Should I hold up a flag too?  

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Janny.” Did I expect any other response from him?  

  “Jimmy. Please?” was all I was going to say for a while.  

  “Okay. It sucks, but doesn’t suck we’re here.” He sums it up exactly right. “It’s amazing to me how far you were able to come in your condition.”  There’s that Jimmy smile. “Other than that, I don’t know what you need to hear.  

By asking me to respond means you have expectations. I’m floundering too.”   Too smart for his own good. I try another approach.  

  “Okay. Do. You. Have. Anything. You. Need…WANT. To. Tell. Me? Talk about it, Honey bunny?” I liked playing with my twin.  

  “Nope. I’m good.”  

  “Jimmy, you know your problem? You have too many heroes’ in your life.  Me. Kirby. Momma. Maybe you trust too much.” I sound exactly like him right now, sarcastic and mean. It wasn’t lost on him.  

  “No need for the cynical you.” He finally puts his arm around me. “We’re both here. That is the miracle, eh? You’re the one rooting for the world, Janny. I am just here for the ride. Sometimes, things just happen when they’re supposed to?  I don’t mean our mother offing herself. That was tragic. But we survived. We tried to get her to survive, but we just couldn’t.”  

  I interrupt him. “What do you mean ‘we tried to make her survive’?”  

  He removes his arm and stands up. “You know, us being us. Being there.  

Being her ‘precious children’ and shit.”  

  “You mean giving two shits and caring about what happens to us?” I added, thinking I understood now.  

  We had never talked about our mother this way before. “Disrespectful” is what Kirby would say. Saying it out loud felt good.  

  “Yup. Exactly like that. They told us it wasn’t us. But because she didn’t consider us, is that supposed to make us feel better?” he said uncharacteristically loud. “So let’s go deliver some muffins!”  

  Now you see him. Now you don’t. My amazing disappearing brother. A real emotion rears up and he uses the bait and switch- sleight of hand. Never see it coming. I do. I just can’t stop him.  

  Because I was sick of focusing on my uterus, I desperately wanted some happy memories back. I was sick of this representing our dark past. Where Jimmy “came from” (what the hell did that even mean?) was a piece of cake compared to dead parents: one from suicide. Trump that.  

  I follow my brother out the door. It’s strikingly hot outside. Mrs. L. must have the A/C set at freezing. The sun blazes against our faces and it’s not even noon.

  

 

 

 

                                                     

 

CHAPTER 17

 

Janny 

 

  Yesterday, when we arrived, I failed to notice the soft raised elevations of the immediate landscape. Now, walking out into the sun, a familiar feeling goes through me. No lost space or time. Everything happening at once, as Vonnegut had imagined. A non-linear universe teaching us to pay attention. All things follow one another: Smoothly or roughly, but all leading to a place where truths are revealed.  

Is there a point to finding out our past? Or a point to trying to map out a future? Do we think there are answers in our past that drives us to our tomorrows?  I surmise: we will never know. We will never get “there”- and that is the ruse played. Answers are not answers. Answers are words still playing on the streets, chasing fireflies at night and listening for the ice cream truck. It is strumming sounds of momma’s voice and flute-like magic from a carved, wooden instrument.  Gardenias and night blooming flowers paint our skies as smell is our sight in the darkness. Only now exists. Nothing else. A vortex of randomness, names we give things, actions and people to pretend we have control over our fate. Perhaps being here is the secret to relinquishing all control or at least recognizing we have no control. Acceptance? What state was that in?  

  The screen door is locked so Jimmy is unable to knock on our old, wooden door. No doorbell. He bangs on the outside screened frame. The aluminum rattles enough that the inside door is opened. A young woman, perhaps 20, is holding a child. She smiles and kindly asks us “Yes?”  

  Jimmy simply states, “we used to live here.” I am surprised he is so curt.  Stunned. No small talk, smile or here’s some muffins. His usual animation has left him. I had witnessed this one other time – in the sumps as he was looking at Sal having a seizure. My brother is the one who responds to things, acts on things, takes care of things. I am the opposite. I am the one to think things through; looking at all sides before I attempted to act on something. Until that one-time in the sumps.  

  “Oh. Okay.” The woman looks harried yet trying to remain friendly. She seems unclear what we want and did not want to guess, is my observation. I speak up.  

  “I’m Janice. This is James. Cutest baby! What’s his name? We came here to visit the Latchetts across the street? Who baked these for you, by the way. We’re from Ohio. We just wanted to see what we remembered about this house. We lived here over ten years ago.”  

  “How special!” she responds. “Would you like to see your old place? Please excuse the mess. I’m Tina. This little one is Cody.”  

  I enter first, placing the muffins I had retrieved from a paralyzed Jimmy and set them on the kitchen counter, an arm’s reach from the front entry. It was the same countertop. Fake, bleached wood. I used to see faces in the manmade grain patterns. The counter is chipped and stained. To the right is the living room, littered with a playpen, lots of plastic toys and stuffed animals. The furniture is a matching rattan set: couch, 2 chairs, and a coffee table. Fake plants are in every corner and the biggest one in front of the window. Flowery curtains cover the front window. It looks strange without Venetian blinds. Smaller and cozier.  

Besides the kitchen cabinets and counter, nothing seemed familiar. No smells. No twin fingerprints or wall drawings. Different floors, walls and furniture.  No sign of momma.  

  I realize Jimmy is still standing at the front door. There is a one room A/C unit that is working hard with the heat pouring in. Tina is still holding her baby, waiting for Jimmy to come in. Neither one of us is going to yell at him to close the door. Placing the baby in the playpen, Tina tells us “we didn’t move in too long ago ourselves.” I guess she thinks we are here, looking for mementos or there to claim some item? 

  “We lived here, my brother and I, for almost six years. We grew up here.  Our room was the small one off your kitchen” as I pointed to a closed door. We are told that it was now a pantry. I see the addition of a back porch from down the hallway which once lead to a wall, now a sliding glass door.  

  “Jimmy, you coming in or what?” I finally have to say something as Tina I notice, is getting nervous about her open door. A portal to an outdoor furnace.  

  “No.” Jimmy surprised me by answering. No? I think, that’s why we’re here!  

  I go the few steps to the door to pull Jimmy in and close the damn front door. Or let’s leave, I don’t care. Jimmy is pale, drenched in sweat. He still hasn’t moved from the spot as when we arrived. I see he is shaking – clammy, sweaty yet shivering. He starts to sway. I yell “thanks Tina!” even though the foyer was part of the room she was in. I grab Jimmy’s wrist to spin him around and get him across the street to the Latchetts. Without meaning to, I slam the front door of our old house. This sound makes Jimmy cry out. A deep, guttural sob/scream that makes me jump. I remember hearing that sound one other time – from momma when she heard our daddy had died in the war. I am remembering. After momma had made that sound, she never came back to us. The sound meant I was about to lose someone. I heard Tina’s baby start to wail. Shit, Tina. Want to trade lives?   Jimmy continues to moan but allows me to pull him, lead him. He offers no resistance. He knees are buckling. The two of us landing on the hot pavement was unappealing so I use all my strength to hold him up. He had stopped making that horrible sound but was now mottled with red welts across his pale white face. With his blonde hair in the bright Arizona sun, his green eyes almost translucent, he looks like an albino.  

  Mrs. Latchett comes running out her front door. I was sure she had a front row seat to our attempted visit, a la Gladys Kravitz.  

  “Oh, my sweet dears! Whatever is going on! Oh my sweets!” she cries out.   I am out of breath and starting to tear up. The cramping in my abdomen grabs hold of me like someone tying a giant knot. Before I know what’s happening, Mr. Latchett takes Jimmy and lays him down on the couch. Mrs.  Latchett sits me down at the kitchen table with Tylenol and a cold glass of lemonade. There is already a cold compress on Jimmy’s forehead. Mr. Latchett gets on the phone with a doctor or hospital or police. I can’t tell. These two old people move quickly when they have to. I follow Mrs. Latchett into the living room. Their house was not an open floor plan like the one across the street.  

 “Jimmy? Can you speak? Honey, can you tell us what happened?” asks our hostess. Jimmy shakes his head back and forth. Good. He’s alive. 

“No, you can’t tell us what happened or no, you can’t speak?”  

 

That Mrs. Latchett is funny. I must remember to mention it later to  

Jimmy. This was going to go on for a while if I didn’t say something. I sit on the floor next to the couch, placing my left hand on my brother’s heart.  

 “You okay?” another ridiculous question only this time from me. Of course he’s not okay. 

  “I…will…be…I got so…dizzy…” Jimmy has his hand over the compress.   Mr. Latchett gets off the phone and announces to his wife: “we’ll keep an eye on him. He didn’t pass out, he’s breathing regularly. He’s not in shock.  

His heart rate is good.”  

  “Good. I’ll go get lunch ready. Maybe it was just the heat.” Mrs. Latchett says as she leads her husband into the kitchen.  

  Now that we’re alone, I ask Jimmy to please try and tell me what happened?  Please? I beg. Tears fell from his closed eyes. I have never seen him this vulnerable and exposed before. I wonder if I should call Kirby. Jimmy was starting to freak me out.  

  “I am so sorry, sis. So sorry.” He is crying quietly, but still crying. His eyes stay shut. I have never seen him cry before. I don’t remember momma’s funeral, but I wonder if he cried then? 

  “For what? What could you possibly be sorry about? I forgave you for keeping the Rachel secret – it feels like a bazillion years ago…I FORGAVE you for not telling me sooner about you having another mother, but we were kids,  

Jimmy. YOU didn’t invent the twin story. Besides, you know I LOVE being your twin, right?” I was rambling which I did when I was anxious. I had trouble listening to people. I wondered how I did so well in school. How I will do in college. I wonder what kind of mother I will be?  

  “For fucking up everything” he states.  

This was not the Jimmy I knew. He was confident. Light. Easy. Was able to dust things away with a flick of his hand. Blaming himself? Not his style. He gulped in a deep breath from a sob.  

  “What did you supposedly fuck up? And WHAT HAPPENED?” 

  Had we not already asked that? Does he remember the scream? Did he see something that scared him?  

“I could have saved our mother, Janny. I could have saved her,” he finally answers.  

  This time I am silent.  

  “I saw the walls, Janny. Not the floor or the new curtains or the furniture. I saw the walls.” He continues. “I was there. Did you know I was there? When she did it, Janny? When she decided to fucking kill herself? I was there.”  

He throws the compress across the room. I put my hand to my mouth.  

  “If I had only called out to her? Needed her. Checked in on her. Cared where she was. Stayed in to watch t.v. Go to school like a normal person so she had to come pick me up? I should have been the one to save her. It was my job.” His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.  

  The Latchetts have gorgeous wooden beams stretching from wall to wall,  and a huge side bay window, facing her fruit trees. Rows of plants: cactus, and succulents. It made the light appear golden green instead of desert red.  Soothing. We are both being bathed in sun rays now. Color had returned to Jimmy’s face. The blotchiness on his pale skin is almost gone.  

  I had felt those things Jimmy was talking about. Thousands of times. All the  

“what ifs” of that day. So many days, like now. What am I supposed to do with this? What will I regret about this moment in the future? How did I not realize  

Jimmy was there? Jimmy was with our momma. He knew before me. Maybe he could have saved her?  

  “Jimmy? Did you find the…her…body?”  

  “I told you. I was there.” This made me start to cry. I was thankful Mrs.  Latchett wasn’t bringing in food. I suspect these two sweet people are giving us our privacy.  

 “I. Was. There.” Jimmy emphasizes again. “I was outside playing, came in and found her.” There is silence for a long time. I hear a clock ticking. Finally, he continues.  

  “She didn’t look like our mother. I didn’t believe it for a long time. I thought our mother would come back, eventually.”  

  Me too.  

  “So, you weren’t there? But you found her?” I repeat to be clear. “So you weren’t there?”  

  I don’t think Jimmy ever made that distinction before. If she had committed the act without his actual presence, perhaps he could cross off one of his self-blaming items? Small point, I realize. And of little solace. We were both in desperate need of consolation and relief. We’ve carried this across the country too many times now. Maybe we can leave the guilt behind this time. Watch it float down the street like a tumbleweed. 

  “I hadn’t checked in with her all day. I usually did that when I was home and you were in school. I stayed outside too long. I was having too much fun playing.”  

“Don’t you see how ridiculous it is to blame a little kid for being outside, playing? God, even the adults around here were clueless! How were you supposed to figure her out…figure ANYTHING out? We were babies, practically.” 

Saying that for the first time, I believe it with all my heart.  

 “Jimmy, if anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I am so sorry you had to be the one to find her. Pretty sucky, huh?” I am trying to get him to laugh this time. It works.  

  “Yeh. Pretty sucky. I remember now too. I remember what happened.” 

He stares off again, this time towards the sun coming in through the window.  

“I didn’t see her really. I saw a shadow. The broken blind on the wall next to our window first. I remember thinking ‘why is our blind broken?’ but thought the shadow was so unusual. I thought of you then, sis, how you would’ve said the shadow ‘was pretty and looked like a horse’ cause it kinda did. We had wood paneling. Do you remember? The living room was dark. Things didn’t reflect off it like a regular white wall, ya’ know? I noticed that though. Then our mother. Just a lump. Not looking real. The blind was on top of her. She had yanked it down when she kicked the chair away, but it held up pretty good if you ask me. Maybe she was laying there for a while, alive? But unable to get the cord off her neck?  Maybe if I had been home sooner?” 

He stops to reach over and get a sip of water from his glass. Or maybe it’s lemonade. Neither of us is crying now. I think we’re numb.  

  “The rooms in our old house. The walls. They’re white now, right?”  

I nodded. I guess. Sure. Who notices walls?  

  He continues. “I saw the same shadow.”  

  “Just now, you mean?” I ask. He freaked out standing there and now I knew why.  

 “First thing I saw. The same shadow. I didn’t even know I even knew that, ya’ know? “  

  Yes, of course I know. How much is revealed to us by our psyche?  How much does our survival depend on not knowing certain things about ourselves? What if all truth was shown to us at once- our species would perish? We require a soft sell to life.  

  “I really miss her.” Jimmy says. “So sorry about the freak out.”  

  “We both need to freak out about this. Did…did you notice anything weird about her in the morning? Like, was momma extra sad? Or did she say anything?”  

I was not sure if this was cruel asking him, but I wanted to know if she was thinking of me. Did she mention me to my brother? Did she worry about me getting Valentine’s cards? Was she wondering what kind of day I was having?  Who did Jimmy call out to first? What did he do after he found her? He carried this around for 11 years and now, we were sharing it. Details were important.  

  “I don’t even remember seeing her at all. I think she was in bed. I was a little worried, but I wanted to go play. You do blame me.”  

  “How can I? You did nothing! You couldn’t have done anything! Postpone her inevitable? So while we’re driving, she decides to drive us all over a bridge?  Into a canyon?” I am amazed by how wise I feel. It makes me happy to get another laugh out of Jimmy too.  

  “Then we came what we were looking for, Janny. Answers about her death.  

I think we got them.” 

  Just in time, the Latchetts come in with sandwiches on trays and two pieces of Mrs. Latchett’s cherry pie. I find out Mrs. Latchett was the one to hear Jimmy cry out that day and call the police, then Kirby. Our saviors again. All the pieces were now in place.  

When we arrive in Missouri two days later to meet our father’s aunt and uncle, more pieces of our life were to be uncovered.  

 

 

      

 

   CHAPTER 18

 

      Jimmy 

 

1970 – Tucson 

 

  All night before Valentine’s Day, Janny was running back and forth between the kitchen table and our bedroom. We shared a small room off the kitchen that was once an old panty. Our beds fit snugly in separate corners with room for a tray table to hold a lamp. Janny had cardboard pieces, scissors, glue and magic markers spread out across the kitchen table.  

  I don’t remember what my mother was doing. I thought how much she would’ve loved to help my sister, as she was the one to do arts and crafts with us on the “good” days. We made birdhouses, jam, Christmas ornaments, musical instruments – the good days were fewer now.  

  Janny didn’t seem to notice me much anymore. She had already breezed through kindergarten. On the 2nd day of public school, she began reading the roll call on the teacher’s desk, out loud to the class just as the teacher was walking in.  

Janny ran back to her seat. 

  “Janice, please come up here.”  

  “Yes, Mrs. Hammer?” 

  “Janice, please continue taking attendance.” 

  Soon after, a meeting was held with the principal and my mother and the teachers to decide if Janny’s best use time should be spent coloring, pasting and outlining letters. She was placed into first grade on day three. 

  I had never been away from my sister before. All of sudden, she was letting go of my hand (she sat with me on the bus going there) and marching up the hallway to her classroom. It was hard being away from her. The world became smaller. I felt like the girl in the story, Alice, who falls into another world. I guess I was spending much of my first days in school not participating in class activities.  

The teacher, kindly but firmly, had to remind me to pick up my crayon, please.  James, pick up your scissors, please. James, pick up your paste, please. James, pick up the paper, please. James, please pick up your workbook. James, pay attention.  

  A meeting was quickly held between the principal, my mother and Mrs.  

Hammer to decide, at my mother’s insistence, that I attend school part time. Three days per week and only until lunch time. My mother would have to pick me up early those three days.  

  Pre-Valentine’s eve, my sister stayed in her own frantic-prep-event-place while I wondered what it would be like if I was getting all that attention. I imagined waking up to a giant card (my first) on my bedside tray with some candy hearts. I don’t think we were doing anything in my classroom. I think tomorrow was my day off anyway.  

  Morning came. I was up first as usual. There was nothing leaning on my lamp. On the kitchen table was a stack of homemade cards with my mother’s giant bag on the chair. I went into the small living room, made smaller by giant wooden beams across the ceiling, and took out my matchbox cars. 

  “Keep an eye on your mom today, Kiddo. Janny, let’s get going if you don’t want to take the bus today,” said Kirby.  

  Mom wouldn’t be up for hours. I think I remember Kirby bringing her in a cup of coffee. She usually was up in time to get me lunch.  

  Mornings, I was home, and when my mother and I were not making jam or outside exploring, I was on my own. I knew the tone of the day before I opened my eyes. I grabbed my jacket, a piece of fruit and checked on her before I left the house, after Kirby and Janny had left. Her room seemed darker today. I touched her forehead. It was cool, but damp.  

  “Bye, ma,” I said before I closed the door.  

  The school counselor said it was good I don’t remember what happened. It didn’t play in my head like a movie, as they had warned Kirby. There were just a few snapshots. A broken window blind, an overturned chair, my mother’s pinky finger bent up, looking delicate, fragile and out of place. Her hair covering the floor like a black puddle.  

  I don’t know how long I was outside that day. It was after lunch but before the bus came down the street carrying my sister. I spent the morning playing with my trucks in the dirt. I may have wandered down the street. I know I ran into the street after I found my mother. My head was down when I came in through the door, trying to wipe dust off my trousers.  

  The snapshots begin.  

  I scream and run into the street. Mrs. Page is outside, getting into her car.  She drops her purse and keys and runs over to me. I keep screaming. Other grown- ups arrive. Other legs are around me. I stop screaming. Someone has their arms over my shoulder. I am wiping snot onto my jacket sleeve. I am sitting at a Formica table. It feels cool to my palms. I grip my legs to my chest and I start to rock, curled onto the chair like an unopened flower bud. I am shaking. I feel cold. On cue, Mrs. Latchett is there giving me a cup of cocoa. I sip. It is exactly the right temperature. I am not shaking anymore. I can hear lots of whispers and a soap opera on in the background. Kirby is there. 

He runs over to me and picks me up in his arms. Only my dad had done that.  We are rocking. I feel calm. I am no longer crying. My shoulders hurt. The taste of chocolate and cinnamon are fresh in my mouth. I am staring down at the floor pattern that matches Mrs. Latchett’s table and counters. I smile at their little dog, Ginger. Ginger is my color, fair and blonde. I laugh when Ginger snorts on my pants. I wonder when Janny will be home. I wonder how her Valentines went at school. I wonder if she got the most Valentines because I just bet she did. I will be sure to ask her all about it tonight at dinner. I wonder where we will have dinner? I know Kirby won’t let anything bad happen to us. I can hear my mother telling me that once.  

  I think I always knew we would not have her forever. Forever was too long for her. Forever was for people like me and Janny.  

  I remember Janny getting off the bus down the street. It’s almost like her face registered the knowledge it didn’t yet have. Years of our mother’s sadness painted across her face in the winter’s lowlight, long shadows formed from street lamps, indistinguishable now from the saguaros long reaching arms. A shadow was about to follow us, across all space and time.  

  I don’t think Janny cried or screamed. She was swept up in our caring neighbor’s arms. I don’t remember our first night together – or how soon after. We stayed at various people’s houses, not always in the same room or even the same house. We were fed, taken out for ice cream. We went to a petting farm. It felt like the world had dropped on us – laden with sadness and loss. We were told not to go near our house. We didn’t even glance in that direction. Maybe our mother was still in there. If she wasn’t, where was she?  

  The psychologist had us do drawings. He showed us stuffed animals, who were dealing with losing their parents in a hunter’s trap and asked us to imagine what they were feeling. I admired the backstory. We did puzzles.  

  Dr. Kenny told us it was “okay to feel angry” and suggested ways Kirby (who only attended one session with us) could help us “express ourselves.” Kirby didn’t say much, nodded, smiled with a closed mouth, eyes distant, unable to sit still without having to look out the window, down at his watch or look up at the door. He thanked the doctor.   

  We were about to return to school after a month’s absence. We stayed with the Latchetts for a few weeks while Kirby “had things to take care of” and the twins were in the way. Mrs. Latchett had picked up our missed work and tutored us. She quickly learned I was a reader as well. I was able to complete all of Janny’s second grade work with ease. While the three of us were playing Old Maid, Kirby came to get us. It was early for him. It was still daylight. We hadn’t eaten our t.v.  dinners yet.  

“Kirby! What a lovely surprise! Y’all get in here and have something to eat!” said Mrs. Latchett too loudly.  

  “Thank you. No, I mean. Thanks so much for watching the twins. 

 

It’s time we all get back to…it.”  

 

Kirby poked his head into the den where we were playing cards and announced it was time to go and was already headed out the door. He had to duck to enter doorways. Janny and I gathered our knapsacks, and gave Mrs. Latchett a giant hug. She gathered us in to her like we were a part of her. I’ll remember her smell forever.  

  While Kirby was unlocking the door, letting in our very confused cat, Mrs.  Lucy, then carrying the garbage cans down the driveway, we went into our bedroom. It felt so small. The house felt smaller. I was not sure when we were last here. I realized it echoed because there were no curtains or anything on the front window. The ceiling seemed higher. but it took me days (weeks?) to notice the fake wooden beams were gone! The rug was even gone. The only thing that remained in our tiny front room was a wooden cabinet Kirby had made, filled with my mother’s many teapots. There was an unfamiliar red rocking chair in place of another chair.  

I felt like I was in one of Janny’s books- the character soon discovers the secret chamber hidden beneath the floorboards. Tunnels and stairs and green pathways leading to a majestic meadow filled with roaming herds of animals. 

A place far away from the ugly rocking chair that was merely a prop for a life untold.  

  I hadn’t seen Kirby come in, but all three of us were there, together, unmoved, standing quietly. I closed my eyes and became a falcon soaring across a field.  

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Kirby took a seat at the same kitchen table. The chairs were old and taped together in spots. Janny and I sat down and faced him.  

  “Here’s the deal.” Kirby took both our hands in his across the table as he spoke softly. “I love you. I will always love you. Got that? What your mom did was…I don’t know what it was. I just know how it feels. It feels really, really shitty.” 

    Janny and I both started giggling. Kirby smiled with his teeth.  

  “We are going to get through this…thing…together. I am your dad. I will be here as your dad. I will be whatever you need me to be. Got it?” 

  I never doubted him. Or us. Us three. Throughout the years, we talked about things my mother did while she was still alive, but we never talked about the day she killed herself. Or why. (All the adults kept telling us it didn’t matter, and it wasn’t our fault.) 

  One day, I would realize the loss I had felt was more than losing a mother –  it was giving up the job of being her protector. It apparently, defined me at a tender age. For now, I snuck off into the bathroom to change my pants. I had wet myself when I came into the house.  

When the following school year arrived, Janny and I about to enter the third grade together, Kirby had become even quieter. I caught him staring off or not paying attention to us, often. He was on the phone a lot during the day. The neighbors came by to check in on us and I heard hushed whispers between them. I realized it was about us. He was trying to get legal custody of us. My mother had failed to make provisions before she decided to kill herself. Kirby had never legally married my mother. Janny and I were orphans of the state. I knew no matter who my “real” parents were; I would still be with Janny. I was too young to tell her I thought James and Claire weren’t my first parents. A child doesn’t forget accidental overheard conversations. But it was silly to bring it up. I will just hold on tighter this time, I thought.  

  One crisp, clear desert morning, Kirby took us down to the courthouse in the city. We had to get dressed up. I wore pressed black pants and a white shirt. Kirby had on a tie. I had only seen him with a tie one other time – when he brought us the news about our dead poppa. Janny had a dress on. A fat, bald man behind a desk had Kirby sign some papers. Stamping them, he told Kirby a “guardianship will give you all the same rights and responsibilities. Do you understand?” I knew that meant we were staying a family for now. I told Janny everything was gonna be okay as long as we stayed together.  

  Kirby came into our lives in the worst way imaginable; an officer whose job it was to tell the nearest living relative that their son/father/husband/grandson had been killed in Vietnam. My dad was his last notification for the army, as he stayed in town to help my mom, and never left. I never knew the sacrifices he was making.  

  When Kirby announced his new job and move across the country, I knew we would be okay. I would keep an eye on my sister, be her protector now. Janny and I left school during Thanksgiving break and stayed home until the move. We helped pack up, as best we could. I placed my two boxes with Kirby’s. I wanted to make sure I would be with him.  

 

 

   

 

CHAPTER 19 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Missouri – 1981 

 

  “Our” father James, was an only child, born in the U.S. after his pregnant mother emigrated with him during WW2. His father was a Polish Jew who died before my father was born. Janny loved discovering that she shared a Jewish heritage with Rachel.  

  Daniel Kapinsky was our paternal grandfather’s oldest sibling.  

My grandfather was the middle child. There was a younger sister, not living.  

Our grandmother moved to Missouri to live with her husband’s brother and new wife. Another generation of fatherless sons, owed to the cost of wars.  

The information we gathered about them before our arrival was vague – but it was interesting to know Janny and I might have been raised by distant relatives in the midwest had things gone differently. It surprised no one that Kirby had never mentioned them before. A ruined box, by happenstance, had caused this revelation.   

  Uncle Dan and Aunt Esther had been living in Missouri since 1940 but spent winters in Tampa Bay. The only reason they were in Missouri in March for our visit, was due to the fact that Uncle Daniel needed to have a “small heart  procedure” and preferred his cardiologist in Missouri. 

  Janny was loopy on the trip to Missouri from Arizona, as Mrs. Latchett had given her some of her migraine medication for Janny’s continued cramping. Mrs.  Latchett seemed to know in her heart, Janny had gone through something even bigger than just chasing ghosts.  

Janny agreed it was bizarre going to visit these unknown relatives, these strangers; tangible evidence of our parent’s lives. They had mentioned to Kirby they had a “few things the dear children” may find of interest. 

 “Is that what defines us?” asked Janny while we were still on the highway.  “Stories and items weaved together, memories of life constructed from scraps of  

mismatched fabrics that create a quilt called family?”   

My sister the poet. “Hey, glad we’re on this travel thread together!” She giggled as she knew I wasn’t making fun of her.  

It was the end of March. The buzzing noise travelling into the guest bedroom window, was too early in the year to be crickets, but the sound melted comfortably with the cool air. Janny was breathing softly. I didn’t observe much but, I knew two things: when Janny was okay and when she was not. Now was okay; staying with our relatives, surrounded with their dusty relics from their hardened lives, calmed us both.  

  All four of us knocked around this house quite well. It was all so simple here. We expected drama and stories but go so enveloped in their embrace, we were able to just rest. No talk of bus trips, worrying Kirby and Arizona meltdowns. Our aunt knew what we needed and provided it effortlessly: plates of pastries, noodles, white fish and strong coffee. We enjoyed watching and laughing at our uncle smoking a cigar, humming, reading the paper; wrapped in their smells and lives like we were part of the stained wallpaper. It was what Janny needed.  

I tried not to see the sadness mirrored in Janny’s eyes, and she tried not to see the loss in mine, where it sat like a vast desert night. Comfort doesn’t always come when it’s supposed to. The gaps were great and sometimes I needed to anticipate the next fall. How many could I fill?  

Tonight I will listen to the sounds of my sister sleeping in the next bed. And rest.  

     

 

   

   

   

   

CHAPTER 20 

   

Jimmy 

 

  I get up early. Janny is sleeping in, as usual. Uncle Daniel is up before me, eating a soft-boiled egg – tap tap tapping on the top of the egg with a tiny spoon in a tiny cup. He is reading the paper. The radio is on, playing some old-time music. Benny Goodman, I think. A woman’s deep voice is singing her heart out. I think I will try and figure out the melody on my guitar. I like it. Thankfully, our bags and my guitar were waiting for us, in one (out-of-tune) piece when we arrived.  

Uncle Daniel is a small man, peering over his glasses when he speaks.  Before I sit down, he is already up, heating the milk for the sweet coffee he makes me. After one night and no pressure from them, I feel at ease.  

  “You two kids have been through a lot. Your aunt and I bleed for you.” He isn’t prone to hyperbole, but it is in his heart: This.  

  “I guess that’s true!” I answer. We have not been this intimate before.  “Between the trip, your poor mother, God rest her soul, your dear sweet father. I can imagine.” He wipes his mouth with the corner of his napkin then wipes his glasses. “You see, I too lost many as well, my young friend. Too too many.”  

  “What is…how do you know us again?” I mean to ask if he knew our mother. If he knew the real story of me. I stammer on. “Did you spend time with our dad when he was younger? Janny and I were only 3 when he was killed.”  After 2 days of being here, I finally ask.  

 Uncle Daniel has an accepting regard.

  

  “Yes. Yes, my boy. Your poppa was a miracle for us. Your grandmother moved out west I think when your poppa was 5 or so. We’ll ask Aunt Esther. She’s better with dates. Come.” He creaked when he got up. I follow him.    Standing in front of their giant, dusty bookcase (there are books everywhere), Uncle Dan has to squint through his glasses to see titles on large photo albums. They are dated with neatly hand-printed labels. 

  “I lost many people in the war. Family. Most of my family. My parents.  

My sister and brother. My village. I know from pain.”  

  We were connected. War connected us as the human family. We made brief appearances in each other’s lives; people coming and going quickly and often, destructively. I think I know why I get high. I think I know why Uncle Dan enjoys his nightly glass or two of port.  

  “When I came to America, I had no one. Thank God for your Aunt Esther.  Your grandmother came to live with us during the war, to give your father a chance at life. I never met your mother, but we wrote when your dear father was in Vietnam. Ach. Another boy killed in a senseless war.”  

  It was hard to imagine our dad being little and being here. I wondered if he missed the father he never had and if Uncle Dan filled that role.   

  “My second dad. James wasn’t my first dad,” I blurt out. I feel silly, a 17- year-old correcting an old man. It didn’t feel right. I apologize.  

  “You’re mishpocheh. Family. Your sweet parents loved you very much. You know, you were adopted by the sweetest of the sweet?” Uncle Daniel simply states.  IT is said – out loud.  

I have never thought of it that way. I knew Kirby was going to legally adopt  

us, then didn’t, but I never wondered about my mother. I didn’t think it mattered.  All that mattered, up until now, was me being Janny’s brother. Her twin. Coming in to the world together, side by side. That was her truth for 12 years. I hated when that changed. I clung to what I knew.  

  My birthday was always Janny’s birthday, as I had told Rachel. No one questioned it. I do remember once in school, a front office lady asked me my birthday to confirm it in her books. My sister’s name was right below mine. She knew we were twins. I told her the same date as my sister. She said, “oh no, I guess it’s a mistake then.” And that was that.  

  Now sitting here, I wonder how many days or weeks we were apart? Janny still read me the same horoscope. She asked me again, on the bus ride, if I ever wondered when my “real” birthday was and did Kirby know and why didn’t I have more questions about it? But, she never waited for me to respond. Probably because she knew I would’ve just shrugged my shoulders.  

  I may now get some answers to questions I didn’t even know I had? Can this kind old stranger, provide me with facts about my life? Did I have a story outside of being a twin? Was I ready to know?  

  “Did my mother just not have time to tell me?” A question easier to ask a stranger, for some reason. I never asked Kirby, even during the night of the sewer incident. If Kirby was not asked a question directly; he was not about to provide any information. Military training. I missed Kirby. He understood and helped Janny with her pregnancy, trusted her with the choice. I wondered how Kirby dealt with these women leaving his life?  

“Ach! It is simple, yet it is not simple. Bisl- a little bit mishegas.” My great-

 

uncle laughs. “I’ll try to stop with the Yiddish. You, handsome young man, need

 

to understand a few things. We have time! Eat a little something first. I’ll go wake your aunt.”  

 

I open the first photo album as he shuffles down the hallway. I stare at faces who are unfamiliar. The people are formal, posed, staring at the camera, never a smile. Not a happy bunch.  

  Aunt Esther lays out bagels and lox. (“Do you know how hard it is to find lox here? Not like our winters in Florida!”) Janny is finally up. She has some color back in her face. We talk about the area, what art gallery Aunt Esther will take us today, and we listen to her nag my uncle about his health, his eating, his posture. She is careful not to interrupt him, however, when he tells us about growing up in Poland: the fields of wildflowers, the pretty girls, the delicious desserts. His stories are rich, painting a portrait of his boyhood not unlike our own experiences. All children loved to play. Those memories become the paint- the sounds, sights, smells that color our lives.  

  Somehow, Uncle Daniel manages to convince “the two lovely ladies” to go out without us. He and I will have the afternoon together. I was getting used to the cigar smoke. Luckily, he puffs once, puts the fat stub down, then forgets about it.  

He always has to relight it.  

  With his glass of port, his large crystal ashtray, Uncle Daniel and I move into the formal dining room. Of course, Aunt Esther has left us sandwiches and other goodies. The table is covered in clear plastic, protecting a delicate lace tablecloth. We sit next to one another. I have a cream soda pop.  

Uncle Daniel slowly turns each album page, welling up as he tells a little

story about each stranger in the photos. Sometimes, I feel he is lost in a secluded 

world, speaking to spirits, making no difference if I am here or not.  

 

The photographs at the end of one album are in color. People are smiling. He gets to the back when I recognize my parents: James and Claire Kapinsky. An 8” x 10” portrait of the two of them, holding me and Janny in their arms. We were all smiling. A toothless grin from Janny, and a two front baby teeth grin from me.  My dad has his uniform on. I never saw a photo of him without his uniform (I had one other), just like Kirby; not until Julie came in our lives and began to take “candid” photos of us. 

  “Ah, my boychik, this is what we want. This.”  

  My great-uncle carefully peels back the clear but yellowing cellophane covering the photo. The photo is not stuck to the page. He hands me the photo.  

Behind the photo, there is a large envelope with the words “Arizona Family” printed across. He pulls out (3) pieces of paper, one thicker than the other two.  Two appear to be letters, one on the thinnest of paper I have ever seen. He puts the papers down on the table. Picking up his cigar, he searches for some matches. I wait patiently as he attempts to light it.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21  

 

  JIMMY 

 

  Uncle Daniel unfolds the first page. He hands it to me and says, “it’s from your dear mother.”  

  The handwriting is neat and in script. It is fancier than anything I can imagine about my mother. It doesn’t feel real. It is on lined stationery with a small hand drawn pink rose in the upper left corner. It isn’t dated. It reads:  

   

“My Dearest Uncle, 

  You and Aunt Esther have been so kind over the years since my James joined the service. Your generous checks have helped so! The twins are getting so big! I hope you get a chance to come out and visit. I get so lonely. I will always remember your kindness. Much love to you both. Hope you enjoy the photo.  

  Love, Claire “  

   

  My heart stops for a moment. The room is spinning slightly. This is the closest I have been to my (non-dead) mother in forever.  

  “Boychik, you were the sun, moon and stars to your mother. It didn’t matter to your father or mother whose blood you were. So it didn’t matter to us. Your mother was bit…Meshuggeneh…confused. We loved her, God rest her tortured soul. You were twins because what difference did a few hours make, eh?”  

When he hands me the heavier cardstock paper, it actually, is two pages attached. It is my birth certificate and Janny’s birth certificate. We were both born on the same day in the same hospital, but I was born at 7 A.M. She was born at 1 P.M. It lists both our parents as James and Claire Kapinsky of Tucson, Arizona. There is actual proof I exist and was wanted. And, we share a birthday after all.  

My biological parents aren’t listed.  

  “Uncle Daniel, do you know who my real parents were?”  

  “No, sweet lad. I do not.” He explains the birth certificates were sent later, and hands me the next letter. It is typed and has an army letterhead. I glance at the signature and see it is signed by Kirby, my guardian in life.  

   

“November 22, 1970 

TO THE GREAT UNCLE AND GREAT AUNT OF: 

JANICE FRANCIS KAPINSKY AND JAMES FRANCIS KAPINSKY: 

Thank you for taking the time to speak with me at length yesterday. I’m sorry it took so long after Claire’s death to contact you and therefore, unable to attend her funeral or meet the twins. I wanted to send you copies of the  

Guardianship legal papers for safe-keeping and for your own records. I understand, as the only living relatives of James Kapinsky, your nephew who died valiantly for his country in 1966, you cannot offer yourselves as guardians to his children. Although James and Claire had legally adopted Jimmy; I have no rights to either child. I have been here for them, as their father, for four years now.  

  I assure you I will continue to be the best father to them as I can possible be.  

Thank you for not contesting the legal guardianship. 

  For this gift, I thank you. One day we all will meet. 

  God bless you both.

  

  Yours truly, Captain Kirby Devlin, U.S. Army  

p.s. When we get settled in Ohio, I will contact you with our current

 information.”  

 

  I am once again confused and annoyed, left wondering why Kirby chose not to tell me all that he has known for all these years. Maybe Janny will feel relieved. 

“We never heard nothing after that! We were heartbroken we had lost you before even meeting you! Your mother, God rest her soul, died and you moved!”  He pauses to sip some port. “So many years! Ah, but thank God you are back.  

That’s all that matters! Family- mishpocheh.”  

I notice his accent gets thicker the more upset he becomes.  

He continues. “I keep the legal papers your father Kirby sent in a safe deposit. You never know. Better to be safe than sorry, is what I say. I thought the birth certificates you may need? You are grown people now. Do you have your driver’s license yet even? So grown up!”  

  Kirby had never offered any proof of our beginnings. Ever. I see by not telling me any details was his way of keeping control. Did he really (conveniently) forget to mention our Missouri relatives? Did he have copies of my birth certificate? He took me down to the driver’s license bureau when I turned 16 but took care of the paperwork while I filled out my permit application. I never thought to search to see who I was. I knew I was where I was supposed to be although later, I would run from that. For now, things fit. To know I was wanted helped too. I knew my dad was my dad and my mother was my mother. What could change that? Is that what Kirby held on to as well?  

  We all eat a wonderful Chinese meal our last night in Missouri. Janny and my aunt share stories of their day. My aunt and uncle tell us stories about our dad, James, when he was little, and the little he knew about our grandmother, Rose. On the bus ride home, I told Janny what I had in my possession: a photo of the four of us all together, my dad, my mother and us; our birth certificates; and two letters written by our mother and Kirby. She had a right to know these things.  

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22   

   

KIRBY’S STORY 

 

The twins had just turned 18. Kirby and Jimmy were fighting more since the twins had returned from Missouri almost 10 months ago. Maybe because Julienne was no longer there to be a referee, the peacemaker – arguments about politics, loud music, drinking, school, friends, pot smoking, kitchen messes, staying up all night and as Kirby perceived, Jimmy’s lack of direction, were ever-present. 

Jimmy had gotten angrier over the years. They shared less in the father-son activities that had kept them parallel to one another, but even those times required concentration to task – thus, no introspection or discussion. Kirby had learned from Janny, about the letter Claire had written to their great-uncle. Kirby understood why Jimmy was not sharing information with him; it was punishment. Not until the summer arrived – not until an IHOP in Norfolk and a stack of pancakes and a night in jail- did Jimmy finally, open up.  

 

  When Kirby was 18, he joined the service while taking college classes in engineering and math, quickly advancing to the company’s youngest appointed captain. Two tours of Vietnam then meeting Claire, changed his life’s course.   Kirby found a way to quit the army, which he loved, to be with Claire, the woman he loved who was stranded with two young children. The army allowed Kirby to work from a local base for a while, before Kirby gave up his commission. He no longer wanted to be reminded of manufactured horror. He found himself starting to agree with the anti-war sentiments of his girlfriend and began to hang out with former Vets who were fed up with Nixon and so many deaths. Before Claire died, he had more passion about things- in their brief time together. 

  After Claire’s suicide, Kirby was sent spiraling. He didn’t know why he didn’t see it coming. He didn’t understand how he didn’t stop it. He was trained in loss and one’s reaction to sudden death. He thought Claire’s depression over losing her first husband, had passed. He thought Claire had turned a corner. There were still dark days but in short spurts. It took Kirby weeks to even consider what the children were going through. He felt void of all caring after losing her. He was enraged with himself. He wasn’t sure he could come back from this. Witnessing more than his share of horrors in ‘Nam, he imagined civilian life to be more…civilized. Martin and Bobby’s death, Claire’s death, a war with no end in sight – what made sense anymore? 

It took him a few months to realize the twins mattered. The twins needed protection and love. He did make that auspicious promise to Claire, not fully understanding what he was promising. But, he was going to live up to that task of raising his girlfriend’s children. That it took so long (especially in a child’s world) for him to realize his role as consolation prize parent, made him all the more burdened by guilt. At first, he considered he was not the best choice for them. Knowing there was a distant great-uncle, he considered that option, even though they were strangers to them. He thought the children needed to stay together and be with family. There was no family without Claire. Claire was an amputation and phantom limb pain was setting in. He saw lots of guys come back from the war, feeling as if their blown off legs, arms, hands were the cause of the excruciating pain. In reality, nothing extended beyond their shoulder or hip, ripped away 10,000 miles away but still the source of real pain. Kirby needed to escape the pain, somehow. The desert haunted him, it’s long unfamiliar shadows, the drastic temperatures between night and day, the dryness. The colors and smell of Claire were everywhere. He tried to escape the origin of the loss, eventually discovering it would continue to follow him, but not before running away.  

  Kirby took off shortly after Claire’s death: after a quick cremation and service. He traded in his truck for a Harley and headed to California. He stayed at campgrounds, sat around with bikers, gypsies, stoners, hippies, retired couples and their little yappy dogs, vets like him – never without a bottle of beer or tequila in his grip. KAOs were a welcome sight for a hot shower and familiar nights spent around a campfire, maybe his arm around a girl that never went anywhere.  His hips and back ached, riding with grit in his teeth, riding gloves becoming a second skin. Blurred highway lines, miles of open road and freedom. ‘Nam and Claire faded, but the images of Jimmy and Janny never left.

      Why couldn’t he shake it? The aching subsided at the bottom of a bottle, but vibrated in his soul during the sober parts, following him like the constant humming of an engine. He felt such fear for the “what ifs” of those kids. Were they better off with him or without him?  Until his return, he hadn’t imagined the children needed him as much as they did.  They looked up to him, viewed him as their surviving parent although Kirby found this to be ironic. He was scarcely surviving.  

Claire’s death had cultivated support, which surrounded him and the children. He felt safe leaving them with loving, caring adults. He wanted to be their salvation, but he had the weight of guilt. Feelings of unworthiness never left. A parent’s job is to spare your children pain, not produce it. Being the one who brought them the news of their father dying was his responsibility – his fault too.  He didn’t just bring the news. He created broken, fractured families, feeling as responsible for a soldier’s death as if he were the enemy, shrapnel, or friendly fire that brought them down in the first place.  

 

After weeks of being away, the tiny arms and warm tears of these precious children embracing him no longer felt like a burden. Once Kirby returned to  

Arizona, he had a full beard and mustache. Janny loved it. Jimmy didn’t let go of Kirby’s long legs. A sudden desert wind blew away all questions and doubts – once he held them, he knew they were his children. He would be okay for them. And, he had something to live for.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

CHAPTER 23

 

KIRBY’S STORY 

  

  Kirby was glad to leave Arizona with the twins, transferring to a civilian job at the finance office on a military base in Ohio. He soon left the position, wanting nothing more to do with the military. He wanted to work at a bar and work on cars.  His whole life was spent doing as he was told or had to do to survive. He was raised by his mom, if you could call it that, until age 8 when he was placed in foster care, He didn’t know who his father was. His mother drank. He cleaned up after her, fed her, hardly ever went to school. After a social worker took him away one day, he was relieved he was no longer responsible for her survival; something Kirby shared with Jimmy yet, neither knew. It was hard to admit you might be responsible for making your mom go away.  

  Kirby’s mother visited a couple of times the first couple of years in foster care. He was moved around because he was perceived as starting fights, mostly because of his size. In reality, he was the one trying to break up fights. He was protector of anyone not brave enough to speak for themselves. When Kirby’s mother showed up at the designated park or local social service office, she smelled of gin and cigarettes. Visibly distracted and uncomfortable with her son, Kirby drew pictures while she muttered “what is that supposed to be?”  

  The visits eventually stopped. Kirby got word of his mother’s death while going through basic training. He was allowed to go home to Buffalo for her funeral, where he saw a couple of his aunts, both living in some sort of facility, then saying goodbye to his mother on a cold rainy day in a small cemetery. There was no stone; just a small cross to mark her grave. It was the last time Kirby went back to Buffalo. 

  The day Kirby arrived in Arizona was the worst and best day of his life.  He had been on 17 of these notifications in one year. The war was young. The army had the option of sending a telegram via a taxi cab but sometimes, if personnel and funding were available, the Army delivered the gentle, personal touch. The CNO (casualty notification officer) whose job it was to notify the NOK, was dispatched within 12 hours of receiving the KIA report. The CNO also assisted during the period immediately following the casualty, assisting in death benefits/ claims and any other personnel related effects.  

  Sergeant Kapinsky was not the only one killed in his unit. They were not assigned to Kirby, but he knew the details in case the widow asked. Relatives had unusual reactions. Most fell to their knees, followed by primal sobs and screams: “MY BOY! MY BOY! NO!” – to stoic patriotic WW2 fathers who disguised their quivering bottom lip by stating “he died for our freedom” or “better to come home in a body bag than to be a coward!” Human nature always surprised Kirby, even though he was exposed to the harsh realities of life from a young age. He maintained wonder. This job though today, would be his undoing. This young woman at the door practically glowed. Family: Claire Kapinsky, spouse, age 26.  

Two surviving dependents, a boy and girl, age 2.9 years.  

 

The sun was low in the sky and haloed her black mane from a back window. 

Squinting, Kirby’s removed his sunglasses. He could tell she knew who he was, his purpose for being there, but she still smiled when she opened the door.  

  “Ma’am? Good day. I am Captain Kirby Devlin, ma’am, United States

  

Army and I am afraid…”  

  Then she broke down. Claire was on her knees sobbing, the two children surrounding her, instinctively trying to comfort their mother. The boy looked up at Kirby. He had a curious look. One full of questions. Claire’s yellow tie-dyed dress pooled around the bottom of her body like an island for the children to huddle and survive. The three of them seemed like they would disappear in golden light.  Captain Devlin lost his heart that day. He was ready to give all to this tiny family before they completely vanished.  

  Even though he was trained to keep a degree of distance, Captain Devlin knelt beside the family. He placed his giant arms around the three of them. Perhaps because he was alone, because the army chaplain wasn’t available, Kirby uttered to them “don’t worry, we’ll get through this together”, an intimate statement as if he had been by their side since the beginning of time. He found a home and knew it.  

  Claire was different from anyone Kirby had ever met. Some said grief brought them together, but Kirby knew that one event didn’t define them. Claire told Kirby “James brought you here to take care of us” while he thought “I was always meant to be here”, defying his Captain sensibilities. Logically, they were two damaged souls from broken families, holding on then letting go of what they knew, trying not to replicate the eventual destruction. Hold on to one another and this time, save the children. 

  “Part gypsy, part Indian, part midwest farm girl” is how Claire described herself. Kirby was never able to put together all the different pieces of her life- but the small threads he was given, the experience of parents not being there – he understood and shared. At times, Kirby got the impression Claire’s parents were still alive, but during the notification of NOK, she mentioned she “had no one but the children.” Yet, some of her stories, seemed to have them alive on a farm. When Kirby questioned her (he rarely did, as he found breaking the silence when she talked about the past had the opposite effect – causing all communication to end), she corrected herself, saying “oh, yes, I mean, before they died.” He never saw pictures of them. The one wedding photo Claire had framed in the house was of three people: Claire, in a long, yellow peasant dress, a ring of flowers atop her long frizzy black hair, carrying a small bouquet of lavender; James in uniform, with short, brown curly hair a bald spot already forming on his forehead at nineteen years old; and another woman, holding a bible who Claire said was a stranger who officiated their wedding. All three were smiling, although Claire’s head was tilted slightly, looking downward, as if she had discovered a butterfly on the ground.  

Claire was pregnant and huge. Kirby didn’t know who took the picture. The photo was moved to the top of the closet until Kirby re-discovered it after she died and was packing up the house to move to Ohio. Eventually, the photo ended up next to Janny’s night stand. Kirby wished he had more mementos of Claire’s, as she blew in and out of their lives like a tumbleweed.  

  Kirby and Claire fell right into a wonderful routine. Arizona felt right to Kirby. He began to love the angles of the horizon and the changing colors, the veil that fell over the landscape at dusk. The vastness of the starry night sky Kirby had only witnessed during the dry season in Southeast Asia. Brief moments where dread left the soldiers; a time they could look up and imagine their loved ones at home – a momentary lapse of forgetting they were living in a hell-hole.  

Kirby had never been with anyone like Claire. She was so…free. On good days, the joy emanated from inside her – everyone clamoring for her attention.  

They went on small trips, where the children were able to run, explore and enjoy.  Kirby asked Claire to marry him.  

  “Honey, let’s get married,” Kirby said one night as they sat out back with a fire going, golden ashes shooting up to the sky, a non-existent horizon, a moment of infinite possibilities. The children were asleep in their beds. “I love you! I will always love you! I have always loved you!” he said, uncharacteristically with his heart on his sleeve. Claire put her arm through his and snuggled closer.  

  “We’ll see.” Claire stated too quickly. 

  “What do you mean ‘we’ll see’?” Kirby asked.  

  “I have children, Kirby. I have children I need to protect. That is my job.” 

  “Claire, don’t you see I want that to be my job?” Kirby asked with longing.  

  “What are you talking about, Kirby? Who do you think you’re protecting?  

And from who? Me? Do you think you need to protect my kids from me?”  

The fire had gone out and blackness enveloped them swiftly. Kirby had never heard Claire talk this way before. It scared him.  

  “Claire?” he said feebly. He felt her breathing hasten. “You are incredible.  An incredible mother. The kids are lucky to have you. You are so loving. No, of course I don’t think your kids need any protecting FROM you. I am…I don’t know why you said that. My sweet Claire…”  

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. This has to be about you and me. All of us. They love you Kirby. Both my babies love you. I love you. I do. I am just not ready, yet, to get married. Okay?”  

Kirby had no choice but to let it drop. He didn’t bring it up again. This was someone he might not be able to hold on to forever. 

  “Kirby,” Claire began after several minutes of silence, “sometimes I wonder why I’m alive. Still alive. I feel like a piece of me died when James was killed.  JFK. Martin. Robert. They all die. My James. I am lucky to see his eyes in  

Janice’s.” She trailed off. Claire reached over and threw another piece of wood in the pit. The fire crackled.  

  “I see no reason to go on, sometimes.” Claire confessed. 

  “What are you talking about, Claire? You have your kids! You just said your job was to protect them, right? Why would ‘not being here’ be an option for you?  

For anyone with kids?” Kirby was raising his voice now.  

  “Is there nothing else for me? So when they stop needing me, it will be okay? It’s okay, Kirby. I don’t expect you to understand.”  

  Kirby hated when she did that: dismissed a topic where she applied no logic.  In Kirby’s engineering brain, it was important to apply logic at all times. Kirby also knew Claire was scared and depressed. He had seen this before, with army buddies. His mother. He knew there was nothing he could say to get her to see rationally. Life was about finding some things, losing something else, rediscovering old things. Life held great losses, but applying logic in all situations was the only answer to “go on”. The greatest responsibility is to one’s children, no matter their age or status in life. Kirby believed this. He was still dumbfounded by what Claire was saying out loud, talking about leaving them all, in some capacity.  

  “Claire, you are more than just a mother. I fell in love with YOU.  

Just…just remember that.”

  

A proposal within a proposal: marry me and please don’t end your life.  Claire was a deer in the headlights. “I drove my truck straight into her, high beams blazing and, she froze” thought Kirby.  

  “How about you hold on for me, then? And if you can’t, I will catch you.  

Hold on for you. How does that sound?” Kirby wanted to be able to fix 

everything.  

  Claire smiled with just the corners of her mouth.  

  “You will always take care of my children? You will tell Jimmy, one day, where he came from?”  

  “You will do that, Claire! When you’re ready. I will always be here. I love you all.” It’s why I proposed, Kirby thought.  

 

  Kirby had known Jimmy was adopted. Claire wanted to wait until James got back from Vietnam before they talked to him about it. Jimmy was just a baby when he left. Claire had decided to keep things simple and continue to refer to her children as “the twins”. After James was killed, the twins were still the twins and explaining the reality – did it really matter? She did not want him to feel ashamed about any of it.  

  After Claire died, Kirby had no reason to tell Jimmy; pull another piece of history rug right out from underneath him. Both Claire and James had declared themselves Jimmy’s parent’s hours before Janny was born. Claire was in labor.  Between contractions and waiting, James told her about a little boy, just born to a sixteen-year-old heroin addict. The mother was going to die, they all feared. The girl was the daughter of one of James’ (dead) army buddies. The girl had no one. James had recognized the name when she was brought in to the same hospital. Claire didn’t hesitate at all when James brought it up. Offering a home to this infant and raising him with their daughter felt natural and right.  

  The mother lived for a few days and was able to sign the legal documents, declaring James and Claire Kapinsky the legal adoptive parents of a son. Claire was able to meet the birth mother, hug her frail birdlike body, and whisper “thank you”. No one could believe this little girl had the ability to carry a healthy baby to term, albeit, smaller in weight than Janice. Claire was able to nurse both the children. James quickly built a cradle to place next to Janny’s crib for the time- being. The story of “the twins” only had one theme: they entered this world together.  

  It was a perfect family.  

 

  “How?” Claire asked Kirby one day.  

  “How what?” Kirby replied. He stood up from bending under the truck’s hood. Kirby figured she was checking up on his project, hoping she had a beer for him. 

  “How am I a good mother?” She didn’t seem sad, but wistful.  

  “How?” Kirby wiped his hands with a dirty rag. “You raised two infants at the same time and you didn’t have to.” 

  “I am not sure. I’m just…not sure, Kirby.” She gazed down. 

  “You have comforted them both and kept them safe for all these years since 

Jim died. And, they adore you.” Kirby didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but he wanted to finish installing this air filter.  

  “What have I given them to believe in? Even my useless parents tried to

instill us with religion. Something. To hold on to.” Her voice halted, almost 

staccato-like.  

 “Why is it so hard to hold on?” Kirby asked tenderly, closing the truck 

hood for now.  

  Claire was startled. Kirby was good at making arrangements and providing for his instant family, but he was rarely, emotionally available. Claire often caught him, off guard, staring blankly, seemingly, check out of his surroundings. This time, he seemed to be tuned in to her fragility. Claire felt like a fraud, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Appearing strong and in control, many wives and mothers experienced this through this endless war. Kirby was good at handling raw, primal grief but recognizing and acknowledging despair was beyond his capabilities.  

  “Kirby, my dad lived on the reservation. My mother told me we lived there for a little bit when I was young. It was great, the parts I remember. Older women teaching me to knit and weave. We were poor, but I liked playing with everyone.  My dad had other kids before my mother, so there were a lot of us around, until we left. I mostly was raised in Texas and Kansas though. No brothers or sisters. We moved to my mother’s very rural farm that had been in the family for years. We grew okra, wheat, and had a few goats. Nothing big.”  Kirby did not interrupt her.  

  “My father and mother became devout Christians. Like devout, go-to- church-daily kind of devotion. Ya’ know? It wasn’t good for me, Kirby. I was punished a lot with belts and switches I had to collect. They made me kneel in prayer for hours when I was bad.”  

Enough silence had lapsed for Kirby to speak. The details were not important to him.  

  “Babe, are you saying you should be stricter with J and J? It sounds horrible what you went through.” Claire knew about Kirby’s shitty childhood, as well.  

  “No, of course not. Never. I pray you will never lay a hand on them either, never!” He nodded because it seemed like she was asking for his promise. “I’m saying Kirby- I don’t know what to believe in.”   

  “Okay. Why do you have to believe in anything? Do you believe you exist?  In this form? That’s a start.” said Kirby. He was getting impatient and it came across as being patronizing.   

  “What if I hurt them?”  

  “You could never do that, Claire! You would never do that. Why do you even ask? Babe, what’s really the matter?” He was too covered in oil and sweat to hug her.  

  “What if I can’t hold on? And end up hurting them?” She wasn’t making  sense.  

  Kirby sighed. “I will make sure you will be able to hold on. Where are you  going with all this? Go listen to some music. You’ll feel better.”  

  Claire stood there, unaware she was swaying. Kirby wasn’t sure if he was  allowed to go back to working on his truck. He did not want to fuck up this  relationship. The first real relationship he had. The longest too.  

  Claire saw that Kirby wanted to get back to being greasy. That day, she  made a plan: a plan she knew would hurt her children, but in the long run, it being for the best. She pushed the thought away every day, for another couple of years.  There was too much darkness. The times between the joy she once felt, became  shorter. She believed she hid it well from the children, Kirby and the neighbors.  

Eventually, that shield began to fade. There was nothing she had left to offer  anyone. Jimmy noticed, and he was not letting go of his mother.  

   

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

  

CHAPTER 24 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Virginia Beach – 1982 

   

  We turned eighteen in December, and I moved out of the house by January. Janny was upset with me. Kirby was upset with me. Julie, who kept in touch by phone, was upset with me, but she at least, understood. Sal and I bought a 1967 VW camping van, sky blue. Sal painted the front tire cover with a highway scene, disappearing into a sunset. We named the van “Urge”. Our destination (after camping out in the Smoky Mountains, tripping on mushrooms, playing guitar out in the clear night sky) was Virginia Beach. We had a friend in a band, who rented a small house off the ocean. He needed roommates. Sal had already dropped out of school. I had a GED and a vocational mechanics degree. We planned to get jobs once we got down there. We smoked lots of cigarettes.  

  Before I left, I made all kinds of promises to everyone. I told Julie, I would call weekly. I told Kirby, I would go to college in September. I told Janny, I would come back.  

  The house was old but pretty awesome. Two of us had to share the big (added on) back bedroom, once a porch/patio; the living room had a fireplace and, we had a cat I named Cat 2. The trunk/coffee table was decorated with bongs and assorted pipes. We got furniture off the streets, learning when to scout for the good stuff in the good neighborhoods between garbage pick-ups. We had some kitchen supplies in the van, and bought the rest at the Goodwill. We had four giant lounge chairs and a trunk in the living room where we ate all our meals. 

I got a job in a restaurant, bussing tables. I flirted and went out with a few girls. We played music on the beach and snuck into bars. I played my guitar whenever I could. It was the only thing I really cared about. It was a Gibson Hummingbird, handed down by my father, James. My mother (and Kirby) had told me he could play fairly well. Funny I didn’t inherit the musicality from him.  Sal began hanging out with an older guy named Pat. Scraggly and skinny, he looked to be in his 30’s or 40’s. His face was full of pockmarks. Sometimes, after we had been out all night, we stopped by Pat’s, a small cottage, seemingly located on a traffic island, close to the smell of pine cones and ocean spray. The same few guys were always there, stoned out in the back living space.  

  We entered through the back because there was always a line of people in the front from 5-7 A.M; primarily soldiers, Privates in their olive-green fatigues, waiting to be “shot up” with crystal meth before heading to their job at the base.  Kick off your day with Dr. Pat! Keeps you coming back for more! I watched for weeks, laughing at Sal after he was given a hit. He rambled endlessly, while chain- smoking cigarettes. The drug made him love everybody. I snorted lines but knew I wasn’t going to stick a needle in my arm. The drug made me feel like I had to shit.  After a night of drinking and not sleeping, it was nice to be able to hit Pat’s then spend the day hanging at the beach.  

  Sal’s buzz seemed to be better and last longer. He no longer took seizure medication as he said pot and speed worked better. No one was overdosing, like in the movies, or “getting hooked”. These guys that never left ran the drug end so that was their job. To me, everyone else shooting up were productive members of society, having some fun.  

  One morning, Pat asked me “are you sure, kid?”, holding up a needle, as he usually did after dosing up the inner circle. This time, I said “sure!” Sal screamed “alllllrighhhttttttt!! Get this shit started!” Everyone was right. It was a pure high that took away hours and years of fogginess. Everything seemed CRYSTAL CLEAR. I had an energy that surpassed all doubts and hesitations. My guitar sounded magical. I was able to play for hours until my callouses bled. We all talked about the meaning of life and music and making movies.  

  I sold dime bags at work to supplement our morning recreation. Pat turned out to be pretty wise and turned me onto Larry Coryell and Donny Hathaway. We played Maria Muldaur, Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder when we (not frequently) performed around town. Sal played keyboard and we had a nice harmony on vocals.  

  Tony was a sax player and bar owner from Manhattan. He dressed in suits with a disco feel. His shoes had lifts. He was older too. He introduced us to a different drug: heroin. I had never felt bliss like that. They called it a “body orgasm”. Being on stage with my guitar felt that way, but being on stage high then with a girl after- my life was a giant orgasm.  

  After binges that lasted for 3-4 days, I crashed hard. I had scabs on my forehead, where I had scratched and picked. I immediately got diarrhea when I finally introduced food into my body. At Pat’s, we subsisted on Pringles and Pepsi.  

I decided to take things down a bit. Perhaps, stop shooting up. Skipping the morning bump, I decided to hitchhike home alone early one morning, leaving Pat’s on 67th Street to our place down Atlantic Avenue on 20th. The sun was beginning to peek over the ocean. I had dropped some windowpane at 2 AM, so I was still tripping. Pure, magical, colorful hallucinations. Before I hit the road, I ran along the sand dunes, lost in the sensation of snowy mounds and cross country skiing.  I jumped moguls and roared, deep sounds being released from inside me. The morning wind on my face made me feel I was there with God. Bits of light reflected from the glowing sand blinded me like snow. I felt the music of the seagrass, birds, waves crashing: the ocean performing in the orchestra of dawn. 

People with their dogs began to dot the beach so I headed up the road. When a car picked me up, I was hoping I would be coherent or, be able to point. I had to be at work for the dinner shift at Denny’s. I hoped I would be able to fall asleep for a few hours after a couple of bong hits. At least this windowpane was pure. Last week, we had gotten ahold of some blotter acids that made us cramp up for two hours. We drank so much pink crap on top of a fucked up trip.  

  There weren’t many cars on the road. The third car stopped. A nice Lincoln Continental with beige leather seats. Kirby would’ve loved it, I thought. A gray haired guy in some officer’s uniform picked me up. I checked to make sure he had on pants. Sometimes, they didn’t. 

  “Hey, thanks for stopping.” (Did the right words come out?) “I’m just going a few miles up.”  

  “No problem. Just getting off work myself. I guess a walk like that could be painful barefoot on this cement, no?”  

  How was I barefoot? What happened to my shoes?  

  “Yeh, I guess. Do you work at the base?”  

  “Yup” replied this colonel/captain/lieutenant.

  

  “Hey, my dad was in ‘Nam. Were you ever in Vietnam?” I felt talkative.  

  “Yes, I was. I did two tours in country.”  

  “My dad and step-dad were both in Vietnam. My step-dad was a captain in the army.” At least I knew Kirby’s rank. The army guy asked me his name and unit. I didn’t know his unit. He asked the years they served. I kinda knew that.  

  “Your father must have participated in the first official battle in ‘Nam.  Brutal. That’s when my tour began. Kids getting blown up. No one knew what was happening to them. A kid next to me blew his head right off. Right off. His own head. He was that terrified. I was happy to have the extra weapon.” The tone of his voice never changed. He had the thousand-yard stare.  

  Kirby never talked about what it was like “over there.” I just knew you didn’t come back or you came back differently. I knew people were still angry about all of it. Even the soldiers were just doing their job. All of a sudden, I felt badly I wasn’t closer with Kirby. Things changed after that time in the sumps with Sal, after Kirby supposedly revealed all he knew about me. After Julie left us, Kirby was downright ornery. Kirby survived a fucked up childhood, Vietnam, a dead girlfriend and an ungrateful kid.  

“You really shouldn’t be hitchhiking by yourself. You know that, right?”  My attention was brought back to the ride. I think I was just grunting “wow” as the  stranger spoke. 

  “I don’t do it often. Lost my bike. Got stolen.” I lied. I didn’t have a bike. If  only he knew the number of perverts who picked me up or tried to pick me up. This guy didn’t have the pervy vibe. I was getting good at detecting “child  diddlers” – that’s what we called them.  

  “Back then, we kept doing the same things. Try to find the gooks. Kill ‘em.  

Burn down their villages. Move on. We found ways to kill more people at once.  What a waste. Funny to hear that from a military man, huh? We are getting better  at killing the enemy. More ways now to fuck up, pardon my French.” He took a  long pause. “To quote Aeschylus ‘In war, truth is the first casualty.’”  I decided this soldier was a General.   

“And, son? If you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing? You are going to  get hurt too. And fuck up.”  

  “You can let me off right up here.” I pointed.  

  “Do me a favor?” he said before letting me off. “Call your dad when you get  home.”  

  “Thanks for the ride” and I walked the few blocks home from where he  dropped me off.  

  Our front door was open. There was a stranger asleep on the maroon chair and the house smelled like cat piss. Cat was purring at my ankles. I gave him/her fresh water and shared a can of tuna. I ate mine out of the can. Cat had its’ own bowl.  

  I had a hit off the bong without waking up the only other person in the house. The cat came with me into the back room. I tried to jerk off, but I was too wired. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the room was dark. The clock said 7:30 – I had slept passed work. Shit. Sal was just returning in the bus. Someone turned on the house lights. Sal and another friend were getting ready to go back out.  

This time, they were going to a club in Norfolk to help with Tony’s band. As a crew member (we declared ourselves), there would be no problem getting in for free and without i.ds. I showered, didn’t bother calling work, and headed out. The plan was to go to Tony’s first, get high, then head in the bus with the equipment. I drove with the guy in our van, while Sal and his buddy went to retrieve amps at a storage unit.  

  There was a party going on at Tony’s nicely decorated townhouse. Tony had just gotten in some “grade A pharmaceuticals” and was willing to share. He gave me a couple of seconals, one I downed with a beer, the other I wrapped up and placed in my jean pocket. Sitting on his giant, leather couch, Steely Dan blasting in the back, the high felt good. Seconal was like a mellow heroin without the need to fall down or lose your voice. There must have been 20 people in the townhome. Everyone was dressed nicely for the club – everyone getting high by some means.  

  When there was a knock on the door and the person answering said “who?”

I instinctively said, “don’t answer it.” My sister would say that was my old soul talking. No one heard me or listened. Before I could lift my head off the couch, a group of armed men came crashing in. Loud, screaming “DON’T MOVE”, intimidating, tossing people towards the wall, throwing others down on chairs and the floor. The back of their jackets read “DEA” and “Virginia Beach PD”. The three of us on the couch were told not “to move a muscle.” They were screaming and smashing things. Tony was fucked. I whispered to the shaking girl next to me “don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” I believed that.  

  These cops/agents looked like they were from central casting: The short, crew cut hair but one with a long ponytail – the undercover cop I imagined. One by one, two of the taller (and smiling) cops took us into a separate bedroom. Tony was already handcuffed, as an officer had located a full bag of pills behind a chair cushion. I heard them discussing a theft at a drugstore. Even though the pills were found easily, the agents still managed to knock in the kitchen cabinets, take out ceiling tiles and tear up carpet. There was confusion then an eerie silence. Some whimpered. My stomach was knotting up.  

  I saw a hand gesture. It was my time to be questioned. 

“Your turn, golden boy.” Before I entered the bedroom, the smiliest cop asked me to empty my pockets. I did, producing one lone pill inside a sandwich bag. The taunting began.  

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here, Ricky?”  

  I realized too late I should have taken it out and swallowed it.  

  “So, how does it feel being a junkie, eh, golden boy?” The two looked at each other and snickered. “Let’s see the arm.” Smiley cop grabbed my arm, pushed up my sleeve. “Let’s have a looky-see.”  

  There were no tracks on my arms. They looked disappointed. One of them twirled the little baggy with the one pill around his finger.  

  “We’ve seen you around.” It wasn’t a question. I felt my heart pounding in my throat. I have to make this go away, this very bad movie. “What do you know about these pills?”  

  “I don’t even know these guys. We play together. In a band. Not with this guy, but with friends. Other friends.” I wished I had gone in the bus with Sal.  

  “Uh huh. Where’s the rest of your stash, rock star?”  

  “I don’t have a stash…they gave this to me when I got here. I am just going to help set up. I wasn’t even going to take it, I swear!” I stammered.  

  “What do you think, there Ricky? This guy know anything?”  Ricky smiled.

  

Not a pleasant smile. “That’s what I thought, Ricky. Sorry cowboy, you’re coming with us. You know too many people.”  

  I was handcuffed behind my back. It hurt. I was being led out of the house by my shoulders by the tallest cop. I didn’t see anyone else handcuffed. Just frightened looking party goers. The girl I had tried to comfort, caught my gaze. She looked terrified. I managed to nod my head before being taken out. I was placed in the back of a police car with Tony. He said “hey.” He was nodding from the heroin he had shot up earlier. “Hey” I said back and turned my face towards the window. 

  Ten cops and two people arrested, some pills recovered. I didn’t think this was the big bust the authorities were looking for. I still felt like I could somehow, talk my way out of this. No one read me my rights or offered a phone call – all the things I had seen in movies. I began shivering and couldn’t stop. I had to pee. I think I was glad I had a pill in me or else I would be really freaking out. I hoped we got out soon.  

  I had not seen Tony since we were taken from the cruiser. The smiley cop had me sit next to his desk. The fluorescent lights made him less scary even in the harsh green shadows. He took off the handcuffs.  

  “Look, I am going to have to book you and take you down to county. You can stay here until my shift ends.” Why was he being nice? 

  “Thanks?” I managed to say through my clenched teeth and unrelenting thirst. I wanted to go into a corner and drink my own piss. I wanted a blanket. I wanted to talk to Kirby and my sister. I did not believe this was happening.   It must have been at least 3 in the morning when I was taken downstairs to get fingerprinted and photographed. I was chained to a group of men via our ankles and led into a van. I guessed we were on our way “to county.” I was the blondest and youngest in our group.  

  Metallic echoes vibrated down a long hallway: the smallest sound of an opening door, the shuffling of feet, heavy breathing, distant screams added to the wretched cacophony. I had to take many short steps to keep up with my group.  My wrists were tied in front with a plastic bracelet. We were unchained and placed in individual cells. My cell was occupied; a snoring lump on the lower bunk bed. There was a steel toilet without a seat and a steel sink. No toilet paper. No mirrors.  A bare mattress on the top bunk. No blanket. No pillow.  

  I regretted having to piss in the toilet, having to expose any part of my body to this hell hole. I continued to shake even after relieving myself. I tried to hum songs in my head. I crouched on the floor, just a foot from my roommate. Various scrawls and scratches of former inmate’s graffiti decorated the ashen brick walls. “I Wuz Here” and “pigs sux ass” were the general sentiment. 

  I saw a pack of Marlboros by my roomies shoes with a book of matches stuck in the cellophane. One match. I took out a cigarette and lit it with his last match. The smoke tasted so good.  

  Before I took my second drag, the lump on the bottom bunk leapt up and began smashing my head against the concrete wall. He was on me as fast as a lizard catching a fly. He pounded my skull over and over. My arms and hands were flailing, my ears ringing as blood streaked down my face. It felt warm. My jeans were wet from fresh urine. I felt like a pack of people were beating me up or one giant snarling wild animal.  

  “You fucking fuck, thinking you can come here and take my smokes? You fucking fuck – you gonna die,” he was saying. I tried to protect myself. His stench was awful. I wasn’t sure if the grunting sounds were coming from me or him or both. I heard rattling of keys and others began storming into our cell. My head no longer felt like it was attached to my body. The smell of vomit, piss and blood was what I remembered before I passed out.  

 

  I dream I am riding in a Greyhound bus through a desolate desert with my great-uncle. I am holding Janny’s bag. It is stuffed with greeting cards. I cut my hand on the strap and drop it on the floor. There are tumbleweeds rolling down the bus aisle. I see the backs of Julie and Kirby and my mom sitting in the front. They are staring straight ahead. I call out to them, but nothing comes out. Uncle Daniel pats my knee. The bus is in the middle of the desert. It is snowing. The general who picked me up hitchhiking is at the wheel. Everywhere, there are snow-covered plateaus, snow-covered cactus. A snow drift prevents the bus from driving further so we all get out. Everyone else is gone but Janny and Sal are there talking. They begin to laugh hysterically, and start to run away. My feet are stuck in the snow and I can’t move or speak.  

  I look straight up at the sky, which is bright and cloudless. I can see stars in the daytime. The bus is gone and I’m waking through the desert. The snow is gone, and it is hot. I see a gypsy camp in a shimmering mirage-like oasis. Flute music and violins draws me to them. Kirby and Julie are sitting around the campfire with the gypsies. It is dark now. The only light comes from the fire. A young, brown- skinned girl approaches me. Her hair is straight and shiny. We start to kiss. I want to make love to her but when we pull apart for a moment, a tooth comes out of my mouth. My mother is dancing around the fire. I walk up to her. Her face is pale white, and she is crying. I ask her what’s wrong and she says I need to go with her.  Janny grabs my hand and I turn to see we are asleep in our tiny Arizona bedroom, except there is no roof. I hear my mother singing in the kitchen. I feel safe and warm. I stare up at the sky from my bed.  

 

I awoke with the ceiling only a few feet from my nose. My sore nose.  My sore face. Where was I and why was my head spinning? I tried to turn my head  to the side but was unable. I reached up and felt a stiff collar around my neck. I  was on the bottom of a bunk bed. I was in a hospital gown, my clothes gone. Two  thin blankets were covering me but I was cold. I tried to talk but my mouth stuck  together. I had no spit. My one eye wouldn’t open all the way so things were  blurry. I heard paper rustling. I think there was someone above me. A light flickered causing shadows to appear and disappear.  

  I feel so thirsty. I try again to ask for water from nobody. I am in jail. I got  beat up. I remember. I hope someone feeds Cat.   

 

 

    

 

   

 

 

CHAPTER 25 

   

Kirby’s Story 

 

Kirby got the call from the Virginia Beach Police Department the day after  

Jimmy’s arrest. It was from a social worker, describing the arrest for possession and subsequent beating by another inmate. She explained Jimmy was fine, required a few stitches to the back of his head but needed to be released to a responsible party. The jail was trying to figure how to get Jimmy to an arraignment, so he could be bonded out. The social worker asked how soon Kirby could get to Virginia. His son James, had filled out the wrong phone number under “next of kin” when he was booked, and it took some time locating Kirby, the social worker said. She was apologetic and sympathetic.  

  Kirby raised his voice, asking how an 18-year-old was placed in a cell with a grown man? “He’s a legal adult, Mr. Devlin” which Kirby intellectually knew.  Angry he was already released from the ER, Kirby began insisting his child continue to receive non-jail healthcare. His son was hurt, and it was hard to wrap his head around that. Mrs. Bentsworth assured Kirby his son was given the proper medical clearance, was x-rayed but he wasn’t admitted to the hospital.  

The words “standard operating procedure” gave Kirby a chill.  

He immediately got on the phone to a travel agent and arranged for a flight that afternoon. He wasn’t mad at Jimmy, just focused on “let’s take care of this.”  He still needed to tell Janny who was at her summer job at a Center for Autistic Children where she worked as an aid, planning to attend college in September and commute from home. Kirby called Julienne to see if she would come by to help out. He didn’t want to leave Janny alone. “Yes, of course I’ll be there” Julienne had told him on the phone without hesitation. Kirby hated to disturb Janny at work but had no other choice. He had to get to the bank and airport. Janny was called out of her classroom, insisting on going with Kirby. He convinced her to stay, plying her with the promise of Julienne’s company. Janny eventually, relented.  

  Mrs. Laura Bentsworth, MSW, met Kirby at the jail. It was late and usually, prisoners were not released after 5 or allowed to be seen, but she made an exception. Kirby was surprised how young and pretty Mrs. Laura Bentsworth was. On the phone, she sounded in her 70’s. Kirby followed her to her office, filled out release papers, and waited for James. The arraignment took place on a closed circuit television. Bail was set at $500.  

  Although they had feared the worse when they pulled James’ jail mate off of him, the C.O.s were convinced he was not badly hurt. The ER had confirmed this.  Mrs. Bentsworth was honest with Kirby, explaining the state did not want to pay for an armed officer to watch his son in the hospital. The jail infirmary had to suffice. His drug case was still pending but she suspected, charges would be dropped. She suggested an attorney in town. “Mention me and they’ll charge you practically nothing.” Kirby was certain Mrs. Bentsworth had winked.  

Kirby was already planning for the coming months in his head, including having to bring James back down for the court hearing. Perhaps, that’s why he missed the flirtatious signals, sympathetic gestures and general interest from Mrs.  Bentsworth? She allowed Kirby some privacy while he waited and the use of her phone. He called home. Kirby posted bail and waited for James in the depressing reception area.  

  Kirby was prepared for the worst when he finally saw his son being wheeled down the hallway. (Kirby later learned from Jimmy they had only put him in a wheelchair once they were close to the main desk area.) Jimmy’s shirt was blood stained around the collar. His eye was swollen halfway shut and there was a bandage across his nose. Jimmy managed to give Kirby that winning smile. They shook hands, but Kirby drew Jimmy in for a hug. Jimmy said “ow” and mumbled  

“I’m really sorry.” A small spot of hair in the back of Jimmy’s head was replaced by stitches. The nose wasn’t broken but badly cut.  

  Instead of driving him to his rental house, Kirby took Jimmy to a hotel. He hoped Jimmy would stay there for a few days to heal (go by the house to check on friends and Cat) then accompany him home to Ohio. He wanted to rent a car to drive back.  

  Jimmy began to remember more about the ER visit, as Kirby filled him in with the details he had received from Mrs. Bentsworth. Jimmy remembered being shot up with pain killers, then nodding out. Jimmy told Kirby what he remembered about waking up in the jail infirmary: The nice nurse who wiped his mouth, got him water, helped him get dressed before the correction officer took him to the  arraignment room. Jimmy was limping and sore. He was handcuffed again.  

“Where was I gonna go and what was I gonna do?” laughed Jimmy and Kirby.  

Kirby threw him a clean white t-shirt, a package of new underwear and socks and let Jimmy use the shower.  

“Put a shower cap on so you don’t get your stitches wet.”

 

It was dawn when they drove to breakfast.  

  “I don’t know what I was thinking” Jimmy volunteered when they finally sat  down at IHOP. Jimmy practically drank the entire pot of coffee. Absentmindedly,  he touched his cut lip, forehead, nose, making Kirby wince.   

  Kirby waved his hand away and said “we all make mistakes. We have to get  those stitches taken out in 10 days, ya’ know?”  

  “I hope Janny doesn’t make the same mistake and steal someone’s cigarettes  in college.” said Jimmy, always the entertainer.   

  For now, this was all they mentioned about the detention. Kirby could learn  the rest at the lawyer’s office. Instead, Jimmy told Kirby about the birth certificate  and the two letters he read at Uncle Daniel’s last year. He wanted to open up and  share something personal with his step-dad. He wasn’t sure how much Janny had  shared with Kirby over the past year.  

Jimmy wanted to stop being angry. He was grateful he wasn’t being  questioned about the arrest nor work or living situation or drug use. He learned that  morning how similar he and Kirby were – both abandoned by ill-equipped, drug- addicted/alcoholic mothers and both abandoned by the same woman, Claire. Both  of them had witnessed traumatic loss and neither ever escaped the flashbacks.  Kirby wished he had an answer to the nightmares, anxiety and dissociation, but  he battled the same things. The powerlessness was the worst thing Kirby felt,  however – not having all the answers for your child and being unable to spare them  from pain or from life’s constant barrage of crap. At least Julienne had provided  them all with a respite of sunshine.   

  “Kirby,” Jimmy finally asked after the stack of pancakes were gone “Why  did YOU never tell me about my real parents?” Jimmy started to choke up. The  pain pills were wearing off too.  

  “I…I…I love you. You are my son. I would do anything for you. You know  that by now.” Kirby answered quickly. 

  “But, you never told me the whole story. You knew about my birth mother  and the adoption. Why? You had a chance to tell me everything!” Jimmy was  feeling guilty about why Kirby was in Virginia Beach, was eager to move on, but felt stuck, like trying to wade out of thick mud. He surprised himself by asking why this was a secret. He convinced  himself the trip to Arizona and Missouri last year gave him all the answers. 

  “I know it doesn’t matter” continued Jimmy. “I’m sure Janny told you all the  details about the Kapinsky and Latchett visit. But that night after the sumps and  hospital, all you said was I was ‘taken in and loved.’  You knew more though. That’s why you didn’t seem shocked when I told Janny. Well, I knew then you had  known the truth about my…beginnings? But that night we talked. Why didn’t you  just tell me everything you knew…then? All you told me that night was that I was  right. Claire and James weren’t my first parents. Why not just goddamn confirm  my birthday or something?” Now Jimmy was crying.  

  Kirby reached across the table, knocking over his coffee. He had to  withdraw his hand to get napkins. Kirby had comforted this little boy one other  time, many years ago after he found his mother dead. His one job to protect those  kids from horror, failed. Horror followed him like a rabid dog.  

  Kirby remembered holding his breath that night years ago, when Janny and  

Jimmy were having a (very rare) fight and talking about their parents. Hearing  

Jimmy admit he wasn’t Janny’s “true” twin, floored him. Kirby never felt he had lied to the twins; just the opposite. Holding on to the truth that they were always  together, from the beginning, loved by the same people, was the one thing he  could do to keep them comforted. He was desperate to keep things…the same?  After all, suicide seemed like the most odious of secrets as the truth gets taken to  the grave, leaving behind only the shame.   

  Kirby reviewed that crazy day – rushing to the sumps, rescuing Sal,  hospitals, Rachel returning, secrets being told – and felt anything asked about  Jimmy’s parents can be shelved until everyone is okay, let the shock of the day  pass. Jimmy simply hadn’t asked the “right” questions that night. Kirby wished  every major decision in life came in the form of blinking railroad crossing signs. 

 > “WARNING: DO AND SAY THE RIGHT THING IN THIS SITUATION

 OR YOU WILL REGRET IT LATER” <  

  “Jim, listen to me. Your mother told me, of course. It never mattered. To me.  To her. To your father. I’m sorry I never went into details. You and your sister  were…just always you and your sister. The twins. Your parents were your parents.  The mother who gave birth to you? No matter how messed up she was, she still  loved you enough to want you to have a good mother.” 

  Jimmy was not crying anymore, but he wasn’t noticeably breathing either.  

He watched Kirby without moving a muscle.  

  “Your mother, Claire, said she held you just a few hours after she held your  sister. Your parents were thrilled to have you both. I even think…I even think, Jim,  your mom loved you the most.” Kirby and Jimmy smiled at one another.  

  “She sure has a funny way of showing it.” Jimmy said, not meaning for it to  be cruel.  

  “When you told your sister, I waited for you to ask me more questions.  Since you never did – that’s when Rachel came back, right? And Janny was just  finding out about that?” Jimmy nodded. “Yeh, so, you never asked then. Time  passes, son. People move on. I guess I thought…or hoped you were cool with the  answers you did have. I’m sorry, Jim. I should have told you our first year in Ohio. You would have handled it fine.”  

  Jimmy felt a relief but a deep sadness. Wishing he knew how to ask Kirby  for help to get off his destructive trajectory, perhaps it was time to “move on.”   Jimmy never went back to Ohio. To come home from a beating and arrest  made no sense. Even though their connection deepened the few days Kirby stayed  in Virginia Beach, Jimmy felt he was raised to find things out for himself.  

Jimmy lied and told Kirby what he wanted to hear: yes, I’ll come back in a  few months to live and go to school. Janny was mad at Jimmy for not returning with Kirby right away and told him so on the phone several times over the week. Learning Jimmy was coming back for school calmed her down. Jimmy knew everyone would be disappointed by his eventual decision, but he needed to deal  with that another time, after court. Jimmy continued to run – this time to escape the  anger he still felt by his mother’s suicide. Janny and Kirby were the constant  reminders of the day he found her and he couldn’t handle that.  

  Kirby felt their discussion at the restaurant had cleared the air completely.

Music scholarships for college were discussed, as well as fixing up the basement  

for Jimmy. Kirby had kept his family together. Kirby would fly home later in the  

week, but return in a month with a truck to take Jimmy back home. When Jimmy 

disappeared from everyone’s life for two years, Kirby was as shocked as anyone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 26 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – 1982 

 

  When Kirby returned from Virginia, he managed to get the three of us in the  same room. I had not seen him with julienne in over two years. She left us before  our 16th birthday, before our trip to Missouri. Prior to her leaving, I noticed she and Kirby had not been spending much time together, as she was involved with food co-ops, her job at the library, her weaving and artwork but managed to cook for us. She was physically there for us. I just didn’t know she was unhappy too. Once she  moved out, I felt no obligation to tell her about my pregnancy nor the miscarriage.   

The night she and Kirby told us about their break up came as a shock to us, but since there wasn’t much discussion, we took her moving out in stride. Jimmy had predicted this years ago. Julienne promised she would stay part of our lives.  

Kirby didn’t not add much to the conversation, other than “it’s for the 

best” which, in grown-up speak means “we haven’t a clue why this is happening.” I later told Jimmy I didn’t think she liked living with a human stone. I wasn’t sure how anyone stayed with Kirby – his existence seemed to be work and cars.  

Even after the night of Jimmy’s confession about Rachel’s illness and his  questionable conception, Kirby did not provide any sort of closure or answers. I  peppered him with a few questions the following weeks: was it true, were Jimmy’s parents alive, were we born on the same day, did my daddy know and why didn’t anyone tell us? – but I got short, non-committal responses. He shrugged me off,  saying “what difference does it make now?” I imagined he was protecting himself from further hurt and rejection, but my brother had a right to know the truth. Thank  goodness for Uncle Daniel. Kirby did say “it’s the way it always was” which  grown-ups liked to say; as if, the way things were done in the past is the new status  quo. I thought we grew out of this to be able to look forward to change. But, everyone seemed afraid of change. Maybe that’s why Jimmy was never told.  

When Kirby had julienne and I together at the house, Jimmy’s arrest and  

“slight accident resulting in stitches” was the topic. We were getting details, which  was unlike Kirby to offer.  

  “I will take the truck down to pick him up, with his stuff and his cat. He will  go to school with Janny in the fall.” Kirby said in his halting manner. I was  grateful Kirby was taking care of business.  

  Two weeks later, after Kirby had made the morning coffee, he knocked on  my bedroom door to take me to work. In the truck, he told me “there have been  some changes.” 

  “Jimmy has decided to stay in Virginia until his court date in August.  

He said he may want to continue traveling though.” Kirby trailed off, mumbling  “I don’t know where he plans to get traveling money, but he isn’t returning  anytime soon.” 

  “I just talked to him last week. He didn’t tell me that! I want to be with  him.” I stated.  

  “You can’t now, J. You have work – these work credits will count towards  your school and your teaching degree. You can’t give that up now. Besides, there  isn’t room for you to stay in his house. The other boys are moving out too soon. I  am not even sure where Jimmy will be.” Kirby choked up a little.  

  I was mad and stared out the truck window. I was sure this was somehow  

Kirby’s fault. He probably said something to Jimmy. I knew the blame Jimmy  carried around, and Kirby probably solidified it.  

  “How do you know this then? I can’t get him on the phone anymore. How  do you know?” I asked in a huff.  

  “He called me, J. He called me at work yesterday.” Yesterday? Kirby had  this information for a whole night and decided to tell me now, on the way to work?  Why? So I wouldn’t run off to Virginia? Did he think he could hold onto me?  

As if he were reading my mind, Kirby said “don’t even think about going down there, J. I mean it. You are needed here. Time for you to focus on yourself.  

Jimmy will figure things out.”  

  How could I get defensive at that? I didn’t realize he was paying attention to my life. Living with just Kirby since January was an adjustment. We both hadn’t realized how often or how much someone else was there to help us to talk to one another. I knew we would eventually adapt, but only because it was temporary – Jimmy was coming back to go to school with me. Now he wasn’t? I was really stuck with Kirby? No julienne or Jimmy to break the tension. Kirby had tried to spend “quality” time with me, over the years. After I found Jimmy and Sal in the sumps (Kirby called me a hero), Kirby was attentive. But so much went on that summer, with Rachel returning and Jimmy finding confirming he wasn’t my biological twin. I think my pregnancy disappointed him. Our time together faded. Kirby used Jimmy as our go-between and my protector. We both counted on him. Jimmy was our road map when we got lost; we went to him for direction. My twin put things in perspective better than anyone. To me, my brother always landed on his feet. I felt I never had to worry about him. Kirby was there too, steady and dependable. I guess I took them both for granted.  

  The arrest upset me. For the first time, I thought my brother was an idiot.  

He was too far from home and allowing himself to be influenced (again!) by Sal.  Did he feel he had to fit in? Did he finally give up on being my brother? Six  months without seeing him felt like a lifetime. Now I wondered if I would ever see him again. Maybe I will disappear as well to parts unknown or, go away for  college. 

It was too late for that. I had already been accepted to the local university,  scholarships were in place (my essay on being orphaned by war and suicide pulled in the big bucks) and besides, I would never do that to Kirby: leave him alone.  

  “How can I get in touch with him?” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. I  did not want to cry again. We were almost at my job.  

  “The phone is shut off. He called me from a pay phone, collect. Why don’t  you write him at his address for now? I wish he told me more, J. I really do.” Kirby seemed sympathetic.  

 

  Dear Jimmy, 

It’s weird not being able to see you or talk to you, my twin! Is that what this  is about? I wish you didn’t have to go to court alone or deal with all this shit without me. It all seems absurd. I wonder if you will ever get this? It feels like you are telling us all to “fuck off”.  

Seriously, please call. School starts soon and I am FREAKING OUT.

I have to get a car! I need you to help me pick one out!  

  I watch t.v. with Kirby at night! Help me, brother! This is my life now! All  my friends went away to college already!  

    Kirby said not to worry too. You will probably just get probation. 

  Love forever and always,   Your twin, JFK.  

  I shall conjure black and white curves 

to cajole my desire oft hid 

A decision to discover or not.

  I sit on the Ivy 

that strengthens me each day. 

Even the weeds shed kindness 

Beneath the Unknown

 

CHAPTER 27 

 

  Janny 

 

Michigan – 1984 

 

  I was in my junior year and student teaching. Kirby had numerous aches and pains and hated going to the V.A. I had to force him to take various medications. Any of my spare time was spent nursing him. He had mellowed. He was actually sweet- still demanding and “right” when he was “right” but we had grown closer. After he saw my “Mondale/Ferraro” bumper sticker, we avoided all political discussions. He had become Reagan-right.  

  After Jimmy’s court date and subsequent sentencing of 6 months probation  

(adjudication withheld), Jimmy convinced Virginia to transfer his probation to  NYC. He wanted to pursue a music career. Once he moved to New York, he fell  off the radar completely: no postcards, calls or letters. I think it was harder on  Kirby than on me. I was busy with school and work and student teaching. It was a  relief though, when the phone rang one night and it was from Jimmy. It was if a  two-year sigh was released from the stagnant energy of the house. Kirby seemed fully alive again. This time, I convinced Kirby to let me see Jimmy. Not fit for  traveling– Kirby’s knees and back were a mess, he “allowed” me (needed me) to be the one to take charge and visit Jimmy in rehab.  

  Kirby and I both suspected Jimmy had most likely “gotten hooked” on drugs in New York but we never shared that with one another. While we both we were on the phone with him, Jimmy explained his addiction was “gradual until it  wasn’t.” When first in NY, he had a downtown sublet, an apartment in a rent- controlled building. He told us he got to play with some big named bands but the lifestyle caught up to him. It was the hours, the people he hung with – “everyone  was partying pretty heavy, just like Virginia Beach. It was just…accepted and normal.” Jimmy said he wanted to celebrate completing probation and began using again. Heroin mostly, then crack. He got sick – lost his apartment, moved to the downtown YMCA then a shelter.  

  He sold his precious guitar. He had hit rock bottom. Everyone he had cared about was out of his life. Everything he held dear was reduced to cravings. He said he had done things he “never would have done.” Kirby, quiet on the other end of the phone, uttered “like in war.”  

  A priest wandered into the shelter Jimmy was staying one night. Even  though he wore a priest’s collar (which alienated Jimmy), he was “real and  relatable.” Surprising to Jimmy, Father Pat spent a great deal of time in India,  fascinated by their culture, religion and belief in reincarnation. Jimmy said this  man reached him in a way that probably saved his life. This man of the cloth  offered Jimmy a piece of himself that was missing.   

  “You feel you’ve been lacking all these years, but perhaps it’s what you’ve  been denying yourself?” suggested the priest.  

  Father Pat offered a perspective that Jimmy’s problems stemmed from  resistance. “Give yourself permission to release the demons of shame – accept the light inside and you will see your only responsibility is to uncover the truth. The  truth is pure, beautiful, whole and freeing. There is an alternative from having to run and hide from the pain and the fear and the loss and the loneliness and the  alienation.” But the first thing Jimmy had to do was get himself cleaned up.   The priest arranged a long term stay at a residential treatment center and  working farm in Michigan. After the priest pulled some strings, they flew Jimmy  out. He had been there 30 days when he was able to call. He sounded happy. The  Farm was about finding a different way.  

  Jimmy told us he missed us and told us we “were not responsible”  for his addiction nor disappearance. He apologized for worrying us, but said he  was “taking care of it.” He was allowed visitors now too. 

  Kirby arranged the flight and hotel for me. He did not want me to drive but  rented a car for me once I got there. The treatment center was out in the country.  Kirby paid for everything, although he said it seemed his Army disability checks were getting smaller. With promises of plant and cat care, Kirby gave me his blessing for my trip to the great white north to visit my twin. julienne, as usual,  came through with nightly visits of soup, bread, games of Scrabble and mostly, made sure Kirby was taking his medications.  

  Visitors were allowed on Sunday. I landed at dawn and left the Detroit  airport for the 90-minute drive to the center, expecting a concrete institution in the  middle of a field, surrounded by wires. I knew my twin. He’d have to be forced to stay anywhere that was going to tell him what he could or could not do. I’d imagine our visit would last an hour, through a piece of plexiglass or across a steel table.  

  It was a beautiful spring day. I was filled with excitement and anticipation,  the fresh smell of blossoms filling me with new life. Weed seeds floated through the blue, cloudless sky. A row of tall, regal Cypress trees lined a driveway flanked by long swaths of open land, dotted with small and large barn type structures, old and quaint. Gardens of various sizes were laid out in a quilt-like grid. Animals grazed or lazed in the mud, green fields and piles of straw.  

  At the end of driveway, there was a giant, red mailbox indicating I had  arrived at the address. There was a small table set by the road, with a poster board  saying “fresh eggs”. This really was a farm. Jimmy is working on a farm? Is this  priest a cult leader? A Quaker? A slave laborer? I spotted a huge white house with  a wraparound porch, attached by a breezeway to an equal-in-size red barn. I headed  towards the house, following the sign that read “Visitor Parking”. The parking area was a flat grassy area, each spot delineated by wooden tie beams. A couple of groups of smiling families were getting out of their cars, waving to people in the  distance. Hand-painted signs scattered throughout the lot: “take it easy”, “Let Go. Let God”, “one day at a time”, “turn it over”, “H.A.L.T.” – I held my purse tightly to my body. No cult would get me.  

  I walked across low cut grass to a marble stone path, bordered with tulips,  marigolds, and forsythias. Another amateur sign said “Office. Welcome!” Several  people passed me and smiled. When I turned the corner (the office was in the back of the white house), I noticed scattered rows of picnic tables, small trees, children playing in the huge expanse of yard. Beyond the manicured lawn was a primitive wooden fence with the butted heads of goats and donkeys, vying for attention from the visitors. The office door was just a screen door with a little shop bell above the entry. I was starting to feel less anxious.  

  Then I saw him. He was walking across one of the back fields, talking to a young girl, his hair appearing like it was on fire, a golden arch across his head. The  girl was laughing. He was wearing ratty jeans, tucked into partially, laced work boots coated in mud. He had on a t-shirt which accented his nicely, sculpted chest.  

Even if it was my brother, I noticed. The low morning sun followed them.  

  “May I help you?” a voice from inside the office said.  

  I turned from looking at Jimmy and the screen door gently closed behind  me. I noticed I let in a giant horse fly when I was standing there holding the door  open. A large, older black woman with the most infectious smile I had ever seen,  was retrieving a clipboard as she spoke. I wanted to bolt out the door and run to  Jimmy.  

  “Yes! I am here to see…him” as I pointed out the door. “James Kapinsky? I  am his sister, Janice?”  

  “Of course! James talks about you often.” (He does?) “Here is a brochure, a  map of the area, a schedule of events for the day, and if you can, just sign here. I  will call in James. You may wait outside, if you’d like. As you said, he’s on his  way.” She spoke into the giant microphone on her desk, announcing on the P.A.:  

“James K to visiting area, please.”  

  As I thanked her, she reminded me lunch was in two hours, but I was  welcome to fresh beverages located by the dining room. James could show me.  My heart was pumping fast. My arm pits were damp. I had mistakenly worn a  sweater with a tank top underneath, thinking it would be cooler outside. I needed to  take off the sweater but then my arm flab would show. I remained warm.   Jimmy saw me right away when I stepped down from the office entry. His  face lit up. I am sure, mine matched his. He walked towards me with his long  strides. I started to run towards him. I was sweaty and now, out of breath too.  

  “You came! There you are. Here you are. You look wonderful!” he lied. I  was panting, and my frizzy hair matted to my sweaty forehead. He gave me a huge hug, once again, feeling like the protector. The part of me that had been missing was back.  

  Jimmy introduced me to his friend, a resident who had been at the Farm for 8 months, sober, helping Jimmy with some transitioning.  

  “He’s mostly with male sponsors, don’t worry.” she laughed.  

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it was her way to say she wasn’t his  girlfriend? I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Maybe we were both single now. I  didn’t have time to date anyone. Besides, the boys at my college were idiots.  

  “Have a wonderful day together” and the pretty, wispy, not-Jimmy’s- girlfriend, left.  

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the burden I had taken on: school,

work, Kirby, the house, the constant worry about my brother’s well-being. Jimmy’s hug mended the two years we were apart; two years I felt like an orphan. In the past, we experienced the same things at the same time. His disappearance was part of who I became – easily stepping into the role of sad-loss-girl. It defined my entire life. We had separate lives now. I needed to accept that, learn to validate myself, and let go of wanting to fix him. I wasn’t sure how to be me without being defined by my twin. Is that what Jimmy is being offered here, a different way of life?  

  Jimmy took my hand. We walked to a back building, the community dining room, which was a modern, rectangular aluminum structure with concrete floors. They held fairs, auctions and large meetings here. We each got a pop from one of  the coolers, two root beers. Jimmy seemed to know everyone we passed; greeting them all with a smile and hello. Past the community building was where the fields met at a point. Low scrub then massive pines formed a natural boundary where the fields and meadows ended. We walked into the forest along the fire road.  

  Jimmy explained the program: daily group and individual sessions, daily AA and NA meetings (sometimes off the property), the farm responsibilities which  included cooking, cleaning and other chores, plus animal care, harvesting, planting and weeding. I was curious about any religious aspect to it but he said it was secular. GOD was mentioned at meetings, in the 12 steps, in the Big Book (the AA  bible), but Jimmy said that GOD could be “any higher power.” He told me he believed in God, but not anything that was shoved down anyone’s throat. He didn’t buy the devil or heaven story but felt God had stepped in to his life, in many forms, in many ways, to offer him a better way. He added he was “no holy roller.” If one made it through the first 30 days at the farm, your chances were good  you would stay, Jimmy said. No one was forced to stay. It was voluntary and free.  

           The Farm subsisted on grants, town and business donations, loyal alumni donations, and sold vegetables, animals, eggs, honey (the hives were further back) and grew hay for other local farms. Jimmy said the Farm saved his life. He knew he had far to go, but wasn’t afraid to face darkness anymore. He laughed, corrected himself and said “no, that’s bull. I am ALWAYS afraid!” I had witnessed this raw honesty and vulnerability from Jimmy just two times: once in the sumps, not  knowing if a friend’s seizure meant he was dying and the other time, when he was having flashbacks to momma’s suicide. This time, the fear was gone and replaced with hope. Hold on. Pain ends.  

  Jimmy said the meetings, the talking, the listening, the writing, the reading,  the meditation, the work in the fields and the fellowship replaced all and any  cravings he had the first 30 days. More privileges would be given to him the longer  he stayed: participated, followed the rules (no fraternization) and went “through  the steps.” The average stay at the Farm was 6-9 months, at which point you  moved to town, into a halfway “transition” house, learning how to live and work  with a small group of people in a normal, sober environment. For some, it was the  first time they budgeted, had relationships, negotiated life, celebrated holidays, mourned death – without drugs and alcohol. It was another way to live. Jimmy’s life depended on it, as I learned during a group family meeting that day. Jimmy  shared his “first step”, which was his powerlessness to drugs and how he got to this point. In another family session with a psychologist and Father Pat, we learned as family members when and how to separate; how our loved one’s addiction was our disease too. We were taught how we participated in their illness (codependence) and how to participate in their recovery (healing). I wasn’t sure how this would fly with Kirby, but I found it comforting.  

  Father Pat told me that “blame and shame game” had effected  

Jimmy (they called him James here) in unimaginable ways. Once this was thrust on him as a child, no other options were available. The negative emotions become the comfort zone. The pain, then running from the pain is S.O.P.- standard operating procedure. Kirby and my mother unknowingly, passed this to us. Their secrets became our shame. Jimmy feared if he allowed himself to stop blaming himself, he would have nothing left of our mother. He told me it was not our burden to carry any longer. We had to let it go. “We’re only as sick as our secrets.”  

  The day was magical. I went back to Detroit then flew home to Ohio  renewed and revived. When Jimmy flew home to spend Christmas with us, it got  even better. He took us (including Kirby) to open meetings and we listened to his  plans to go to Africa next year, helping Father Pat, his savior, to build homes and  deliver vaccinations to children. It would be a long nine years before we saw Jimmy after that, but I knew in my twin heart, I never had to worry about him again.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  CHAPTER 28 

 

  Janny 

 

Ohio – 1993 

 

  I actually gasp when I see my brother walk into the hotel restaurant. I am  seated in the back, on a round cushioned bench, facing the front. He takes my  breath away. My stunning twin, his long blonde hair contrasting my (now short) jet black hair, still untamable, pouring out from under a knit cap julienne had made. He was still Yin to my Yang. He sees me and grins. He sits across from me and hands me a box.  

  “Happy Birthday, Sis,” he says as he reaches over to kiss my cheek. I clumsily move around the table to stand up and give him a hug. I did not want to let go.  

  “It’s so good to finally see you.” I say.  

  He holds me tightly. I am the first one to let go. A chill goes up my spine  and all the hairs on my arm become stiff. He is home and familiar and years of not having him in my life wash over me. A wave of anger submerges the happiness of  seeing him. It shocks me – what was I angry about? A fierce blow, remembering what it felt like as a kid, when you realize not everyone was your friend?  

  “It’s been…awhile,” he says to break the silence as we both sit down.  

“Aren’t you going to open your present?”  

  “Why has it been so long?” I try to make the question seem light. I was not expecting to get an answer, at least one I could accept. 

  He looks at me in a quizzical manner, like a dog tilting its head to better hear a sound.  

“We talk, sis. You know I had some things to get through, on my  own…travelling, then I met Beth? The rest, as they say, is history.” His eyes still  shone and his smile floored me. He was humble about his achievements even while  being scolded by his sister.  

  I asked a few obligatory questions about Beth, the wonderful woman he met and married in Africa. Both of them had moved back to the states a year ago and were now running a music center for impoverished and homeless kids in NYC. with funds Father Pat was able to procure. Kirby and I had never met Beth, but we received many pictures, holiday cards and small gifts over the past 6 or so years. I nodded with approval, then went in for the kill. 

  “Why weren’t you here for Kirby, I mean?”  How quickly my anger comes out.  

  “I know. I failed him.” Jimmy isn’t shocked or hurt by my question. “Too  many times, I suppose.” Jimmy learned platitudes in recovery, I thought.  

  The tension built rapidly.  

  “Is this always about you blaming yourself for something?” I ask. 

  “You just accused me of abandoning our step-father! Not being there for you! How should I respond?” His voice raised.  

  “I didn’t say you weren’t there for me. But you’re right. You weren’t.”  I could be just as stubborn as my brother.  

“Well, anyway, Happy Birthday to you too.”  

  The waiter came by and we ordered salads and sparkling water. Both our  jaws were locked. We both had the same twin habit of gritting our teeth during  confrontations.  

  “Okay. Can we start again?” said my brother, the peacemaker.  

  I am sorry this time. I open the package Jimmy had given me. I am flooded with forgiveness as the quiet snow falls inside this glass dome. The tip of the greenish cactus now dissolves beneath a glittery fake blizzard, the miniature truck and cabin lost in a wintry desert scene.  

  I don’t have a present for Jimmy. It didn’t occur to me. Who had time for  birthday celebrations, even if this was our “big 3.0.”? I knew, realistically and  intellectually, Jimmy was out of the country when Kirby had his stroke. I know he talked to julienne and the VA staff on a regular basis. I know he sent money for Kirby’s rehab. I know he had a solid sobriety and recovery. I know he had shared his gift of compassion with the world. I know he had helped many lost souls. I knew the difference between the finality of death versus being just separated by space from a loved one. I wasn’t abandoned by him. He was here for me. For us. Now. I will breathe and accept this gift from him. Julienne would’ve been proud of me – momma too.  

  Jimmy and I shared a lifetime together, then it ended. We were separate  now: by distance, by relationships, by happenstance. We shared a childhood, both on the same path, both affected by the same events, yet both on a unique journey with different dreams and demons. Jimmy’s life began with a lie, but so had mine. I was told I had a twin. I was lied to as well. No one ever acknowledged that.   

  My life involved taking care of the man who raised us. Becoming a special education teacher, living in the home we once all shared, I felt I was now being  selfish with my anger. All I ever wanted, I realized, was to have Jimmy never leave my life. My fear was losing him. He owed none of us anything – he was lied to about his biology, yet felt it was his job to take care of momma, keep her alive. He absorbed her depression. I assumed one day, he would be gone too.  

  At one of the farm meetings, Jimmy had said “keeping my mother alive?  

That was for me. I knew losing her would be to lose my only link to my past.”   It didn’t surprise me I wasn’t his link. It hurt a little at first. He explained it  was a “six-year old’s musings” so was not necessarily rational. He assured me, “we are twins in all the ways that matter.”  

  “My biggest regret, Janny, was not contacting you in the hospital when you had your hysterectomy.” I remembered how mad Kirby was, but that was Kirby’s way of dealing with his helplessness. I told Kirby I had felt damaged.  

  “Sis, we had our share of trauma. If you’re meant to be a mom, a child will  present itself. I never cared about the biology part…of me, ya’ know? I mean, I got a mom, and a dad, and I was loved. And, I got stuck with you!” he said tenderly.  

“It killed me to know you felt like damaged goods.” 

  “Even if you had known everything, Jimmy, and I mean everything, would it  have changed anything?” I was giving him permission to let go.  

  Daddy’s death, momma’s suicide then not feeling like you ever belonged,  that’s how Jimmy described his emptiness and why he needed a sabbatical from us. I was his constant reminder of this false reality. It took him this long in his  recovery to recognize what did NOT define him. He had defined himself by his  losses, secrets and blame. External combat always translates to internal wars; one learns to separate parts of the self to survive. He didn’t want to turn into Kirby. It  never mattered to me. He was my brother. Kirby and I were his family. Besides, I  was still battling.   

  We left the restaurant, on our birthday, in great spirits. It was if all the time  and past hurts melted away by the time the salads came. I tried to prepare Jimmy  for Kirby’s condition, but it was still a shock for him when we arrived at the VA  hospital. I felt for him, to see Kirby after all these years; to see this once strapping, strong man who carried Jimmy around like a football whither to this  unrecognizable ghost in a hospital gown. Kirby did not respond to Jimmy’s  presence at all. Jimmy said it’s good he wasn’t aware of the tubes and machines  and beeps and needles. 

The sadness remained in Jimmy’s voice once he got back to New York.  We spoke on the phone nightly. I was the one telling him to remain hopeful. Kirby was making progress, the doctors said. By spring, our hopes were realized.  

 

Jimmy came back to Ohio the following spring with Beth, to help get Kirby set up in the house. We turned the garage into a bedroom/physical therapy space so Kirby wouldn’t have any stairs to climb. Jimmy and Beth paid for a full time nurse. Kirby was speaking again, a few words at a time. Ironically, the stroke made his face seem more animated. Every joy, smile, tear, emotion – registered on that  grizzly, once handsome face.   

  Julienne had made a big deal out of my book of poems being published. She  had a small party for us at her house while Jimmy was still in town, surrounded by her children. She had met a wonderful man at her food co-op many years ago. He even understood she considered Jimmy and I to be her children too. Now, Beth was part of this brood, just as julienne and her family had accepted Rachel and me, once we reconnected after I graduated college and began teaching and writing.  

Rachel was my forever life partner.  

   

  The life we come from is not the life we created. Individuals get broken and some can be healed with self-awareness, change and time. We lose some along the way but they are not ours to hold on to forever. Our lives are intertwined, if only for a brief moment, as fragile and faltering as a butterfly’s wings. We continue to  reach out our arms and hearts to all that wander onto our path. Sometimes, we have  to release them. The love we feel or give is undiminished but tested constantly. Nothing prepares us for the pain of losing someone, as we fight to prevent what we  can: not send young men to war; provide the lost with reasons and means to  continue.  

My mother was abandoned by her young husband, Kirby was abandoned by  his wife and country, and Jimmy and I were abandoned by our parents. The  creation of our new family brought me the courage to see me for who I was – a  stumbling individual who needed love and forgiveness for letting my mother  down. I was the one to let her down. I shook the dome, and everything disappeared for a while. But just for a little while.  

 

  When julienne, Rachel and I flew to New York the next winter, Jimmy and I got to celebrate a miraculous birthday, including skating at Rockefeller plaza and seeing the Christmas Tree. We met the infants: my identical twin nephews, the color of an African sunset – Beth’s face, Jimmy’s eyes (and my hair). Their names were Jabari (fearless/brave) & Jaden (“God has heard”). One of the presents I gave them was a silver baby rattle belonging to our dad, sent by our dear Aunt Esther after Uncle Daniel had passed. The twins now had a connection to their grandfather who died in Vietnam over 30 years ago.  

My present to Jimmy was something Mrs. Latchett had given to me when  we were in Arizona, the day Jimmy had his “breakdown” (I never told anyone  about that, not Rachel, not julienne, not Kirby). It was a poem momma had written when we were four. Mrs. Latchett rescued it from the trash bins, after we moved out. She figured the new renters (or Kirby) were throwing out our old memories. Jimmy treasured it, cried (this was becoming a habit with him) and thanked me for  his life. I didn’t ask how I gave him life. I think I knew. That was good enough for  me.  

 

All of us, this designated clan of happenstance, were at the JFK airport  terminal together on Christmas Eve, to welcome our newly adopted 8-month-old daughter from Cambodia. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Beth had a niece, the new twins had a cousin, Kirby and julienne were once again, grandparents, and Rachel and I were mommas. We created a family from love.

 

I knew what mattered after all. 

 

 

 

 

“Shed tears for me while I am growing old Cry tears over me while my body grows cold 

 

Shed your tears if you need, if you must But to grieve over me will cause your heart unjust 

 

Life is a breath 

Death is no more 

Carry on my Love Like I was before. 

 

When I loved, I gave you Joy 

This you remember,  My dear sweet boy. the time has come for me to go if you are sullen the light will never show. 

 

Hold tight to our memories 

Moments of the past 

This is what continues 

Is truly, what will last 

 

The life of two hearts intertwined as one 

Yours is alone now 

But the story is never done. 

 

Don’t let my death stain you 

Keep you in your tracks 

Once the moment passes 

You can never step back. “ 

 

– Claire Kapinsky, 1967  

 

51,948  8.27.16 

52,177 9.13.16 draft #3  

 

52168 words 235 pages

DRAFT 7- complete 4/5/18

 

   

 

 

   

 

 

   

   

   

   

   

   

 

 

 

 

   

   

   

 

   

 

   

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  MIRAGE 

 

Kirby Devlin, the youngest captain in the 1st infantry division, sat down on the curb, staring at the hot pavement. He removed his army dress hat, wiping the cold sweat from his eyes with his left hand; his right hand grasping the envelope.  27-year-old Army Captain Devlin has delivered this news before and at no time did it get easier. 

   It is the worst thing anyone must do. It takes a piece of him.  

He glanced down at his dusty dress shoes, the street curb, nothing, and breathed heavily.  He was having trouble catching his breath.  Deserts were new to Kirby, but there were hidden treasures and green expanses of lushness if one paid attention. Kirby was not paying attention that day. Appropriately somber yet comforting, he was known on the base as “the best” at this business.  

This coming coming coming business of War.   

Kirby raised his head. He looked off into the dust and thought: 

First things first. First, I must go pick up my chaplain. No one was to deliver the news alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1  

 

I never meant to throw away your tomorrows 

 

JANNY 

 

Sometimes I think I was born nature’s anomaly. I was born Janice Frances Kapinsky on December 5th, 1963 moments after my brother, James Franklin Kapinsky presented himself to the world. We went home to live in a teepee.  

Momma was living there with my first dad. The dad I don’t remember. Momma was a flower child, but admired Jacqueline Kennedy. So much so, that when Mrs. Kennedy’s husband was killed two weeks before we were born, momma knew our names had to have the initials “J.F.K.”  James Kapinsky, age 19 and Claire Raines, age 23 married and in love, had twins during a birth of change in the world. My parents and Jimmy and I had approximately 18 months together before my dad went into the army.   

My parents were married for three years before momma became a widow-  before Jimmy and I lost both our parents to war; each lost in a separate way. It is how Jimmy and I felt about our whole lives: Lost in separate ways.  

I hated my name. Everyone called me “Janny” but at school, when the teacher called my full name, it sounded like hissing. We were known as the  

“twins” practically everywhere although we both did not see what the fuss was about. I remember so many voices whispering, “what about the twins? the poor twins? the orphaned twins?” It sounded like we had a disease.  

Life just kept going on for us; changes in one’s journey never becomes significant until it is looked at in retrospect. But wouldn’t that perception always relate to my womb mate? Is that the message I was getting? The aloneness I was feeling was not possible. I had my twin. The shadow over the sun was Jimmy’s silhouette? How could such a light as Jimmy cast darkness, or even stay still long enough to cast a shadow?  No, I owned the darkness too.  I just knew I shouldn’t be feeling this way.  

 

 

Ohio – December 1993

  

  It was raining the whole way to Cleveland, the windshield wipers trying to

keep up as if they were out of breath. I was on my way to visit Kirby, who was 

still only saying 1-2 syllables since the stroke.   

Jimmy refused to come.  I didn’t push it because I somewhat-tried-to 

understand. Wasn’t that the sister’s job?  We were to be 30 this year and Jimmy 

made some “moral promises” to himself, not that I understand what that meant. I 

often wondered if he ever felt a spiritual calling; perhaps become a priest or rabbi 

or something? Maybe he was tired of having to do things just because he “had 

to”?  That feeling I could understand.  

I wouldn’t be the one to let Kirby down though, no matter how irrelevant the visit. Of course, I felt I owed much to Kirby. After my mother’s death, he continued to care for me and Jimmy, in a hollow sort of way. It wasn’t Kirby’s fault. He seemed more lost than us. At least we (“the twins”) had each other.   

We moved to Ohio just a few months after the funeral.  I’m not sure why we came here. I mean, why did he pick Ohio? Did we ask? Did we care? Were we walking in some trance like state?  Maybe we were told, and maybe I don’t remember and maybe it didn’t matter.  I was grateful we had a family, still.    Jimmy was different. He always seemed wanting more. I suspected behind  

Kirby’s emptiness throughout the years was a sense of also needing more.  

I couldn’t figure out why the two of them couldn’t help each other. Who did I have? For the past few years, both of my family members had become silent: One silenced involuntarily, one silenced by choice. Both silenced, for a time, by secrets.  

Kirby never became our adoptive dad although I considered him my “real” dad. There was no more talk of adoption as mom had promised us one day.  She and Kirby never married. After her death, when no other relatives came forward to claim us, the state of Arizona declared Kirby our legal guardian. Sounded like an arrangement, not a family.  

The rain finally stopped. After five hours of driving, I arrived at the rehabilitation facility. It was a VA hospital as Kirby also served in Vietnam but survived, unlike my dad. The doctors at the VA said Kirby was young to have had such a major stroke. He had gotten heavy and always had a beer or joint or cigarette in his hands. I also found out many ‘Nam Vets died young or had developed lifelong illnesses. At least Kirby tried to survive no matter what.   

Other people in my life seemed to have given up.  

My visit with Kirby was quiet as he slept away the visit. I wandered the ward, read a little of the “Wall Street Journal” and Stephen King to some of the  other residents, talked with the nurses, then left for a hotel. I always left a big card for Kirby, usually a heart, so maybe he would know I was there.  

I was now the same age as my mother when she decided she no longer wanted to be there to see my Valentine’s day. Maybe if I had made a card for her before I left for school that day? Maybe if I had left it for her, she would have waited another day? And then another? What would another day bring her?  It would be years before I dared to asked anyone the questions I had about momma. Even then, I couldn’t ask them all. Why, for example, did momma stop wanting memories with me? Would another day have made a difference?  

 

Tucson – 1969 

 

My brother and I belt each other with clay balls. We’re laughing.  We have red caked mud on top of our Arizona sun-lightened hair –  his blonde, mine dark brown.  We are the color of pennies. Mom opens the back-iron gate and  

begins to get the hose to wash us off. It’s 103 degrees.  

She must have changed her mind because she is holding the hose like she is watering something but no water is coming out. She is staring far away.   I think I should let her know. I go to get up to head to the faucet but she sets the hose down. It just drops from her hand.  She turns to go back to the house. 

 Jimmy calls to me, “Janny!”  before he scurries away and returns to catching lizards. My twin brother and only sibling, has a way of picking lizards off saguaro like he was a roadrunner. His movements are swift and sudden. I shadow him before he disappears but turn my head to look back at the screen door.  

I think of momma and think I hear her crying.  

When the desert magically begins its colorful descent into dusk, my dad comes home. He honks and waves from his truck as he comes up the drive.  

The clay stirs under his tires. Reflected by the sun, it looks like one of those Clint Eastwood movies we would see at the drive-in, although I usually fell asleep before it was over. I made Jimmy describe, in detail, the parts I missed the next day. He was a good actor, falling in the dirt like he was shot.  

I wished my dad was a cowboy. A little girl’s dreams that go on forever.     Kirby works on the base as a clerk and is a part time bartender at a fancy hotel. We like it because on “slow” days he lets me and Jimmy come to the hotel and swim in the pool. We watch TV (we don’t have our own), spellbound with the  

“Outer Limits”.  

We see news shows and black and white images of boys wrapped in muddy gauze on stretchers – carried by dirty scared – looking soldiers onto helicopters.   

Kirby was in Vietnam but never told us what it was like.  

 Our “first” dad was killed in that place. Jimmy and I were only three years old. It was so long ago and the war is still here. Still. Children losing fathers and babies dying.   

Part of me thinks that’s why mom is sad a lot but I can’t remember what she was like before.  

  Kirby shouts “hey” to us as he gets out of the truck and goes inside. Soon after, music comes out of the door and Kirby follows, smoking one of his sweet cigarettes. Mom brings Kirby a pop. Slowly, she places her arms around his waist.  The music is loud.  Someone is screaming to give them “’another piece of your heart” but I hear momma laughing through the lady screeching and the guitar.   

         Jimmy and I wipe ourselves from rags in back of the truck.  It’s cooler, suddenly, and a piece of moon is already in the sky. I feel giddy inside. Momma hugs us even though our skin is shriveled like an orange rind left in the sun.   

  Momma smells like coconut. She says the corn is ready so we all go inside to eat. Momma isn’t “lost in space” (that’s what Jimmy says). 

I get to eat without having to watch her all the time. That’s good, I think, because I am really hungry.  

One year later, the familiar brick landscape of the Southwest would be replaced by the damp Cleveland pavement; cactus replaced by streetlights; our hardened moccasin-like feet trapped in shivery cold wet shoes and socks.  

Kirby would be forced to buy clothes for us like scarves and things called

mittens.  Boots. Jackets. Rain gear. Alien concepts.  

At 6, my desert reality was turned upside down by a sandstorm with no indication of ever clearing. My life and place in the world had shifted.  

I didn’t even see the storm coming. I didn’t know my mother was going to kill herself.  

I never thought my life would not include her.  

 

 

 

Chapter 2  

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – Valentine’s Day, 1970 

 

Momma was earth and sweat and comforts and folds and wonder and was my magical connection to the world. That all disappeared on Valentine’s Day.   I was in the first grade. Jimmy, my twin, was still in kindergarten and only three days a week. Momma just insisted. He needed her a lot more. I was popular and smart. The night before Valentine’s Day, I stayed up late, cutting and gluing (31) cards for my classmates. We made card containers in class; milk cartons covered and decorated with construction paper and glitter. We were told to bring in  

cards “for all your friends.”  

I was determined to bring home the MOST to show momma. I wanted to see her smile. It had been awhile. I knew by making each card special and individual, my magic told me I would reap the same. I got cardboard from Kirby’s laundered shirts. White on one side, grey on the other. I had some construction paper and a red magic marker. I also had a jar of rubber cement. I used the white glossy backing for the hearts. By card 18, the bright red hearts I colored began to fade pinkish as the marker began to dry out. I tried to spit on the tip of the marker.  

By card 22, the heart appeared like a ghost trying to bleed. Good enough was unacceptable. While momma slept, the fan covering her comfortable body, I went through her vanity drawer. Her vanity was the only piece of furniture I can remember from that house.   

I heard the stale sound of the paint sticking on the drawer, while I rummaged for red of some sort. Momma did not wear makeup. Her skin was naturally smooth and soft and full of color. I finally found a single treasure in the form of the reddest red lipstick that was surely, brand new. 

Its case was turquoise and opal, a tiny gold butterfly on the top. 

I could not imagine momma getting this or using it. It didn’t matter at that point, it was red and hearts were waiting in their hopeful queue. This would be the day I would come home with my milk carton full of Valentine’s and momma would smile and hug me and tell me this was what she needed. Exactly what she needed.   

I always hoped something I did or said or gestured would be what momma needed; I could discover what worked! Maybe this hand colored some now very sticky) love would be enough. This time.  

My card strategy was a success! I held my bag tightly to my chest on the ride home. The bus left me off at the top of our road. I could see our turn off but not our house, the third one in. As I walked closer, I saw two red lights and a fire truck?  

I saw people standing around. Heads looked up at me.   

I heard torn bits of conversations and information.  

I knew it was unusual to see Mrs. Latchett, standing in our driveway in a bathrobe.  She smelled like tobacco and Jean Nate which I noticed the first time she lifted me   from the ground into her bosom. Then I saw ambulance lights. Another neighbor came and threw her arms around us. It got loud. The blood pumping loudly in my ears. Words were muffled. I sat at Mrs. Latchett’s kitchen table across from a nice police lady whose smile was on me but whose eyes were on the two officers talking to Kirby outside the window where we sat. She smiled and absent- mindedly stroked the inner part of my arm. It felt so good. Was that Jimmy at Kirby’s thigh? I realized I didn’t have my Valentine’s.  

My treasure of cards. I needed to find them. I had to show momma.  

I must have dropped momma’s Indian Purse that contained 31 Valentine Cards from my classmates and a special card from my teacher. 

   I never found it. Momma never got to see them.  

Was it my fault? I had not made a card for momma to leave by the coffee pot before I left for school that day. I meant to but fell asleep. I made breakfast for me and Jimmy (Kirby was on a double shift).  Momma slept in the mornings. 

Throughout the day, I thought of momma and knew I would make her one immediately when I got home. Maybe she would be napping. Momma had no way of knowing what day it was! If she had seen a card when she woke, maybe she would have smiled and thought of memories we could make that day? She would have felt loved and knew we needed each other?  

Could I have brought her another day? What would another day bring?  She had hung herself with a strong cord from our blinds. There was a chair involved. Everything became silent afterwards.  

Before the silence, on days her darkness escaped her, momma was tied-dyed curtains and curly brown-black hair like me. She was yellow flowers and the smell of baking and carrot juice. There was singing and music. We had homemade instruments and she had her guitar. She made special jam made from prickly pears. Jimmy loved to help her.  I counted the jars, inventoried the cache, listing the recipients on a yellow pad Kirby got from his desk job.  I even had a rubber stamp that read “YTIROIRP” and a black pad of ink. I loved the sound of that stamp hitting the pad.   

The same sound of the ambulance door closing.  I don’t remember a funeral but there was a small gathering. There wasn’t any music that day. I remember I held Jimmy’s hand and watched intently his tapping foot. Whenever I looked up, Kirby was there. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3 

 

 JANNY 

 

Cleveland – December 1970 

 

        All I remember from our drive east was arriving in Ohio. The rest of the country went by in darkness or endless plains of blinding sunlight. I heard four students were shot in Ohio a few months ago so I was doubly frightened by the cold unknown. The hazy streetlights in suburbia were shrouded in sinewy drops of frozen tears.  

It was December already. We had turned seven without our mother. Twas the night before Christmas. Icy rain pelted the van; the drive down our new street was shiny like the silver chain around my neck. It was my momma’s cross.  

I unconsciously grabbed it when Kirby announced our approach to our new house. It was still warm from laying on my chest. I was cold and numb.  Jimmy sat up straight. It was nighttime, clouds covered the moon but everything looked steel gray. It was late so the few Christmas lights that were still on looked like guiding stars prismed by the sleet through the van’s windows. I imagined I could make myself climb an ice-covered light to meet momma in the sky. 

The houses were close to one another. Kirby had explained to us our new house would have a “yard” (which sounded small) but it looked smaller than we thought.  

   “You guys wait in the car, okay? I’ll leave the car running but be right back.” 

Kirby was going to turn on the house lights and “turn on the heat.” 

I had no idea how he would accomplish “turning on” the heat. The wood stove at home required cold mornings of work. 

I was more miserable than I had ever been (making us move was worse than momma dying!) The “joy and peace” of the season seemed phony and stupid. I didn’t care there would be no celebration or tree or presents. I wiped the fog from inside the backseat window and started to nudge Jimmy when I thought I saw a light go on in the front window of the house next door. I turned to hear what Jimmy was mumbling and upon turning back my attention to the cold shadowy new world outside, I glimpsed a ghostlike figure pausing in yellow light to give me the peace symbol. When I went to go wave, the light went out and the figure had vanished. Rachel and I would meet at another time. I didn’t tell Jimmy what I had seen.  

That night, Jimmy and I slept on quilts laid on top of wall-to-wall pink carpet in the largest bedroom that would turn out to be mine. Kirby promised us new beds for our new rooms in this musty-smelling house with an “upstairs”.   I cried all night; silently, like the snow that started to fall outside. Jimmy seemed to know and tried to comfort me.  

“Come on, sis. Everything will be okay. Try not to worry” he whispered.  

When I awoke as the gray outside was fading (we didn’t have curtains yet), I viewed my first winter wonderland. I felt a stirring of happiness.  

Kirby had set up a little Christmas Tree with multi-colored lights in front of  

the big living room window downstairs. The snow made it almost magical. There were four wrapped gifts under the tree; two for me and two for Jimmy.  

I investigated. Two of the presents were from Kirby and we both had presents that read “love always momma”, one large, one small.  I knew she wasn’t there. I knew she wasn’t going to appear in the doorway, her loud or quiet self-manifesting from the cold white blanket outside. I felt she was there to watch us. 

I felt her leaving us (“the quiet momma”) before she even died, preparing us for the day she vanished forever. But on this warm morning (I was guessing the “thermostat” we were shown last night was responsible for that), while Jimmy and Kirby slept, I held packages from my dead momma. I felt our connection again.   

I trembled. I looked around for the first time and saw a beginning that did not terrify me. I did not feel alone. I felt some hope and warmth enter me for the first time in a long time. I finally put the presents back under the tree, unopened.  

I plodded into the kitchen and looked through some boxes for bowls and cups. I wanted to make cereal and toast and tea for my family. I heard a knock at the front door that shook me to my core.  

It was 8 A.M., according to the stove clock. I thought I could smell cooking when I approached the door. I don’t know what I expected to see. It was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She looked my age and wore a pink hooded winter coat. It had a white soft fur neckline which outlined her beautiful heart-shaped face and strawberry hair. She held a large basket that contained a thermos, muffins, fresh milk and a big container of something steaming.  

The girl’s momma helped to hold the basket. The momma wore a floral puffy dress with a large fur coat draped over her shoulders. Her blonde hair was so high and stiff it reminded me of a tumbleweed. I thought it might blow off her head and then the girl and I would watch this puffy flowered lady chase her hair down the street. It would leave a trail in the snow. Snow! I felt giddy.  

Rachel and her momma introduced themselves. Rachel was staring at my frizzy mop of hair. The mother wished us a Happy Holiday.  

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too, Janice!” her mother chirped. “Do you need any help carrying in the basket dear?”  

No, I would be fine. Where were my parents? Still asleep. Yes, they will enjoy the hot chocolate and “brisket with barley” (isn’t brisket another name for basket?). Yes, I was in the second grade. Yes, I would ride to school with them after the vacation. Yes, I will have to check with my parents first. Yes, ma’am, that is a VW bus.  

I began to shiver in the open doorway (oh look, that’s an icicle!). Then, for the first time, the girl smiled.  

My heart beat, oh so loudly! She was just the prettiest girl, like no one I had seen in Arizona!  How did I not notice that right away; not her beauty but her smiling eyes at me!?  I felt insignificant but in love! Could this beauty be friends with an orphaned, wild-haired relocated Westerner? Her smile gave all the answers. Yes, I will be your best friend. Yes, we will spend everyday together; every moment of time whispering, planning and plotting. Yes, you will soon know all my secrets.  

Despite no furniture, feeling displaced, motherless and (currently) friendless; it was still a happy Christmas – although the definition of “happy” was shifting like the snow drifts forming outside. Later that morning, Kirby, Jimmy and I had hot chocolate (which I envisioned my best new friend Rachel stirred clockwise, patiently, deliberately, making sure the milk would not scorch at the  bottom of the pan, adding the perfect amount of cocoa, sugar, vanilla and salt), warm muffins and later, brisket which was our main meal, after we unpacked the bowls and ended up eating on the floor on a blanket in front of the tree.  

There would still be surprises. 

After our bellies were full and I had given out my handmade 3D Christmas Cards from Arizona (that I do not remember making), Kirby presented our gifts.  Jimmy gave me the knowing look – I already had previewed the packages. The small box from momma was under the tree. I had put it back, right?  From Kirby, Jimmy received a really neat pocket knife, pearl inlaid, with two crossing rifles on the handle. I had gotten a lovely pink scarf with matching gloves. I scanned under the tree for the other two presents. Jimmy’s was there; was mine the small one? 

Kirby reached under the tree (with great drama and timing for Kirby) and pulled out two gifts. His countenance changed. In his low deep voice, he said,  

“these are from your mother. Your mom. . she, uh, wanted you to have these”. 

No need to say more. Still full and warm from my savior’s’ love-offerings, I was ready to tear open (more like untie) the frayed plum sized gift. It was wrapped in burlap and yarn and the card was a piece of plain paper, haphazardly taped and then tied, that told me it was from my momma. But she was in heaven supposedly, not the north pole which I never believed in anyway. I bet Jimmy quit believing in Santa too. I didn’t have to quit. I just never believed. Would this strange man, traveling in a sleigh, liking cold places, leave me a gift-wrapped in  burlap from my dead momma? Jimmy waited and let me open mine first.  

It was knotted. Jimmy gallantly reached across me, using his new knife, cutting the yarn in one, rapid movement. The lipstick case fell onto the floor without a sound. In slow motion, I scooped it up like a bird grabbing a beetle. I held it for a long time waiting to open my hand to reveal the turquoise and gold opal inlay in a lacquered wood background. I held onto it, palm and fingers sealed tightly, waiting to smell her bedroom: my momma’s crochet coverlet that had lay across her bed, the cedar of the drawers where I first saw this lipstick. Lipstick my momma never wore but I had worn down to a useless paste because I wanted to be popular on Valentine’s Day.  

I don’t remember opening my hand, but I do remember twisting the bottom of the tube expecting a flattened red squished mess. But instead, a new glistening dewy brilliant red point began to peak out of the top of the tube: an unused stick.  A brand-new makeup crayon. Someone had replaced the tube. It was a perfect point and then, a perfect day when Jimmy opened his large boxed present from momma: her blanket. I got to smell my momma for the last time after all.  

“I know this is not what we planned, but it is what we have.” Kirby said. 

“I loved your mom, and I love you guys. I am… I am glad we are together.”   

Jimmy was absently tracing his finger around momma’s blanket while I stared at Kirby. Kirby normally didn’t initiate conversation, so it made us both a little uncomfortable. His pauses were so long we never knew when he ended a thought either. We waited.  

“So, these few things I brought with us. I hope…I know you don’t mind getting them now. Yeh, I didn’t think you’d mind.” As usual, I came to the rescue.  

“We love this Kirby!”   

Kirby had months of sullenness from us so I felt he needed to know he did something right.  

Jimmy chimed in. “This is cool. It’s cool.” 

I know our family didn’t look or sound like a normal family was supposed to, but there we were. Comforting one another without our true feelings being said.  

The tree lights danced around our imperfect family. 

If I had a Christmas wish, then it came true. 

The week after Christmas, Kirby worked on rounding up furniture. 

We got our first TV, finally! (No Saturday morning cartoons for us in Arizona.)  The glowing blue light I had envied for years, always witnessing it from the outside of cozy windows, pouring out of framed silences – not knowing at the time I would be spending hours watching alone, with Jimmy, with Rachel in her plastic bright living room, their TV being the living room centerpiece housed in a huge wooden piece of furniture; her mother’s “collectible figurines” placed  symmetrically beside the screen on little wood shelves. Watching TV with Rachel, while little ceramic children in a permanent state of joy and surprise watched us. There was never any dust on those shelves. Ever. The children on the shelves and the TV were never sad or lonely.      

Kirby had no qualms about me spending so much time with my new best friend and next-door neighbor and her family. Rachel was an only child but had a real mother and real father. Her house seemed brighter and noisier than our 

house, even though chairs and sofa (called “a loveseat”) were covered in heavy plastic.  Everything in the house matched. The curtains to the bedspreads to the wallpaper to the little towels in the “guest” bathroom, all matched. Black paisley against an orange background. It was perfect. I pretended I was their long-lost sister/daughter and I would then wake up surrounded by real wallpaper in a real house with a real family. A family that counted.

The closeness continued once school began although Jimmy, who was helping Kirby over the holidays, joined my new family’s commute to school and back. Kirby was volunteering at the Firehouse plus working his nighttime job bartending. Jimmy and I ate dinners with Rachel and her parents practically every night. It was as if this was always how it was.  

Rachel wasn’t in my class, but Jimmy and I were put together and moved around a bit until they figured where we belonged. I still had trouble with cold, dark mornings interrupting my desert dreams. On days when Rachel had piano lessons, temple, horseback riding and her mom couldn’t drive us home – Jimmy and I would walk the 2 plus miles from the Elementary School to our house. He usually talked the whole time (this school brought out his social side) and made sure my scarf was wrapped tightly around my neck and face.  

It was nice having someone taking care of me. I think it was then I began to realize my brother, my twin, would always be there. I realized that he had lost a mother too. I stopped feeling so alone.  

It didn’t happen all at once, but I cried less and put my energy into school and making sure Kirby had something to eat when he got home from his jobs.  Rachel liked coming over too. I had a pretty white bed with a matching nightstand and a small writing desk. It had a secret small drawer hidden beneath the top which held one thing: my lipstick that once belonged to my momma. I now owned two things that used to be my momma’s. A silver chain and cross (I think put over my head at momma’s service, but I’m not sure by whom) and her lipstick which I imagined my mother holding and knowing it was the last thing I held of hers before I lost her forever. I began writing poems and started a diary.  

I liked sharing my poetry with Rachel. Rachel was the only friend who knew my momma had taken her own life. She never made me feel strange or different because of it, but I tried to explain to her how strange and different I felt.  

Rachel thought it was cool Jimmy and I were allowed to be home alone  

(did we have a choice?) and we began to lie to her mother about Kirby’s presence, or lack thereof.  Rachel and her parents thought Kirby was our father and knew my momma “had died” a year ago. Somehow, I knew the details were not something we talked about. We had secrets.  

For the next four years, Rachel was at our house (with no adults) or I was at Rachel’s. Jimmy started to go with Kirby more, because he was the boy and hanging out a fire station was something he enjoyed. When Kirby began working at an automotive garage too, I thought Jimmy was going to lose his mind!   

   Holidays at Rachel’s house were loud and loving and fun as she was, with a roomful of relatives pinching our cheeks or swatting our behinds or rubbing  

Jimmy’s head or handing us quarters. (Everyone said “twins? really?” when they met us, surely comparing his golden silken locks to my hornet’s nest on top of my head.)  

I learned about Jewish holidays that overlapped our Easter and Christmas, but also discovering the important holidays like July 4th or Valentine’s Day were shared. Rachel was lucky because she got presents seven days in a row at Christmastime. She liked to help color Easter Eggs (although I couldn’t explain what that had to do with Jesus). I liked to find the matzo and sip wine even though we were young and it seemed forbidden.  

Jimmy, Rachel and I were best friends (Jimmy by default) and we shared everything together, until we were all in 6th grade; after a performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” on Christmas Eve. Another day when more promises were broken. 

Only two days after Christmas, I discovered Rachel had betrayed me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – Winter 1974 

 

I was writing the play version of “Charlotte’s Web” for our 6th grade class to perform. With Jimmy taking guitar lessons and hanging out more with Kirby, I realized I needed my own activity. I had a few friends, tried hard not to be different, even though my curly hair made me stand out, but I never participated in Card Exchange at our new school in gray Cleveland. I felt ready to be creative.  

I thought about momma in the red plateaus of Heaven.  

Kirby was now working just two jobs (he had given up the fire department).  He came home kind of blank, grabbed a few beers, managed to eat my dinner, then go back to work. Jimmy set the table and set out the jam and bread that we had with every meal. I talked about anything that I thought might interest Kirby and Jimmy and always managed to keep a conversation going, albeit, sometimes one way. No politics. No wars. No dead students. No momma. Mostly cars and music.  Jimmy kept us entertained with jokes and would break out singing, mostly with made up lyrics from popular songs, mocking us. We loved it.  

  “How do we solve problem like our Janny?” from Sound Of Music or  

“Everyone is doing the Kirby Stare, now…” (come on baby, do the locomotion).    I was so busy with the play, running a household and watching my brother, that I didn’t, at first, notice that Kirby had been combing his hair and drenching himself in a lethal mist of lemon-lime-bug-spray cologne before he left the house for his second job. I continued to construct my life through bits and pieces of other’s experiences. If I could paste one of my many selves into another’s life (I will remain still if you need me to be) I could be the fit that was missing.  

Kirby found his missing bit of sky in the way of julienne, who joined us for Thanksgiving Dinner and stayed for a while. She would bring us dance and for a little while, laughter from Kirby. 

   Julienne smelled like lavender and patchouli. She was petite with perfectly straight hair and a pigeon-toed walk that I tried to emulate. She was an urban hippie with a coat made of stinky llama fur. Pretty hair clips appeared to tame my unruly hair, along with flowers and curtains and brown bagged lunches with flowers drawn on them. Special cupcakes. Milk money. Lotions, tampons, hair conditioner, peasant blouses and bellbottoms were finally part of my life. She made me feel like I was not an outsider.   

Kirby gave up the bartending job; we were all together at night.  

We looked like a normal family. We were a family. He never asked us if julienne could join our little family, as the relationship was a surprise to him as well. If he spoke about it, perhaps it would disappear? We all held our breaths and allowed her into our lives. There was inclusion. This was a new feeling. Was this the happiest I had ever felt? Was it fair to momma?  

Julienne was the opposite of my momma who easily could have hidden julienne under her skirt. Besides physical opposites, momma was practical and inventive (“wash your hair a few times – you never know when you’ll be able to wash your hair again!”) versus julienne who was ethereal and joyful. (“little bug –  let’s put ribbons in your hair and dance.”) Her mood stayed the same no matter what kind of mood anyone else was in. 

Here was a woman I could become. Here was a woman who knew how to make my hair soft using olive oil. Here was a woman with whom I could tell secrets to and never be deceived. Momma and julienne. They both cared for us, loved us but Jimmy foretold both their endings.  

Jimmy did not hover in the kitchen anymore, the way he used to with momma. He stayed outside most of the time on his bike, exploring the suburbs.  

(“Don’t you miss the desert as much as me, Jimmy?”) At night time, he included himself with the family.  

Kirby and julienne slept in the finished basement in which their king size waterbed just fit. Occasionally, Jimmy would come into my room in the quiet of night, sit on the pink carpet, share his chocolate milk, and laugh at my castle heroine dreams of this family. I hated him for his “who gives a shit” attitude but even more for the way he could laugh so easily, all the time so that no one noticed his deep pessimism and doomsday view.  

“Janny, don’t be so stupid,” he insisted. I slurped. 

He grinned his handsome grin with his eyes looking up through the brown bottom of the glass mug and continued:  

“Kirby’s girlfriend is fun for now. But do you think she wants to stick around for the rest of the kiddie-single dad show? Stop dreaming sis.” 

Jimmy gave off a golden glow. An ancient Navajo spirit lived deep within him: A gift from my mother’s heritage. An Indian man inside a blonde- haired blue eyed 11-year-old kid. He was polite, made people feel at ease, effortlessly, but I witnessed the skeptical glint in his eyes; the sarcastic statements under his breath, only meant for my twin heart to feel. It wasn’t cynicism or anger; I didn’t realize then it was hurt and longing and reaching for something that wouldn’t be there. I think he felt momma’s loss more than me. Why couldn’t I fill that hole for him? I felt I wasn’t “adequate” for my own twin. What did that say about me? 

  I hoped he was wrong about julienne. 

CHAPTER 5 

 

Janny

 

Right before the Christmas holidays when music and dancing and julienne were a solid fixture, I worked frantically preparing for my debut performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” for the Grover Cleveland Elementary School. My play was to premiere, right after the chorus was to perform. Serendipity, in the form of band food poisoning (something to do with the tuna casserole served at the Battle of the Bands Regionals three nights previous) left a gaping portion of time in the Annual Christmas Pageant. My teacher and champion advocate, Mrs. Flanagan, suggested my “little class project” as a possible replacement – and our principal said Yes!  

My cast knew their lines (while holding the script) but we had no scenery, costumes or stage directions. Our prior performances were basically reading   my “play version” of the book (my favorite book in 4th grade) in front of two other classes inside our classroom. This change of venue was a major coupe for me! But how to perform on a real stage? Thank God, julienne designed and sewed the costumes and made the best one for my character of Charlotte the spider. Jimmy was originally my Templeton in our class presentation. He also had to read the part of “Avery” and “Wilbur” as I had a shortage of boy volunteers from my class. In fact, Jimmy was the only one boy in the play. None of the other 6th grade boys had any bravery or talent, apparently. Rachel played the perfect Fern. With her perfect (non frizzy) curls and red hair, she transformed into Fern with pigtails and a gingham dress. I wasn’t sure how I could pull this off, as there were times when the rat and Wilbur had to appear together on stage. Mrs. Flanagan suggested she be the voice of Templeton (as a puppet and therefore, hiding herself) since Wilbur was the main character. Jimmy focused on his hog-like character, enduring 65 minutes on his knees inside a pink pig. julienne created Wilbur as a Trojan horse, built from papier mache’, paint and felt. Kirby built a barn set and a carnival set.  

I thought: E.B White would be proud.

There was a manger set up on the stage for the chorus recital which we followed. Baby Jesus was a doll that belonged to Rachel. Her God didn’t mind us using it. As we weren’t permitted to touch the manger, our set was placed around it. The barn and carnival were the wings of sleeping Baby Jesus. We were only able to rehearse once. Allowances were made in the form of index cards with the lines. Cues were reinforced by julienne. It was crowded and hot behind the stage even after the chorus students cleared out and found their way onto the stacked bleachers. Kirby and julienne made their first appearance together at my school, working to get everyone in costume and sets in place: I didn’t correct anyone who referred to them as our “parents”. I hid behind the dream of forever and pushed aside my inner doubts. As if sensing my spinning loss, Mrs. Flanagan (and Templeton) put her furry arms around me. Tonight, would be okay.  

It was splendid. Instead of me portraying Charlotte “on stage”, Mrs.  Flanagan and Kirby rigged up a sheet and spotlight (in front of the manger) to silhouette my 8 legs, made of wire hangers, felt and masking tape. Just the shadow of a spider (with the web-like hair of an 11-year-old) appeared to the audience behind a black painted web drawn on the front. The words in the web were created with pipe cleaners, lots of them, shaped into 2-foot letters that dangled over the sheet. 

I was in charge of standing in front of the light, or shutting it off when not being featured. Wilbur and Fern and the other characters talked to the negative space on the screen. It was quite brilliant. Even though I couldn’t see what was happening on stage, julienne whispered off stage to “stand back, we can’t see you” or “turn out the light- you’re not in this scene” and “get ready to release the confetti over the sheet” (baby spiders) and “you look GREAT out here!”  I could hear Fern and Wilbur and puppet Templeton by the fence post and knew everyone was doing great. We messed up a little, left out a couple of scenes but still got a standing ovation. Kirby carried me out at the end as a dead spider (and playwright) draped in his arms. With my eyes closed, I felt the heat of the overhead stage lights and imagined my lifeless body was covered in stained glass rainbows.  I knew Kirby was smiling too. I hoped momma was smiling down at us.   

The day after Christmas, I ran next door right after breakfast to wake up  

Rachel and show her my Christmas gifts. She didn’t come over Christmas Day as planned since her family was hosting out of town relatives. I was invited but needed a day to come down from my play. For the first time, I felt embraced by a real family- my family. Jimmy, Kirby, and julienne. Cooking, relaxing, singing, napping, even Jimmy played games with me. For the first time, I didn’t get a stomach ache thinking of my momma not being there. The house protected me from the cold snowy wind outside and wrapped me like a cocoon.  

Breathless (my lungs were still adapting to wet cold), my gloved hand barely made a knocking sound when Rachel’s mom opened the door slightly, peering through the crack – something I had never seen her do before. She usually swung the door open wide, loudly announcing my arrival. I held my breath when I looked up to an uncharacteristic scowl. Why wasn’t she smiling at me? What had I done? 

Before I found my voice, Rachel’s mom pronounced: 

    “Rachel is not feeling well today.”    

I tried to answer as she closed the door before my words got out. I waited until noon then dialed Rachel’s house. The phone rang and rang before Rachel’s dad answered. He, at least, was friendly.  

“Hi Hon,” he said quietly yet forcefully. “Happy late birthday and Merry Christmas! I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the performance, but well done by the way!”  

   “Th-th-thanks” I stuttered. “Is Rachel up?”  

“No Sweets. She and her mom left earlier! They are going to stay  

with relatives until after New Year’s! I’ll tell her you called. Bye Sweets!” 

I slammed down the phone, ran upstairs sobbing. julienne followed me to my room and listened to me as snot dripped from my nose and mouth. I was so confused. Pieces were missing. Always, pieces of my life seemed missing.  

“Why is he lying? Why did Rachel’s mom lie? Why didn’t Rachel tell me anything? Is everyone lying to me? Did Rachel have to run away because of me? Did someone die? I hate her! I NEVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN!” 

Julienne listened calmly while I ranted and cried and screamed. In the midst of my confusion, I knew this was about me, not Kirby, not momma and not Jimmy. But me. This was my pain and betrayal and abandonment. Julienne tried to comfort me, give me answers: “maybe they just had to go away?”  

She liked to state the obvious. I didn’t even need julienne to say anything, although she made attempts. Kirby seemed lost too but kept smiling at me.  No one knew why Rachel left so no one could comfort me. Why were they trying to make me feel better? Even in my rage, it felt nice having that feminine smell envelope me. Rachel knew almost everything about me! How could I be so stupid to trust HER?  

Rachel was like our sister. I was like her family’s daughter. Her mother told me that all the time. Rachel was with us daily. How could I start school without her? Would she come back? Why did they go away so quickly? I pictured Rachel’s father coming home at dinnertime, handing his wife a package of fresh steaks, kissing her, kissing Rachel AND ME on the head and all is well. Where did that go? 

When I was 11, I had figured my life was set. I was a bare cactus, but in bright eastern sunlight. No escape from my scraggly past. Is that an oasis ahead?  

Or is that just a mirage? Jimmy’s predictions for our future snuck into my thoughts. Who would leave next? Julienne? Kirby? Jimmy? I continued to imagine the worst, especially that I would never see her again.  

Approaching New Years, Jimmy stayed away from my room. He just stayed away from me and the household too. Maybe two days went by before I saw him.   Kirby patted my back a few times. No words spoken. I was distraught. I slept through New Year’s. It was Kirby who came to the rescue. After the first, there was still no word, no call, no letter from Rachel. Kirby went next door to talk to Rachel’s father. I thought he was going over to ask about still driving us t school, but we had julienne now for that. He was going over to get answers. He

had met  Rachel’s parents twice in two years. Once, when he came by Rachel’s

to see if I could spend the weekend and the other time this past Christmas Eve, at

the pageant at Grover Cleveland Elementary School.  

I was upstairs. My small window faced Rachel’s garage. I watched Kirby’s forceful strong body in full military stance, walk up to the house. His ears looked cold. The cherry tree right outside the window was bare so I saw him clearly, thinking the color of his ears matched the cherries in summer.  

It wasn’t odd that Kirby was trying to make things right for me. He and I were both quiet (although, I was a big talker on the outside) but we liked answers.  Jimmy possessed the outward joy, drama, sadness of the family. Jimmy was like our momma – although she had rare periods of joy. Kirby was the one delivering the news about our father’s death; packing our things after momma’s death, calmly explaining the move. Kirby gave us the headlines- what was necessary to continue.  

No in-depth story to follow. The Cliff notes.  

Before he went next door, I heard Kirby speaking with julienne.  

“The poor kid. She must know something. She has to go back to school.  

She’s been a hermit this entire vacation.”  

So, this was it. Kirby the truth-seeker, not toiling through the Arizona dust and red sky, but marching beneath the winter winds of Cleveland, Ohio to find out what happened to my best friend. And, he came back with answers. I was not to blame.  

  I was waiting at the top of the stairs, waiting for the right moment to appear when Kirby opened our front door, letting the cold wind rush up the landing. He saw my pleading eyes: WHERE IS RACHEL?  

“Rachel had to go to her aunts” he volunteered immediately.  

I startled him by charging down the stairs and bursting into the vestibule as julienne helped remove his scarf. He gazed off for a bit, not at me, not at julienne, but that Kirby stare-at-nothing.  

“Her aunt who lives in New Jersey?” he continued, now meeting my small brown eyes. “You remember Rachel’s mom talking about her? You met them all last summer?”  

Yes. Yes. Kirby. I remember. Please. Get on with it. I had always been highly impatient, but his halted way of speaking was getting to me.  

“It seems Rachel’s grandma had a stroke and they all went there to help out.  

They may be there for a while.”  

One never knew if Kirby was done saying what he had to say. I swear, he took the LONGEST pauses. I saw Jimmy out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure when he got there or where he came from. julienne broke my icicle stunned silence. It appeared Kirby had no other information he was willing to share.  

“Does everyone want soup?” asked julienne. 

While Kirby slurped soup, he listened calmly as I barraged him with questions, all met with: Don’t know. Don’t know. I don’t know anything else, honey. Sorry. Jimmy said, “this will have to do for now, sis.” Always the pragmatist. 

Jimmy did his best to keep me occupied after the winter break was over.  It got dark early but we were able to try out our new sleds and boots. I loved my leather-bound diary from Kirby and julienne that was etched with a pine cone.  

It was inscribed: For Janny’s dreams, hopes and wishes.  

When I wasn’t playing with Jimmy or baking with julienne, I was using my set of 18 rainbow magic markers (my birthday present from Rachel) to color and imaging my life in dreams. It was forced because without Rachel, my best friend around, I felt dreamless. How am I going to go on like this?  

Friendless. Motherless. Fatherless. At least I had my twin.  

 

OHIO – 1993 

 

The hotel by Kirby’s hospital was not where I typically stayed. I usually 

went for the $49.95 rates with free cable but this time, I treated myself to 5-star 

elegance. Behind the brocade of the curtains and bedspread and the lushness of 

their bathrobe, the spa feel was lost on me. I was instead, trying to remember my 

first memory of Kirby. Just being near him in mileage like this had this effect.   

He is the smell of sweat and dust, a certain knock, a certain pause; my mother’s shoulders shaking, then she is on her knees holding me. I look over her to see the lower legs of a giant in Ironed Military Green. (Did I know that because it is a crayon color?) I look up slowly, mesmerized by a hat, an out of place slightly crunched wrinkled cap that clashes with the starchiness that was this man. It was if the task of absentmindedly hitting his thigh (yet grasping a little too tightly to be a habit) indicated his lack of eavesdropping and by happenstance, merely found these three sobbing colorless beings under his gaze.  

It was as if he had not carried the official news of my father’s KIA status. It was as if he did not have to look into my mother’s endless black eyes and not be able to face her “at that moment”.  Privately, Kirby never forgave himself for being the one to deliver the news. That was one secret I knew for sure.  

Did I ever forgive Kirby for ruining our lives by happenstance? Did he know he would be feeling too much this time for this young mother and her fatherless toddlers? Did I ever think if Kirby wasn’t in our lives, both my parents would somehow, be alive? How was he able to come home from Vietnam? Why would he stick around and promise to be there for us? How was that supposed to make us feel? Loved? Lucky? Lacking? 

I knew Jimmy might forgive Kirby but wondered if he could ever really, forgive my mother? And not just for her death; rather for her slowly disappearing into the dusty years before she took her life. He claims he remembers her telling us when were two, that we were a mistake and that her life was a mistake. Jimmy had no more secrets. He was there to remind me. To be my observer.  

 

I felt a deep silence suddenly and looked over at the clock radio. The classical music I had absentmindedly turned on (I always had to find NPR on the radio) stopped. The phone rang. It was Jimmy. I guess I knew that.  

“Hey,” the familiar voice said.  

         “Hey,” I answered from the darkened room.  I was thirsty.  

         “Did you know it was me?” 

         “Of course.” I didn’t tell him that I didn’t always feel him. “Well, I wanted to ask how your visit with Kirby went and if you planned to stay around for awhile.” Jimmy continued: “I know you are shocked.  

But I want to come over. I want to see you.” 

 

If there was a word beyond shock, that was it. I was beyond shocked.  No one had seen Jimmy (including myself) for the past 8 plus years. We communicated via phone weekly and there were cards and letters, but I had not shared a real moment with him since we were 21. He had not seen Kirby since the stroke. He had missed meeting julienne’s new grandchildren (she married a wonderful man and had three beautiful step-daughters). He had missed Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas and our birthdays. I had a brief fantasy that maybe this year, we will share our birthday together? 

Jimmy ended all suspense and gave me the best surprise. 

“Sis? I will see you tomorrow. Breakfast, maybe brunch at your fancy schmancy hotel.”  

He gave me some flight details which I don’t remember writing down, but there was scribble written on my Hotel stationery (on a back of a hotel postcard because I couldn’t find a pad) – my handwriting with an airline name and flight information. Even though we made sure we were always able to get in touch, his absence over the years was great. I knew I had my twin but still resented him for not being there for Kirby. I’m not sure what I expected, but I knew this visit was going to be something important for the two of us. More so for Jimmy, when he got to see Kirby.   

  CHAPTER SIX 

 

  Jimmy 

Tucson – April 1968 

 

My mother is crying. I have seen her cry before but not like this. Janny looks scared. Kirby is not comforting her. He has his head turned down, away from the t.v. – away from other people crying on the news. I am told a famous man was killed. I don’t know who that is but he must have been important to my parents. I wonder if her got killed in Vietnam like my dad. I wondered if Kirby knew this reverend when he was in Vietnam. 

We pile into the truck, the four of us crunched together in the front seat of our pick-up truck, me feeling like the last topping someone puts on a taco. We are going down a pebbly driveway to a church stuck in the desert in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t remember much about going to church but knew my mother had  

Indian blood and I wasn’t sure what kind of religion that might be. This church (they told me we came here for Easter) seemed to help my mother act “normal”.   

Janny wishes our mother tied back her crazy black hair.  

Janny and I are pushed into a row of benches and told to hold the hand of 

the person next to you. The people pouring into the room resemble the desert 

landscape at dusk: every shade of sand and clay. Everyone is sad. Someone 

speaks about a “great leader to the cause” whose work inspired this congregation 

reach the Promised Land. A king.  

Janny asks me to read the hymn words to her because at 5, I could read better than her. No one bothered to ask me that in kindergarten. Janny was labeled the “smart one” after all. When the people at the front stopped talking, the congregation began singing “We shall overcome”. I know this is making my mother sadder. “I will take care of you” I say in my head. We are all still holding hands. Kirby did a good job of taking care of us. He was bigger than my dad I think, with a deeper laugh. He laughed easily. Often. Mostly at himself. I have his sense of humor. I try to do stupid stuff to get my mother and Janny to laugh. But I  didn’t get why he wasn’t comforting my mom now.  

A few months after our visit to the Baptist church, my mother tells us,  

“another Kennedy has been killed” just a few months after Dr. King. My mother explains the meaning of our initials. I didn’t realize we had such a big connection with the world.  

I remember thinking after my mother died “well, I kept her alive this long.”   

I felt free.  

   

  

Ohio – DECEMBER 1993 

 

It has been a long time since I have seen my sister. She doesn’t understand why. She blames herself (surprise surprise), but I wanted her to respect my decision. The problem is it hasn’t been a conscious decision. I had some things I needed to find out on my own. She is stunned when I reach out to her. We talk regularly (regularly enough for me) minus a few years of total radio silence. I am hoping this gesture of mine will be of some significance. Calling her while she was visiting Kirby and our birthdays approaching, I feel the significance.  

 I fly in from N.Y. the next morning to arrive at Janny’s hotel early. As I recall, she does not do early. I decide to check in first. I wasn’t planning on staying, but I get a room and ask the front desk to send up some toiletries. I will do a quick rinse in the room. 

As I was drying out my shirt and underpants, I lay under the bedspread and call home. I get the machine. We should change the message, I think.  

  “Hi. It’s me. I’m in. I decided to stay the night. Gonna see Kirby. Love you.  

Happy birthday to me.”  

The phone rings back almost immediately.  

“I’m glad I knew where your sister was staying so I could track you down.  At least one of the twins is responsible” my darling wife says, with no irony or sarcasm.   

  “I know. I am a lovely man. How are you?”  

         “I was just getting out of the shower when you called. You just can’t drop a bombshell like that on a stupid machine. Seeing Kirby is a big deal, Jim.” God, I loved her.  

“Well, then, you will look forward to my return. I shall report news from the front.”  

 She heard stories of Kirby’s no-bullshit-approach to things. I’m no

different.  

  “Beth? Are you there?”  

  “Yes. Looking forward to your return.” Her tone was loving.  

She wished me (and my sister) a happy birthday. There was little unsaid between us.  

I go down to the gift shop just as it opens to pick up a birthday gift for Janny. Besides a candy bar or magazine or Santa, what can I possible get? There are white lights draped around the displays to make them look festive. On a dusty glass shelf sits a row of snow globes. There are several scenes but the one I choose…it’s the last one. 

Inside this miniature glass dome is a small cabin, a cactus and a red pick-up truck. The cactus is covered in tiny multi-colored Christmas lights. A cat is in the driveway. I make it snow on the tiny scene. I can almost see two children inside the cabin.  

I try to remember driving cross country and seeing snow for the first time. I think I can remember. The globe is $15.95. I buy a Scientific American magazine and a candy bar for later. They do not have gift wrapping but the young cashier does have a bow to put on my purchased package. I realize I don’t have a card.  

She points to the back. I run and grab the first blank card I see, as I hated the  

Hallmark printed words. It has a photo of two penguins. I will write the  

appropriate words which will probably be “Happy Birthday, Love, Jim. Your 

twin forever.”  

I thank the cashier and walk across the lobby to the restaurant where I am to meet Janny. I am slightly nervous, but can’t wait to see her. I am looking forward to our reunion. Finally, a birthday we can celebrate together.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 CHAPTER 7  

 

Jimmy  

 

Ohio – December 1974  

 

Rachel was my sister’s best friend. She was always around and a part of my relationship with my sister. I felt protective of Janny. People came and went in our lives. It was the nature of things. I knew this even then. I would keep a non- noticeable distance from friends, schoolmates and family – just in case.  

I had friends I hung out with, but I didn’t have a best friend like my sister.  I was funny and entertaining, appearing as if I was popular. I think Julie, my dad’s new girlfriend, brought that out in me. She brought everyone out of themselves in our family. She was a good fit. I was glad she would be in our lives for a while.  Only Janny got to witness the dark side of me. I reminded her to keep some space between herself and others. She believed me too, but never held back her love, affection and attention from anyone. I shouldn’t have taken the joy out of her hopeful life.  

Rachel and I got closer the night my sister put on a play at school. Quite a project. The entire family and neighborhood seemed to have a hand in making the play successful. Janny was out of her shell and doing great as writer, director, and star for elementary aged kids. I never felt my age. I felt more comfortable hanging out with Kirby and his friends at the garage. They were interesting, talking about nothing. It felt like they respected me for who I was.  

I was happy for Janny that Kirby and Julie were part of the play. Finally, something just about her, for her. I was proud to be her brother. It would be a few years before I told her that.  

Rachel and I ended up having some down time, at the same time, in the cramped closet backstage: the “dressing” room. Finally, there was a lull in all the frantic activity. The play was over – hugs, bows, applause finished, auditorium emptied. Only a few last minute clean up duties to tend to. Although we were permitted to keep the sets up during the holiday break, Kirby dismantled some ahead of time. Janny was out at the truck with the parents loading up some scenery.  Rachel and I were waiting to see what else they could fit.  

“You were really great tonight!” I said, although not feeling obligated to talk. Rachel was almost like a family member and I was more comfortable with her than I had realized.  

  “Thanks! You too.” Rachel said.  

  “Are you coming over Christmas morning?” I asked knowing the answer would be “of course”. 

  “Not this year.” We both paused. We both looked down. 

  “Okay?” I said as she clearly didn’t want to talk about why. Rachel looked up at me with her big blue eyes. We were sitting practically on top of one another, a top boxes and piles of clothing. I was too warm and started to sweat. I was only 11, but had peach fuzz on my chin and hair on my underarms and groin area.  I think seeing me uncharacteristically ill-at-ease made Rachel fill in the blanks quicker.  

“Janny doesn’t know I have to go away for a while. Something is happening  

with my family. Me. My family. So, I’m not sure when we’ll even be back.”  Rachel practically whispered.  

  “Why do you have to go away? Why doesn’t Janny know? You crazy?”  

I said playing the role of big brother.  

She laughed.  

  “I’m sick, Jimmy. I found out when school started. My mom kind of didn’t want anyone to know. I have to start treatments after New Year’s so we’re leaving for freezing Minnesota tomorrow. We rented an apartment until dad can come, ya’ know, join us?”  

 “Are you…okay, Rach?” She was telling me she wasn’t, but I didn’t want to believe it. For Janny.  

  “I don’t know” she said slowly.  

We poked our heads out to see if anyone was looking for us yet, ready to go home. It seemed we still had time.  

We didn’t talk about Janny not knowing Rachel’s secret after that. I didn’t care about Rachel’s decision not to tell anyone. It really didn’t matter, did it? Janny would find out tomorrow. And I was good at keeping secrets.  

It would be weird not having Rachel around. The slight enclosure, our combined breaths filling this small space, created an intimacy we never had before. Janny was always there with us. Was this the first time I was alone  

with Rachel? She was so pretty. I don’t think I had noticed that before.  

“Janny doesn’t know things about me either. About us.” I said.  

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel asked.  

  “When I was little, I heard my mom talking. I was little, but I remember

 what she said.” I was saying things out loud I hadn’t even uttered to myself.  

  “What was it?”  

  Was I about to disclose things to this girl I had never revealed to anyone before? Will saying it out loud make it truer? Was Rachel’s impending absence allowing my protective shield to drop; to no longer keep this secret invisible? Was I about to pull off the cloak?  

“My mother was talking on the phone. To her uncle, I think. Anyway, she  

said ‘the twins will always be the twins, no matter where Jimmy came from.”  

It felt like a confession saying this. I had never told anyone. I thought perhaps I was too young to really remember this. Janny would have laughed if I told her I thought I wasn’t related to her. Rachel didn’t laugh.  

  “I don’t understand. How can you be different like that, I mean, with where you came from, if you’re Janny’s twin?”  

A fair statement from Rachel that clearly had never occurred to me like that.  

  “I heard my mom talking about it another time too. To Kirby. Our bedroom was right off the living room, so I could hear the two of them at night while sis was asleep.” 

We both knew once Janny was asleep, nothing could wake her. Rachel and I played the record player loudly, even while Janny slept in the same room.  

I continued my story.  

“Mom was in one of her good days. She had very sad days (I wasn’t sure how much Janny had told Rachel about our mom), but that night she was chatty with Kirby. She used to get him to make her promises about me and Janny. Like ‘taking care of us’ promises in case anything happened to her.”  

Rachel knew the story of my mother’s suicide. I knew they had shared a lot over the years.  

“So, she told Kirby once my ‘real parents’ had ‘left the planet’ just so Janny and I could be raised together.”  

Rachel held my gaze softly. No shock or judgment registered.  

  “Once I knew my parents weren’t aliens (I laughed a little too loudly), I put together I was left with the Kapinskys – Janny’s real parents. I was left by dead people to be raised by a mother and father – who both died too.” I took a deep breath.  

The words surprised me saying them out loud for the first time. Had I just realized ALL FOUR of my parents were gone? It felt as if I was talking about someone else. I didn’t feel that damaged.  

  Rachel had tears streaming down her cheeks.  

  “MY biological parents were friends of my dad – the dad who died in Vietnam, not Kirby? I’m pretty sure.” I’m not certain how I knew all this.  

I think at that moment I knew Kirby was my “real” dad and would always be my father. The one who mattered the most. The one who stuck around.   “Claire and James rescued me- prevented me from going to an orphanage or something. They got to name me and pick my birthday, so…” 

I kept hoping Rachel was going to interrupt me. I was used to answering questions, not just giving information to people about my past.  

  “The difference between when I was born and when Janny was born didn’t matter. I guess.”  

Did I deserve anything of my own?  

“So, you and Janny – it was just decided you would be raised together, as like, twins?” said Rachel trying to make sense of my crazy story.  

I had forgotten how much I had known. How much I filled in with lies. 

How much I didn’t really know.  

Rachel asked the obvious questions: Who knew what when? She was surprised Janny didn’t know we weren’t “twins” (if Janny knew, Rachel would have known too) and Kirby didn’t know I knew?  

This is why secrets become complicated.  

“Didn’t you ever want to know your REAL birthday?” Rachel asked.  

I had a real birthday. It was Janny’s. We were twins. We shared everything.  It didn’t matter if the day was a little different. I sure wasn’t going to be the one to take that from her too.  

I thought my mother’s death was the most complicated secret one could have.  Stories about parents are not regular tales told by 6th graders and their ilk, but people did wonder about Kirby. I was embarrassed (for Janny) whenever we had a Mother’s Day project or parent-teacher conference meeting. “This is Kirby. He stays with us?”  

I didn’t like reducing Kirby to a side-note in my life, but he was a side-note: Someone who got caught up with a woman who had two kids (pretending to be both their mothers) – all because it was his job to inform her our “father” was KIA in Vietnam? Why did it seem this war followed me my whole life? Why did I feel closer to Vietnamese children 9000 miles away then I did with my school friends?  I had an orphan’s heart. I had a picture in my head of James’ face before he was killed. Maybe some child over there saw him die. He was so far away when he was killed, so very far away. Now the war was over, lost and forgotten. I wanted to hold on to and remember his love, my first love from a father, even though Janny and I were just babies, practically. I shared that with my sister. We were twins because we lost our parents together.  

Together, as a family, we all teared up when Nixon announced a cease-fire in the beginning of the year via Mr. Walter Cronkite. We mourned together, laughed together, struggled together – an unlikely thrown together family, but still family. Rachel understood it all. My sister was lucky to have her. 

Rachel and I wondered aloud why Kirby never told me or Janny the truth about us. I don’t remember what happened after our conversation in the school closet, other than we all went out for ice cream. Since Rachel was gone the next morning, I chased all thoughts of our secrets away. It’s like it never happened.  

 

 

CHAPTER 8 

 

Janny 

 

 Ohio – 1975 

 

It was six months since my successful production of Charlotte’s Web. The summer had arrived: hot, boring, with days stretched in front of us like a flat dusty highway. Rachel’s dad had left the house a few months before. Rachel’s house remained empty. Uninhabited. I climbed the willow outside our garage, staring at her upstairs bedroom window. Jimmy stopped trying to get me to come down.  

  “At least come swimming with me, Janny!” he shouted.  

Jimmy tried to snap me out of my summer misery. My first summer in Ohio without Rachel. My first summer with a “step-mom”. No plans laid out for the twins, although Jimmy was signed up to be a boy scout.  

I was sulky, and julienne’s sunny nature wasn’t working either. She got a job at a local nursery and was not around as much. I entertained myself, usually by writing in my diary, for hours on end. In my room. Under a table in the dining room. In a corner of the yard. Alone. No need to uproot and explore. Jimmy seemed free – he was the wind. Not me. I was serious, like Kirby. Down to business. I learned to keep myself busy when momma entered her own little dark world, maybe not so little.  

I learned to be ignored was not necessarily rejection. (Leaving me was 

though.) It was an opportunity for pretend-time. It was the only release I had.

   I read a lot of books that summer: Catcher In The Rye, Siddhartha, 

 

Richard Brautigan, Vonnegut, Sylvia Plath. I listened to Jethro Tull, Marvin 

 

Gaye, Joni Mitchell and Loggins & Messina. Unfortunately, everything 

 

reminded me of Rachel.

 

I pictured Rachel was there with me, listening to my plastic turntable with the two detachable plastic speakers. The stereo came with a 45-rpm disk in case I wanted to listen to Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger or Donovan; records Rachel and I  

bought together. I had huge headphones with thick rubber insulation on the ear pieces. I heard every instrument and every note. I spent hours listening to my records, laying on the floor, looking at my neon butterfly wallpaper. I cut out pictures of Robert Redford on a horse; George Harrison cross-legged with long hair; and dead rock stars. Jimmy had cool posters in his room and made fun of my wall art.  

No matter where Rachel was or what she was doing, I imagined us on the same page in the same book, our fingers poised mouthing the same words at the exact same times. Listening to my music, side by side. Plotting, planning as best friends did.  

Jimmy had his own friends and, often left to go fishing or some other adventure without me. All our memories together seemed sad now. Well into July, one hotter than usual summer day, I temporarily abandoned my committed misery and let myself trail Jimmy and Sal (Jimmy’s boy scout buddy) on bikes down to the path next to the river. It stank on certain days, but it seemed less muggy by the water. We liked climbing into the sumps – huge sewer pipes – where the dark mustiness enveloped us like a cool compress – a respite from the stifling heat. Playing spy games (“Man from U.N.C.L.E.”), we lost ourselves in the deeper meaning of unfettered imagination.  

Jimmy and Sal were rushing ahead of me on their bikes. I was hot and called  

“Jimmmmmmmmy- Waitttttt upppppppppp!” but they seemed to be teasing me by going faster. Jimmy was easily influenced by the person closest to him. Now, it was Stupid Sal. I called Sal “Stupid Sal” ever since he had difficulty trying to figure out how much change to give me after I bought a pickle from his father’s deli. I had given him a quarter and the pickle was a nickel! Jimmy was not as judgmental or as harsh as I was. I chalked it up to being in an extra bad mood that summer.  

The boys disappeared quickly. Sal threw a piece of tinfoil at me from the  

bread julienne had made us. And then they were gone. I still knew it was Stupid  

Sal’s idea to escape from me – hop off their bikes under the bridge and dash into  

the sumps. I was quite a way back, but this portion of the river sidewalk was  

straight and their bikes were easily spottable.  

We hadn’t passed anyone on the path. I was glad because yielding on this concrete edge scared me. The river was blocked off by a chain-link fence, but the water was still 9 feet below. I was not in a hurry since I had no plans to follow them into the sewers. They were easily several “lights” ahead of me by now. If they thought I was going to chase them, they were wrong.  

A sump “light” meant approximately seven concrete tunnels in- a grate of light appeared above where the road ran on top and water drained through. The opening and first light in, was usually dry, just garbage and broken bottles. Past the first light, the cement floor of the pipes had to be straddled so sneakers stayed dry.  I planned to stay outside the tunnels for a little while until they both came out. I had to show Jimmy I didn’t care he was ignoring me in favor of his stupid friend. (Sal was thrown out of the boy scouts one year later for punching another boy.)  

I waited in the sweltering stillness, surrounded by the deep echoing summer sounds of the cicadas. The river beside me was still, mucky and smelled rotten. I looked both ways on the path. I laid my old black used Schwinn against the boys abandoned bikes. I wondered if Rachel’s new three speed was still in their garage or if she had it, wherever she was? I had no way of knowing. No call. No letter. No signs that she even existed.  

I stayed out in the sun for probably 20 minutes. Rain clouds were forming across the river. I briefly wished I hadn’t come with them and had stayed home to read. Now I had to catch up to them inside the sumps.  

I stood by the shadowy opening to the sumps. The coolness rushed out. I was going in, but still was not going to call them. I hummed loudly, my sneakers and singing reverberating in the sludge. Bottles, used condoms, cigarette butts and general slime disappeared in the enclosing darkness.  

I went through the tunnels steadily and easily. I wasn’t sure how far behind from them I was. I felt alone and scared. The ground was dry by the time I got to the first light, after losing sight of the tunnel opening. The dark space in front of me got curvier and smaller. I stopped humming and whispered “Jimmy?”  The dank silence was my answer.  

 

 

CHAPTER 9

  

  JIMMY 

 

Ohio – July 1975 

 

Sal was a pal. He knew how to get out, get in and get it going on with anyone and anything. He was not what my family called “a good influence”. Kirby did not like him, but he and I had an unwritten code that neither of us ever criticize nor judge one another passively or otherwise.  

Sal could draw and mold clay pieces into cool figures. We painted models of monsters together. He liked the smell of the little paints. We snuck sips off Kirby’s beer when he fell asleep in his chair in front of the t.v. We smoked cigarettes we stole from Kirby’s pack: Camels – filter less. We made elaborate mud tunnels, paths behind the houses- deep in moss, using cattails and rocks to form mini- waterfalls and dams where our figures encountered unescapable peril. We brought all our trucks and army men to their massive obstacle course. Most were doomed as the mud on plastic and clay eventually turned into cement. Kirby got tired of reminding us to wash everything off at the end of the day. Our army looked like victims of Vesuvius, melted together in a caked frozen mass, unrecognizable. Sal and I saw pictures of the town in Italy one day- the residents paralyzed in their last expression- mostly horror or surprise. They looked like something we could mold or play with. It was cool.  

Summer was about being outside all day, no boy scouts, riding around on bikes, creating mud trails and forts and hideouts: Buying comic books, eating 

candy, climbing trees, pretending. Janny always spent her allowance early so I

always had to buy her junk comic books too. I got paid extra for occasionally 

helping Kirby out in the garage. Janny had no interest. 

We caught fireflies and came in dirty and tired at dusk. The house smelled from fragrant soups Julie was cooking. The herbs came from her backyard garden as did all our vegetables. Sal never ate a vegetable before coming over to our house. He learned to love zucchini. I think he had a small crush on Julie. Life was good.  

Sometimes a few of us took our bikes down by the river. We knew it was kind of “off limits”. One of our favorite things to do there was to explore the tunnels, counting how many lights we could get to. The first sections of the giant cement pipes were usually dry, but the further one went in, the wetter and smaller it became. It smelled like rats and wet leaves.  

 

We were ready for another adventure. It had rained a few days in a row and we had been housebound. Sal slept over and we woke up to a clear day. We planned to make it to the river before it got too hot. Tunnels, here we come!  

“You two are going out where?” asks Kirby, his voice and look on the edge of retracting the tone of his question.  

“Dad, Stop.” I finally began calling Kirby “dad” at some point.  

“You’re still a kid. God help me when you become a teenager. But for God’s sake, you’re still a kid. Be back by sunset. Take your sister?”  

  “Okay.”  

“Hey, Jimmy? Don’t go down by the river.”  

 

And off Sal and I went. I called upstairs for Janny to join us. Sal groaned.  

I tried to feel my sister’s pain of losing her best friend. I never told her about my conversation with Rachel the night of the play. I didn’t see the point in telling her anything because she refused to move on. She went to school and came home right after. Julie gave her piano lessons. They sewed. The watched “The Guiding  

Light”. But no plays, no spontaneous singing or dressing up. No following me everywhere, asking me questions. This was her first summer without Rachel and  

Janny didn’t appear interested in having any other friends. Julie and Kirby didn’t force her into some sort of activity (like they did for me – it wasn’t my idea to join the boy scouts). Janny disappeared for hours (or I just lost track of her) but she was pretty quiet, generally. And never in the way. I guessed I missed her. Imagine, missing your twin? I didn’t want her tagging along with me and Sal, but I complied to Kirby’s wishes.  

The three of us stopped at the candy store, about 20 minutes away from our house, mostly a downhill ride. Getting home was going to be another matter.  We got cokes and wax filled candies and gum. Janny got a huge sourball.  

“Hello, children” said Mrs. Kalisman, the store’s owner. A kind faced, hunched over woman who gave us taps on our hands after we paid. A playful gesture.  

  “Hello, ma’am.” I answered. Sal and Janny were quiet.  

  “Ach! Look at you two – twins, eh? Your sister looks like your film negative!” She handed us our small bags. “We finally have some sun! Going to the pool?”  

“Yes, ma’am. Just headed there now” I lied. I saw Sal pocket some bubble gum cards. I didn’t say anything.  

We grabbed our bikes off the sidewalk and continued to the sumps down by the river. It was probably close to noon by the time we got down there. Julie had given us some fruit and homemade zucchini bread in our packs before we left.  There were steps leading down to the path next to the river- forcing us to carry down our bikes. Because of the heat and warm cokes, we stopped at the top of the stairs. We found a grassy spot in the shade and ate our bread. Sal and I were ignoring Janny, only because she did not make her presence known. She wanted it that way. To be an observer but not commit to joining in fully. That was fine. I could not be responsible for her happiness my entire life, I decided. (Although, my gut told me it was my job.) I had always felt that way. Not just because of the “twin” or orphan thing either. It was because of who she was. Janny was wickedly funny, especially with me. Her soft-spoken comments, not meant for anyone other than me, were biting and sarcastic. She had dead on responses to “Kirbyisms” as we liked to call them – Kirby’s way of delivering life messages like he was reading them off an embroidered pillow. I was her best audience and vice-versa.  

Janny was the opposite of Julie, who lit a room up with light when she entered it. There was an ease that came about with anyone lucky enough to share a space with Julie. When my sister came into a room, no one noticed. She kept her dark hair in front of her face and hid in big baggy clothes. I had no idea where her body began. Not that I cared.  

“Do you guys want to go now?” I signaled to them both. I wanted Janny to stop staring into space and get ready to get up. She didn’t move real fast.  

“Let’s go, Jimmy,” said Sal as he grabbed his bike and leapt onto the path, tossing an apple core behind him.  

  “Janny, we’ll see you down there!” I yelled, before I abandoned her. I had no more patience and didn’t want my friend to beat me to the 3rd light, as that was where the sump challenge began.  

“I’m coming!” Janny said petulantly behind me, looking like a hamster with a giant sourball in her cheek.  

Sal and I kept a fast pace, throwing down our bikes and darting into the tunnels. The water covered the floor almost to the first light. A few critters swam between our straddled legs. We didn’t have a flashlight, as we usually went with a bigger group where someone else seemed to have the light. Sal and I were not always good together. We were too much alike. Boy scouts indeed.  

We got to the fourth light which immersed us into total darkness. The shadow from the grate produced a slivered sunlight, scattering the muck below into brown one-inch fabric pieces cut for a quilt. The occasional car drove over us and shook the metal above our heads, sending down a rain of loose asphalt and dirt. We were about to light up a cigarette when I realized Janny was nowhere to be seen –  Or heard since I bolted after Sal. We propped ourselves at an angle, our butts on the incline with our feet placed across the span of pipe, our faces towards the faint  dusty light, our legs placed over and under each other, crisscrossing in the tight  space. Road vibrations and water droplets the only sounds.  

“Ready to light up?” asked Sal, stating the obvious.  

Out of a Marlboro pack, Sal pulled out a joint. Fat, tightly twisted at both ends, taking up the space of two cigarettes.  

“Guess who got a new boyfriend?” asked Sal.  

Sal’s parents were divorced and although his dad had custody, he saw his mother too. I pretended the joint was no big deal.  

“I had a bong hit once at Kirby’s friends party.” I lied.  

  “Well, then this will get you blasted, my friend.” Sal was fearless.  

  “Does the boyfriend know you took it?” I asked.  

  “By the time he realizes it, he will be too drunk to know he had it.”  I understood. Sal’s mother with another loser.  

“He was in ‘Nam though” added Sal.  

Growing up with Kirby wasn’t always easy. I didn’t know what he went through in Vietnam, but I saw him get angry with himself easily – and then needing a few beers or a joint to be able to fall asleep, or to check out.  

I watched Julie reaching out to him when she sensed he was going to a dark place. Sometimes, I figured it was our mom’s memory who sent him there. I saw him go through a few jobs too. One thing I was sure of – Kirby would forever, be in our lives. I had no reason to know nor believe this, but I did. Without question.  

Even after Julie discovered our deeply flawed selves and moved on, Kirby was steadfast in his parenting. I don’t think it was devotion to us, as much as how much he was once devoted to our mom. We were the prize in the Cracker Jacks.  

I was lucky that way- having a guy always around. Janny wasn’t a “girly girl” who seemed to miss having a mom. But when Julie arrived, I saw the big hole in Janny’s life being filled. I guess having a mother commit suicide will do that.  

When my mother was alive, I felt she needed me all the time. I felt like I was the only one allowed to enter her world of darkness. She needed me to remind her there was a way out. A child does not judge a parent’s sadness. It was watched closely with curiosity and wonderment. It is seeing your superhero without her costume.  

Janny doesn’t remember our father. He smelled like leather and shoe polish.  He had jet black hair, like my mom but looked like Captain America. I think when one super hero loses their other superhero, the surviving super hero doesn’t survive at all.  

As Sal and I toked on the joint, I told Sal the story of the parents who raised me until coming here – the story of my mom – the part of her killing herself but not the part of it being my fault. How that day, I should have known the blackness was all around; how I could have stopped her.  “Was your dad cool?” asked a very stoned Sal. 

“Which one? Kirby is a cool dad.”  

“The dead one?” clarified Sal.  

  “Yeh. He was cool.” What else could I say about my dad? That I lost my mother when we lost him? Janny and I had almost three years with our tidy family unit, until dad joined up and went to fight the commies. Until dad didn’t come back. When Kirby told us he had died a hero, I thought “heroes don’t leave their kids”, even if one of those kids was a fraud. 

“Let’s go in deeper,” Sal suggested “and light up again at the next light.  

Get it?”  

I nodded in the filtered traffic dust from above. I heard a sharp metallic sound after a car drove over our heads. I was looking up, smiling at the patterns of silt. I smelled exhaust and was about to say something profound when I realize that sound had come from Sal – he had fallen over and was writhing in a large puddle of water, blood trickling from his head. I screamed his name then instinctively, called out to Janny.  

No one answered. Sal’s arms and legs looked locked up and there was spit around his mouth. He was laying on his side, with a broken bottle beneath his cut open head.  

I pulled my bandana off my pants loop and placed it on Sal’s head. I cleared away some glass and one that was stuck in his head. He had stopped shaking but just lay there, eyes open staring off into nothing.  

“Sal. Sal. Sal. What’s going on? Are you okay? I have to go get help. Can you hear me, man?”  

I heard a whisper behind me.  

“Jimmy?”  

I was so happy to look up and see Janny. She had followed us in and found us. There was only one way to get into the sumps, but we were far in. Janny was crying. She was looking down at Sal and tears were running down her face.  

“Janny, I don’t know what’s going on. You stay here. I’ll go get help.”   “Don’t leave me here!” Janny said quietly.  

“Guys? Shit. Ow. Fuck.” Sal was stirring and trying to sit up. I took his hand and placed it on the handkerchief which had crusted onto his forehead wound.  

  “Damn Sal- what the hell, man? Hold this on your head.”  

  “Man. That was good pot.”  

  “Sal, you’re crazy man. You convulsed and fell and hit your head!”  

  We both started laughing uncontrollably. Janny was kneeling in the puddle besides us, whimpering. Coughing up spit, tears and blood, Sal and I looked like we came through a war. 

    “I’m so tired, Jimmy. Dizzy” Sal tried to say through his stoned giggling.  This caused Janny to cry harder.  

  “Can you get up?” I asked. “Do you need to stay here? Can you make it out with us?”  

  “Sure. In a minute. Damn.” Sal answered.  

  “Yeh, okay. That’ll be good.” I was shaking and didn’t know why.  

I noticed the blood wasn’t dripping down his face anymore and it seemed as if his head had stopped bleeding. We continued laughing. I soon realized Janny was gone. I think I saw the shadowy ripples across the puddles, but I couldn’t see or think further than that. We were enveloped in darkness. I positioned myself, my hands on Sal’s shoulders guiding him to lay back down. My stomach hurt from laughing as I put his head on my legs. We started to catch our breaths. We both sighed.  

Without speaking, we both got up at the same time. Unsteady. Shaky.  Stoned. Arm in arm like wounded soldiers, we limped hunched over and plodded through the tunnels. We didn’t bother to straddle and instead just waded through the murky waters, kicking away occasional cans and other unidentified objects.  

The light was bright at the opening. It seemed far away. A chill I didn’t realize I had begun to leave my body. My teeth were clenched. I started to sweat.  

Sal was breathing heavily. We hadn’t said a word and stopped at every tunnel segment to catch our breaths – concentrating on the task of getting to our bikes. I wasn’t sure what to do then. It felt as if we were under fire and Sal had been shot. 

I thought of Kirby and felt like I understood him more. Brotherhood was everything. As we got closer to the opening I felt the stifling heat, now producing steam from a summer storm encroaching. I saw Janny’s face peeking down at us.  

  “They’re HERE!” she shouted to someone.  

Two big silhouetted bodies came to greet us in the dark and quickly dragged us out the few feet to the entrance. It was Kirby and another man I had never seen. Or maybe he owned a store nearby. 

“You two are lucky I was just at the shop! Thank God for your sister!”  

The stranger and Janny were leading our bicycles back. Kirby picked up Sal and carried him over his shoulders.   

“I’m Okayyyyy…” Sal grunted as he bounced along with Kirby’s gait.  

“We’re at the steps now. Almost to my truck. Hold on.”  

Janny was next to me on the narrow sidewalk. She handed my bike off to me, so I could carry it up the stairs to the street.  

“Are you okay?” she whispered to me.  

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking, yeah, I’m fine, how did you get us, how did you know and, thanks? 

Kirby had thrown our bikes into the back of the truck and Janny and I hopped in the back with them. She stared at me the entire drive to the hospital,  

where we met up with Sal’s mother.   

Eventually, we found out Sal had a seizure in the tunnels, his second one since he was 5. They kept him for a few days to figure out what kind of medicine to give him. He was expected to make a full recovery. I wasn’t sure Janny could recover from what was about to come. 

CHAPTER 10

Janny 

 

July – 1975 

 

Before I found Sal and my brother in the sumps, I had begun to hear  

Jimmy’s voice a few tubes ahead. Just a deep echo of rumblings from the solid darkness. It made me feel warm. Finally, I saw a hint of light filtering down in the near distance. When I came upon them, Jimmy was kneeling over Sal’s body holding a bandana on Sal’s head. Sal was perfectly still. His eyes were open. I was terrified. I caught Jimmy’s gaze, got his attention, but when he looked back down at Sal, I turned around and ran as fast as I could, hunched over to reach the  

entrance. Luckily, it didn’t feel as if we were that far in.  

I got to my bike in no time and took off. I dropped my bike at the bottom of the steps, ran up to the main sidewalk and went into the first store on the boulevard. I recognized the hardware store from trips I took here with Kirby.  

Kirby and I didn’t share any hobbies, but whenever he went to the hardware store on Saturdays, I got to go. Jimmy and Kirby spent afternoons together using the tools or items we purchased. My Saturday afternoons were spent with julienne. Since Kirby didn’t show much affection, sitting next to him in the truck alone was a treat. 

The owner of the store saw my tear-stained face, listened to my out-of- breath sobs and called Kirby. I remember the feel of the cool linoleum floor and the smell of mixed metals. Mr. Joe wiped my face and tended to his store while I waited for Kirby to arrive. I hadn’t given many details other than my brother and his friend might be hurt and stuck.  

Kirby swooped in, asking me to show him exactly where the boys entered the sumps. Mr. Joe closed his store, grabbed a first aid kit and came with us.  

Kirby got us to the spot and effortlessly, took command.  

Jimmy looked stunned to see us, all of us reaching the tunnel opening seemingly at the same time. Kirby lifted Sal over his shoulders like a bag of dirt.  Julienne was at the hospital when we got there, running over to me and Jimmy.  

Kirby was in with Sal until Sal’s mother arrived. I never understood how grown-ups managed to be in the places they were supposed to be. I wondered if I would ever feel in place. Poor Jimmy was coughing, both of us filthy.  

We were wrapped in hospital blankets and the doctors gave us little doctor pins. One doctor said I was brave to go rescue my brother. We were turning to leave when I saw her. She was taller, her red hair, shorter, but I recognized her right away. I first thought it was a mirage.  

There are many falls along the way, but none could be avoided in order to bring you to the place you were meant to be. Those rare times when things finally make some sense. Seeing Rachel after all this time felt like months had dropped away in a mist of lost memories. Nothing mattered. Nothing else mattered.  

It was julienne who called out to Rachel’s mother. Their backs were turned, reading something off a board down the hospital corridor. 

“Louise? Louise!”  

Rachel and her mom both turned around simultaneously, smiling at us. 

 

“Oh my! Hello! I hope Kirby is okay, my dears. Is Kirby okay?” said  

Rachel’s mom in her usual effervescent way.  

Julienne assured her we were all fine. Her mom continued.  

“We JUST got back into town – can you believe it? What blessings! Rachel is receiving wonderful care, and everything is looking good for our girl.”  She pulled Rachel in close to her.  

“I had heard a little bit and didn’t have a chance to fill in Janny yet” said julienne.  

Rachel and I were staring at each other, grinning. I wasn’t mad or hurt. I started to pay attention to the adults with that last comment. Rachel took my hands and held them.  

“Janny. I’m sorry. I’ve been sick. Real sick. But I’m better now. My dad got transferred back here and my doctors in Minnesota said it was okay to stop  

treatments for now. I am okay.”  

I wondered about secrets. Stories. Each story held a secret or two. Momma held the biggest secret of anyone I knew. To this day, I don’t know her secret. The hidden pain that was so terrible she had to kill herself. Was she sick too? Did they forget to tell me that too? Why was I accepting of others hidden revelations?  

Why didn’t I demand more from people? Jimmy always seemed sure. Kirby seemed sure. Was it just me who was like the drain in the sink? It all swirls down to me, eventually?  

I think I spoke. I think I asked Rachel if I was going to see her soon. I remember the grown-ups making quick plans, pleasantries and whisking us away.  

Julienne squeezed me and told me how happy she was I had my friend back.  

 

Once home, we took baths, had soup and julienne handed me small pieces of missing information like pieces of warm bread. I learned what she knew about  

Rachel’s cancer: How it came on quickly; the sudden move (that wasn’t so sudden for them), better hospitals, and her father’s job. Julienne apologized to me- saying she heard the news about Rachel just a few days ago while at the food co-op. She said she wanted to tell Kirby first, then sit us down and explain Rachel’s disappearance and now, recovery. I said I understood. I was quite, tired, stunned and needed to talk to Jimmy alone. I wanted to know if he had any secrets.  

Rachel Rachel Rachel Rachel was back in my life! It felt like the best day ever. She was my distant mirage that was now real. Kirby told me how proud he was of me – how I saved Jimmy and Sal. All that mattered to me was Rachel was back – sick but now better!  

Jimmy was shaken up. I could tell. I could always tell. Even though I began ignoring him this year, I knew what he was feeling and when. He always seemed to be fine. Tonight, was different. Even after his bath, he continued to shiver every occasionally. Julienne was quite sweet with him. And he allowed her to fuss.  Kirby was attentive as well. He didn’t run out to hide in the garage as usual. I saw Jimmy had quite a few scratches – bruised knees and elbows. I heard Jimmy tell Kirby I was crying in the sumps, but I don’t remember. It felt so good to get between clean sheets, my blanket pulled up to my chin.  

Jimmy was propped up in a sleeping bag next to me on the floor. Kirby had carried a TV into my room, so we could both watch and recover together. julienne was upset with Kirby for letting Jimmy crash here, but had no reason to tell him to go into his own room. For him to tell Kirby “no, I’m cool right here,” I knew that meant he was off his game. I was here. It was okay. For a change, he had to lean on me. For this moment. We were finally alone for the first time in a long time.  

“Jimmy. Do you ever think about momma or Arizona?” I asked in the darkness once the house was asleep. The light of the streetlamp was dim through my purple paisley curtains, but shed light on Jimmy’s perfect profile. My nose was crooked. 

“Yeh. Sometimes.” I was surprised he answered so quickly. “I miss those neighbors. That neighborhood. Where we played. She will always be there, in those memories.” he said, oh so wisely and beyond his years.  

“I do. I wish she was here tonight.” I didn’t realize I had felt that way until I spoke the words.  

“Me too” answered Jimmy.  

Back in Arizona, when momma was alive, Jimmy and I spent all our time together, until school separated us. I hated it. I hated being away from him. I felt it was unfair that he got to stay home with momma too. If I had pretended to be stupid, could I have stayed home and not have to learn math? Not leave momma’s side? 

Suddenly, I had a realization. Since Jimmy was not with me on the bus that day and I don’t remember seeing him when I was told about momma’s death, where was he? Where had he been?  

“Jimmy? What um, what do you remember about her?”  “I remember things that she said. Ways that she looked.”  

“I remember the way she smelled” I added.  

He became quiet. I felt a warm breeze on my face from the open window.

  

I waited for more.  

“You should know something. I knew about Rachel,” Jimmy said into the darkness.  

“You knew what about Rachel?” I heard my voice crack.  

“I knew. I knew this whole time. Since she left.”  

“YOU KNEW WHAT ABOUT RACHEL?” I said so loudly it caused Kirby to knock on my door.  

“Everyone okay?” he said as he opened the door.  

Someone had switched the lights on. It may have been me. I started to cry.  

Kirby sat down on the edge of my bed.  

“Jimmy – want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.  

“It was just…Rachel told me about her cancer…6 months ago…before she left. And I never told Janny.” he confessed to Kirby. 

“YOU BASTARD!” I screamed.  

“Yeh. That’s the other thing I need to tell you.”  

 

CHAPTER 11  

 

Janny 

 

Jimmy had lied to me. I didn’t buy the “I just didn’t tell you” routine.   Whatever he wanted to call it, I felt like he was a coward, who had been lying to me all these months. How dare he! He knew I blamed myself for Rachel leaving.  (How could it not be my fault somehow?) He figured, if I knew she was sick and not able to do anything about it, it would be worse? For who? Me? He was trying to protect me? From what? The truth?  

Kirby had a calming presence and sat there as Jimmy talked. He didn’t explain over him or try to patronize us. He just was there. There to catch us if we fell. Jimmy was falling.  

The only thing that saved Jimmy that night from me hating him forever was hearing his “big secret” of not being related to me by blood. Kirby did not appear shocked when Jimmy dropped this bombshell on us.  

“You know you were wanted by your father, James and mother, Claire, right?” Kirby said quietly when Jimmy was catching his breath from all his confessing: “You were loved.”  

Somehow, I knew Jimmy needed to hear this many times, throughout his lifetime. Was this something Jimmy knew? He was loved and wanted?  

Did I know, somehow, he was not my real twin? I remember hearing my mother talk to Kirby about Jimmy several times. It was hard for me to understand, only that there was a possibility Jimmy and I didn’t grow together in her womb.  

Because this information seemed familiar, I wanted to pretend I was hearing it for the first time and thus, being very brave for my brother (for Kirby’s approval). I would have to seem a little bit sorry for him. I was relieved to hear Jimmy had known all these years. We were together for a reason and no one really belonged to anyone in our family. This was perfectly normal. The three of us thrown together in a windstorm.  

When Rachel arrived on my doorstep the next afternoon ready to play with us, I had forgiven Jimmy for the time being. He and Kirby stayed up and kept talking but I fell asleep. He was still here. Rachel was back. The summer was salvageable after all. If I chose to look at my brother any differently after that, it was never for the reason he thought – that we were not connected through blood.  He betrayed me by not telling me about Rachel. We were still twins in my heart and mind. One day, I would realize, he was also betrayed.  

Rachel wasn’t sick at all. We took our bikes everywhere that summer. She told us stories about being in a bed for months, needles, throwing up, operations. I guess their family must have felt ashamed? Why else do we hide things?  

Julienne drove over to Rachel’s new (rental) home everyday to bring them fresh vegetables, cooked foods. She told me she felt terrible we hadn’t known all these months. Even though it wasn’t her fault, she felt badly she hadn’t been able to do anything for them. Julienne loved fiercely.  

I found myself avoiding julienne. We used to spend a lot of time together but not lately. I wasn’t sure why. julienne never mentioned anything about Jimmy “lying” to us about Rachel’s cancer. It didn’t affect her in any way I could tell.  Maybe it didn’t seem like a lie to her. Maybe she felt Jimmy was just being loyal to my friend: Honoring Rachel’s secret.  

  I realized we hadn’t seen one another after I passed her in the hallway on my way to my room. Rachel and Jimmy were still outside, but I had torn my pants (again) on a tree we had climbed earlier. I wasn’t a total klutz, but if something were to get broken, torn, stained, ruined, I may have had something to do with it. My lack of grace got more enhanced in my teens. I already was starting to develop, faster than any of my classmates and certainly Rachel. I had to wear a bra already (thankfully purchased by julienne) and sanitary napkins too for staining. Hair was growing in places. Julienne told me my mother was probably the same way. Hearing someone else talk about momma like that felt strange.  

  Julienne gave me permission to talk about momma. She seemed to know when I was thinking about momma and mention her. This is why julienne never seemed…real. Real things were taken from me.   

  “Baby girl, come here,” julienne said in the hallway as she reached out to me.  

  We hugged.  

  “I know. I miss you too. It’s really great all you’re doing for Rachel’s family. She really appreciates it. Me too!” I said.   

  It was nice having girls around. Kirby and Jimmy were a different species sometimes. Why didn’t either of them tell me SOONER about EVERYTHING they knew about Jimmy’s origin into our family? And the question I asked him regularly: Why did you think it was protecting me not to have told me about Rachel? Kirby and Jimmy- their job as the boys to protect me, I guess.  

I didn’t feel protected, just lied to.  

  “Why don’t we go to the flea market this Saturday? Just you and me? Leave everyone else at home.”  julienne was making a date with me.  

  “Sure. Let me talk to everyone first and see what’s going on. But sure.” I was sure. I guess.  

  Saturday came, and julienne woke me up early.  

  “Come on, Janny. I want to park in the shade.” julienne had scouted out many Ohio flea markets.  

  It was so early. Rachel was in the sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. She told me to go. GO!  

  I slid on my jeans, Kirby’s large t-shirt and tied an orange bandana around my head. Julienne handed me a piece of warm zucchini banana bread with cream cheese and honey, sprinkled with a little bit of cinnamon. 

  “We’ll eat in the car, okay?” she said smiling.  

  We got into her yellow VW Super Beetle (that had no heat in the winter) and drove off with the windows open. It felt good to hear the chirping of the engine, julienne singing along with Joni Mitchell. (She looked like Joni Mitchell!) We were away from Jimmy, Rachel and Kirby, just the two of us. The bread tasted so good.  

  We parked under one of four trees located in a giant unpaved parking lot, dotted with vendor booths and tables. It wasn’t crowded yet. We were early. There was absolutely no breeze and I had already started to sweat, my hair frizzing in front of my face. Julienne glistened.  

Wandering from booth to booth, we looked at blankets, scarves, birdhouses, honeys, baked goods, civil war memorabilia, photographs, ponchos, coins, pottery, goldfish. Pretty much everything.  

  Our first purchase of the day was at a coffee stand. We had iced tea and croissants. We sat on a small picnic table under an umbrella.  

  Julienne asked me about Jimmy. She wanted to know if I was mad at my mom for not telling me the truth about my non-twin? Acknowledging how much we had been through, she asked if Jimmy and I wondered why my mom pretended we were twins?  

Was it pretend? Was I mad at her? Didn’t we both really know for years and never mention it to anyone? Weren’t we pretending too? Did it even matter? 

  “I don’t know. What did Kirby tell you? Did she even have time to tell us?”  I responded. Janny coming to the emotional rescue of a dead woman, again. 

  Wasn’t I supposed to be mad at momma for killing herself? (That’s what the counselor in Arizona kept asking.) Why couldn’t I SAVE her? If I hadn’t had my twin, then I would have been alone too? An abandoned child to face all this loss?  Did I know and not care? Was not admitting the truth, a way to hold on? I was mad at myself for everything. I was probably the real reason Rachel went away. I was probably the reason momma died. NO ONE wanted me knowing about Jimmy and that was my fault. I was mad at the stupid world for getting my father killed. I was mad we had to leave Arizona and reminders of the desert and momma’s clay worn face. (How can I carry memories around without losing them over time?) I was mad Jimmy told me julienne was going away one day. (I was mad he was probably right.) I was mad at Kirby for not telling me something every day about momma. I was mad Sal got sick too. I was mad I had to be the one to get help. I was mad Rachel got sick. I was mad the summer was ending. I was mad I had to go into Junior High School without my best friend (Rachel lived in a different district now). I was SO mad at Jimmy for not telling me Rachel was going away. I was mad at him for never telling anyone anything – like I wasn’t his sister? Why didn’t we share that? I was mad at myself for not trusting my brother enough to tell him my doubts about our history. I was mad julienne was so perfect and I was the opposite. I was mad I had frizzy black hair and big thighs like my momma. I was mad I started my period this summer. I was mad Kirby was quiet all the time. I was mad Kirby wouldn’t get us a dog to keep Ms. Lucy company. I was mad julienne changed my cat’s name from “miss” to “Ms.” I was mad I had no momma for over 7 years. I was mad I didn’t know how to ever stop being mad.  

  I told this to julienne. All of it. It came out in shouts and sobs, her not caring about the stares from passerby’s. She just listened. When she thought I was done, she encouraged me to drink my (melted) ice tea. It was hot out and snot was dripping down my nose. The tea tasted good. julienne stroked the parts of my hair shooting out from the bottom of my scarf. She waited to make sure I had stopped speaking. The silence felt good.  

  “Little bear, you are a precious being. Always. Sometimes our gifts are not…easily revealed. You have unique gifts. It takes time. And trust me, one day you will know why you are here. And one day, you may stop being mad. For now, it makes sense you are this angry.”  

  Another person there at the right time, telling me the right things. I felt

 rescued. A flood, one last deep sob, flew out of me from a deep place.  

My shoulders shook, my ribs ached. I was taking short shallow breaths. 

 Julienne was rubbing my back now. Breathe, she said. Breathe, little one.   “Jimmy and Kirby didn’t tell you about having a different mother and father than you because, well, because they’re stupid.” 

  I laughed. This time the snot came shooting out of my nose.  

  “For real. Men don’t like saying things out loud, sometimes. It scares them.  It makes things too real. They are uncomfortable with darkness. They both loved your momma very much though. And you. And now, in the light, the darkness can go away. Yes?”  

  I nodded, trying to catch my breath, then hugged her.  

  “Good. Let’s go look at the vegetables now.”  

  We brought home interesting looking vegetables we didn’t grow in our garden and made food in a wok that night. It was delicious. The brown rice balanced on my chopstick tips reminded me of our family: Precarious before it entered my mouth, but one bite contained all the savory goodness.  

  No one talked about momma at dinner; or where Jimmy came from. Maybe none of it mattered anymore.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12 

 

Jimmy 

 

Ohio – Summer 1975 

 

  Janny, Rachel and I spent the rest of the short summer together. We talked about music, the girl’s poems, movies. They listened to me play guitar: I sang music by Stephen Stills, Lou Reed, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder – I learned to play what Kirby listened to. The girls forced me to listen to Carole King and Laura Nyro.  

I was relieved Janny now knew everything about our “twinness” and forgave me for not telling her about Rachel. She was an orphan just like me. I lost four parents, she lost two. We had each other.  

We went swimming, spent weekends at the lake with Rachel and her family, and Janny helped me with my paper route. (Girls weren’t allowed to have their own paper route.) We helped in the garden. We even played with my trucks and cars in the backyard, even though we were way too cool for all that childhood silliness. We ate candy all day, read MAD magazines and occasionally, got high together. Entering junior high school was formidable.  

  Janny and I weren’t in the same class until we came to Ohio. We both “tested” smart, and were put in advanced classes. Kirby suggested we begin junior high in the general academic program. Julie disagreed. Kirby felt we had too much pressure in our lives, but Julie thought we needed the challenge. We were still referred to as “the twins” and apparently still treated as if we were one mindset. I never talked about it with Janny, but I didn’t mind. Or care.  

  I felt less afraid, not realizing that seemed to be my normal state when we lived in Arizona. Without the weight of being my mother’s keeper, I felt free. I made friends easily and felt okay if Janny and I were apart. I no longer held the burden of worrying about my mother. Janny and I never really talked about her anymore. Her life or her death.  

Kirby told me what I already knew the night Rachel returned, the night  

Janny learned all the truths. He was sorry he never told us sooner we were “twins” from different mothers. He never thought it mattered. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t know that much information. He forgot about it since we came to Ohio. I was “taken in” by Janny’s birth parents around the same time she was born. Kirby was sorry he didn’t know more. Or so he said.  

  Janny and I formed a new connection but perhaps, due to the honesty and raw notion of it all, we lost something too. Janny felt betrayed by Rachel, then me.  

Janny didn’t know I blamed myself for Rachel’s absence. And it had nothing to do with her illness or keeping her secret. I had told Rachel my secret before my own sister. I thought it was TOO horrible – her parents had no choice but to escape the weird neighbors from next door. An orphan boy? The crazy army vet and his hippie girlfriend? Two kids living a lie as twins? Lost desert souls, unprepared for Ohio winters. The house, without a shiny new car in the driveway. The house with a sea of wild flowers (weeds) in our yard in comparison to the manicured sameness, greenness of our suburban neighbors. Sunflowers that were so huge they hung over our neighbor’s fences on all three sides.  

We were freaks and now everyone will know, I thought after the night of the play. I figured Rachel wouldn’t be able to look her best friend in the eyes anymore.  I didn’t mean for her to know I wasn’t related to anyone by blood- it casually came out even though I thought I had locked that piece of knowledge away deep. 

How did something “come up” that wasn’t even in my head? Is that how aliens get here? They don’t show up on radar and arrive without notice? Were we all abducted at one point? Is that what killed my mother?  

I was later to find out, my demons hadn’t even begun to emerge. But this summer, the last one Janny and I really hung out together until our trip at seventeen, was a  brief moment of liberation from an unacknowledged internal war; unrecognized  until the freedom is once again, lost. 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

  JANICE 

 

Ohio – 1980 

 

  By our senior year, Jimmy had practically dropped out of school. He started to drink, smoke too much (with Sal, whose epilepsy didn’t seem to stop him) and cut classes. I guess it started soon after julienne left. No one was around to monitor us anymore.  

  Jimmy had a job on weekends, working with Kirby at the shop. I was getting A’s, keeping the house clean and stocked, and staying sort-of-popular. Kirby did the laundry. I disapproved of Kirby and Jimmy’s smoking (of all kinds) but I felt content when the two of them came home at night, smelling of motor oil and tobacco.  

  Kirby dated a little after julienne left him (us), drank a little too much and stayed out more. He stopped being a mechanic for a while, sleeping to 3 PM, having breakfast while I was just getting home from school, leaving for another bartending job at 5, then volunteering at the firehouse for several overnights. But for the past couple of years, the three of us fell into a familiar pattern of domesticity. Kirby settled down again, before anyone else would notice Jimmy was following in Kirby’s bad habits. I missed eating dinner in front of the t.v. with Jimmy. At least his weekends with Kirby forced him to have a schedule. 

  One wet, cold fall Saturday, Jimmy brought home a friend from the garage.  

His name was Alan. He had a long mustache that grew all the way down his chin.  It was hard to tell where his sideburns ended, and his mustache began. He had long wavy brown hair, just under his ears. He smelled like cherry pipe tobacco from the slender brown cigar, he chewed in the side of his pouty mouth. He made my heart flutter. Not since seeing Rachel for the first time had I felt this way. I wanted Alan to touch me. I wanted to touch Alan. I wanted to feel his mustache on my skin.  I wanted to kiss him and not just practice kiss like Rachel and I had done – a real womanly kiss from deep within me. I wanted to be needed and I wanted to be wanted: did that make sense? I wanted Jimmy to disappear and leave us alone! Oh God, Jimmy, don’t introduce me as Janny!  

  I walked languidly through our kitchen while they sat drinking beers on stools by the black and white (peeling) vinyl covered center island. I imagined I was a character in one of my books du jour, which always involved an independent Victorian English woman whose family’s minimal expectations of her did not repress her irascible spirit. I casually retrieved a pop as elegantly and nonchalantly as Mrs. Dalloway arranging her flowers.  

  I needed someone to explain this desire this non-intellectual beast had on me, right out of a D.H. Lawrence novel. I needed a mother. Julienne wasn’t there anymore to explain love or boys or what herbs to grow for my cramps and make into tea. She was the one who used to be there. The one who kept promises and tried to bring out my memories of the desert and momma. I discovered how to make compresses for headaches with my second mom’s horticulture knowledge.  

No make-up tips (I had Rachel’s mother for lessons with hair spray, hair straightening, and lash contraptions.) But julienne was my steady woman, there if I had questions. I had zillions, but usually asked just enough so I wouldn’t burden her. I didn’t want her to leave too.  

Many of my questions were internal: Why did Rachel and her family deny me the truth at 11? Why did Jimmy not trust me with his secret? Why did momma kill herself? What is this massive desire and wetness in my loins? Will it ever be filled? Does Alan notice me? Did he just smile? He smiles at me but goes back to talking with Jimmy. I’ll be patient. Just like the characters in my books.   No suspense that Alan was my drunken first. I was just turning 17, he was 24. He was paying attention and did notice me. It began with flirting the few times he was over visiting Jimmy. We accidentally touched, a lot. We tried to hide our mutual attraction from Jimmy. 

  It was our birthday. Kirby wasn’t home and Alan, Jimmy and I were drinking tequila. Jimmy had just gotten a 1962 Mercedes coup and was celebrating. I wasn’t sure how he felt about our shared birth date anymore, but it was the day we became twins. Hopefully, that’s how he looked at it. Alan and Jimmy seemed to know how to drink tequila quite well. My only experience with alcohol was at Rachel’s Seders. Thick wine that made us giggle. Rachel’s mom even added soda water, but the wine was still rich! This was tequila in a clear bottle, not the dark bottle I would see the Indians drink out west. We used lemons. Salt. Shot glasses. Jimmy was making us laugh so hard we’re crying. Alan’s cute grin and silly teasing. Lots of deep laughter and tears. We talk and laugh into the night. Jimmy nods off. I am tongue kissing Alan. We are laughing again, drink more, taste it on his lips. Salt. Sweat. Sweet. Sour. I feel…womanly. He is touching my nipples through my sweater. There is a cough. Jimmy wakes up.  

We all run to get our coats because someone yells “snow!”. Wet sneakers leaping into a newly white landscape. We are rolling in snow. Wrapped mitten-hands around a bottle. No more lemons. Gulping and passing. I’m spinning. Falling in the snow, Alan on top of me. We are inside again. Someone makes hot chocolate.  Jimmy has vanished upstairs. Alan takes me to the front door, wraps his leather coat around my shoulders (what happened to my coat?), grabs momma’s crocheted blanket from the couch. We stumble to the side of the garage, under our childhood climbing willow tree and a row of pine trees silhouetted like a 2D mural. I feel so sick, but warm and happy and dizzy and touching and tongues again. I’m lying on the blanket but it’s cold and wet. The darkened willow branches above me look like a crazed woman’s hair. I am wrapped around Alan like twine. There is the smell of oil mixed with winter air. He smiles down at me, I think, and tells me to slow down. I am excited and there is pushing and skin and hands moving. I’m touching him. My pants are down. He is groaning. Or maybe that’s me. I start to feel sick. I turn to my side and am retching from deep in my gut. I’m on my back again, he’s wiping my hair out of my mouth but continues to fumble between  my legs. It’s starting to hurt. I try to say please just stop wait one minute but an arm is across my chest and my crotch is burning. I feel dry and scared and my desire is gone. I am in pain, he is moaning, pushing, everything is blurry from night tears snow sickness and I can feel his penis tear at me. My eyes roll back. I wake from what, passing out? What again? He’s pounding me. It hurts so much. I start to shiver and cry. I turn my head to the side. I hear laughing and he’s off me. Oh baby, I hear him say. Somehow, we are up, holding my pants and underwear, wet pine cone needles sticking my skin from the blanket wrapped around my waist.  Alan crashes onto the couch. I find my bed and fall into it. I think I just lost my virginity. I don’t want Jimmy ever finding out about this.  

  It’s barely light when I open my eyes again. I feel crusty everywhere: My mouth, eyes, vagina, armpits. I drop last night’s armor and throw on sweatpants and my tie-dyed t-shirt. I notice I am dirty and bleeding. I use a damp towel to clean up and have to wear a maxi-pad. It’s quiet downstairs, so I hurry back into my room, wishing I had a glass for water. I take out my diary. I wonder if everyone’s “first time” was like that, if I would look and feel differently now, if anyone (Rachel?) will be able to tell? I wonder what julienne or momma would have said to me?  

  I stayed in my room until I made sure Alan had left. I knew nothing would be said between him and Jimmy about me. Alan was a grown man, even though they acted like peers. I wondered if Alan had given me a thought before he left.  Alan. Sweet Alan. Our two shadows probably remaining under the eaves, beneath the trees, forever frozen now. My secret to keep.  

  Alan stopped coming around which was good because our only interaction was him winking at me before I disappeared. I bled for a long time after we had sex, but didn’t ask anyone if that was normal. It eventually stopped and we all went on with our lives. Soon, Jimmy would once again, not only know my secrets, but become protector of them.  

 

CHAPTER 14 

 

  Janny 

 

I knew enough to know that when my period didn’t come after New Year’s, or by Valentine’s Day, I was pregnant. Panic spread throughout my body, but I felt numb at the same time. I, of course, did not know it at the time, but the journey of this pregnancy, would forever change my relationship with my brother. I did not have a plan, until a serendipitous discovery about my father’s side of the family, came to light.  

  It was March, the ground still frozen. It was a quiet walk home from school.  

I was clutching a new sanitary napkin I kept in my winter jacket “hoping” …hoping for cramps to come. I wasn’t carrying any books. So unlike me. I decided then “I will tell Kirby to ask julienne to take me to the doctor.” The doctor in my head was a nice old man, finding me a wonderful home for unwed girls. I would be able to stay there, getting served breakfast in bed, getting fatter, until I gave birth and handed my beautiful dark-haired newborn to a loving mother and father.  Surrounded by flowers, Kirby and Jimmy would drive me home, cook me pancakes and be extra nice. All my friends at school would act like nothing happened, like I hadn’t gone but they were still really happy to see me.  

I got to the front of our sidewalk and, noticed both Jimmy and Kirby’s cars were in the driveway. I spotted a pussy willow struggling on a spindly twig. It looked soft in contrast to the harsh, gray environment surrounding me. I did not bound in the door as usual. I stopped at our entryway to look into the window of the house next door; the two story brick home of Rachel’s, before their family moved out. I remember how cold and dark and lonely I felt the day we arrived in  

Ohio. But, this block, this house; Rachel’s ghostlike warm figure smiling at me – a strange little girl with wild Brillo-y hair covered in dusty desert tears, lost in a new life – Rachel’s presence transformed me.  

Having this memory gives me a sudden peace. All my worries of pregnancy, anger from betrayals and sadness from losses lifted. From the top of my woolen beret and worn slouching shoulders to my high top sneakers, I shuttered with pure joy, faith and wonder. Holding my breath at the same time, I suddenly had all the answers by no longer having questions. It was freedom. Truth.  

When my consciousness returned, and thoughts began to invade, I laughed, thinking now I might discover twin carved soap dolls hidden in the crack of a dead oak tree, feeling like we all did when we read Scout open the door to reveal Boo Radley.  

   The clarity and awareness I had dissipated as soon as I entered the front door. I usually came in the back kitchen door to let in our cat. The cat was a new addition to the family. She appeared one day this winter and never left. We called it “Cat”. I knew I should never be a mother. Julienne had taken Ms. Lucy when she moved out two years ago.  

  “Hey Kiddo,” Kirby greeted. “Have a seat. Jimmy and I have something to show you.”  

  This was intriguing. I forgot about my important news. Jimmy slid down the couch and signaled me to sit beside him – that twinkle, that wink, patting the seat cushion. Kirby dragged a box, so it was between my and Jimmy’s feet. It was a regular sized box, like for a very large cowboy hat or a wrapped newborn baby.  Since it was open, I peeked in and saw letters and some books and some dusty 45s. Jimmy was not looking in it, so I surmised he had examined the contents before I walked in. Jimmy began to explain.  

  “So sis, here’s the deal. We, uh, well you, have living relatives.”  

  Did I mention Jimmy’s way of getting to the heart of matters? According to letters found in a water-damaged box, we…I had biological relatives. A strange discovery at a strange time. A loss leading to a discovery. My grandfather, who I never met, died during WW2 when my dad was an infant. His brother sent a letter to my mom when we were all still in Arizona. Daniel Kapinsky aka “Uncle Dan” was my father’s uncle. Our father. The father I have no memories of, no real stories, other than he died in Vietnam. I fully understand the two separate events of my father dying and Kirby arriving, but for years it coincided in my toddler brain as “after Kirby came, your daddy wasn’t your daddy anymore.”   

  Kirby knew about the letter, as he had read it ten years ago when it arrived, soon after momma died. He told us he “sorta forgot” about this box of assorted Arizona items as caring for your dead girlfriend’s kids, then moving across the country just got in the way (my take, anyway). The box was rediscovered this morning, ten years after it was first sealed, when Kirby’s waterbed had developed a leak, flooding all basement contents. The serendipity thing again.  

  Kirby and Jimmy had spent the entire day together going through that box:  each letter, each photo, each trinket, two warped records, and three canning jars full of prickly pear jam. I felt jealous and a little left out that the two of them were sharing memories of momma, and I was not a part of it.  I resented Kirby, but not Jimmy.  

Jimmy was my steady memory. My male blonde mirror, experiencing the same time, in the same space; providing the easiness, the knowingness, the steady voice of my conscious that followed me like a shadow, providing the joy.  Jimmy was my constant entertainment and truth-teller. I hope he never felt “less than” because he was my everything.  

Jimmy later told me, Kirby was patient with his questions that day.  Together, they had pieced together bits of information about a family we did not know existed. We lived day to day, so never had time nor inclination to wonder about this phantom notion of “other family”, especially since not one relative was at momma’s funeral.  

  “Don’t think I give two shits about the ‘family’ thing, but it would be cool to see if anyone knew our dad.” Jimmy confessed.  

  I was relieved and shocked to hear Jimmy still refer to them as “our parents”. This meant I wasn’t alone. Neither was he.  

  One week from when the box was opened in the living room of our Ohio home, Jimmy and I were on a bus heading to Missouri to visit our great aunt and uncle: Daniel and Esther Kapinsky. Kirby found their number as they were at the same address from ten years ago. They had known my father was killed, but reached out to my mom after hearing she and James had two children. (Two!) They wanted to desperately meet their great niece and great nephew.  

  Jimmy and I were on a bus with new knowledge: his knowledge of my pregnancy, our knowledge of new relatives – on a voyage to hear stories that perhaps, might help to define us. I wanted evidence of my mother’s existence other than from just us. Momma guiding us like Mother Mary.  

Jimmy found a clinic for me outside of Missouri. The plan was to have my abortion, rest a night, then visit our uncle. He brought $600 of his cash for the procedure. Kirby gave us a check also, money for a hotel stay. Kirby knew but julienne did not. I swore them both to secrecy. I was not in the mood for her  

nurturing and teas and concerns and her dike doctors and yoga and back rubs and flutey music – I just wanted this thing OUT. Over and out! Kirby was fairly nonchalant about my news, that afternoon of discoveries (Kirby’s stoicism drove Jimmy crazy sometimes), asking if I needed money, if I was okay, if I had wanted him to contact “the boy” …? 

The boy! Again, making my life into an arrangement! I yelled at Kirby (he often let me rant) reminding him how stupid he was! No wonder women leave him! Then I let it go. I saw what was coming next, but I said it anyway. I wanted to hurt him badly.  

  “YOU’RE THE REASON SHE KILLED HERSELF!”  

 I couldn’t take it back. It was too late. I gulped in sobs, staring and waiting for Kirby to respond. The smell of the mildewy basement contents made me sick to my stomach.  

  Kirby then did something remarkable. He stood up, opened his arms and reached out to me. I threw myself into his giant chest, feeling like I took my first good deep breath in years. He held me until I finished crying. Reaching into the box, he handed me an eagle feather.  

“You’re my tribe. I am your dad, forever.”

 

 

CHAPTER 15 

 

  Janny 

 

Somewhere-in-the-midwest – March 1981 

   

  Through the nauseating fog of bus smell and sweat and my constant need to pee, I managed to focus on how nice it was to spend time with Jimmy again. He let me go on and on about what book I was reading, including detailed plot and characters. He talked about his trade school and did great imitations of the people working at the deli. He never asked about Alan or what happened that night but did mention several times “this is the right thing for you”. I knew he wouldn’t bullshit me.  

  Jimmy fed me sandwiches (cheddar cheese, avocado slices and bean sprouts on pita bread) made by julienne who thought the trip was just to see an old aunt and uncle. Kirby had called and arranged our visit. It was during my Spring Break, so it was perfect timing, if I didn’t count being pregnant. I think Kirby also preferred not being there when I had the abortion. Knowing this intuitively about Kirby made me insist even more I did not want him (or julienne) around. Julienne kept to her word when she left Kirby- she would always be there for me and Jimmy. Always. This was no big deal.  

  The irony was not lost on me (probably due to my latest Jane Austen book) that I carried the potential Kapinsky bloodline: great-grand-nephew (or niece) inside of me. It was the first time I had internalized the word “pregnancy” as well. I did try to glimpse a future of very pregnant me, being fed brisket by two sweet loving old relatives (I tried to picture Rachel’s relatives) who would raise my baby and me, the four of us nestled in Missouri somewhere. Jimmy wasn’t even in this picture I imagined, nor was Rachel. Just me and my baby and two elderly strangers. I imagined sitting at an inlaid wooden desk, overlooking a vast garden of yellow roses, writing long letters each morning while the baby played in the crib besides me in the sunlight. 

  The rest stop finally came after a long day. I used the bus bathroom six times, so we moved to the back of the bus to make it easier on me. The smell seemed worse in the back. I felt I was suffocating in diesel fumes and cigarette smoke. I was looking forward to a donut and coffee. No tea (like in our thermos). I wanted a new magazine and a newspaper. I wanted a bathroom that maybe didn’t smell like homeless people and urine. I needed a coke too because I felt as if I could throw up any minute. We had to wait while the other passengers in the front retrieved their belongings from the upper rack. I desperately, needed to get off the bus. I had a sudden feeling of vertigo. I was already standing. 

Jimmy didn’t notice and grabbed my arm to lead me out of the seats down the aisle. We were carrying packs, one each, both in fatigue green. Jimmy was wearing Kirby’s old army shirt as a jacket, decorated with peace and a “go f*ck urself” buttons.  

  The bottom of my stomach heaved hard. I became clammy and weak-kneed.  

By then, we were at the front of the bus, about to step off. Jimmy sort of half caught me as I came down the few steps on Greyhound’s finest. The bus driver uttered “watch your step, Miss!” as I started to throw up the tea and trail mix and cheese sandwich. I managed to aim it into the gutter by the curb since I was no longer standing anyway. Jimmy took off my backpack, took out his handkerchief (Kirby’s military influence) to wipe my mouth. When he knew I was done vomiting, he handed me a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, our favorite. I was bent over. It began to hurt. Really hurt. Stabbing sickness like a bad toothache that wanted to rip out your insides. I thought I experienced gut wrenching pain when Rachel first left, but I also had my share of physical injuries over the years, as well. I was a tom-boy, and ultimately, had to keep up with my twin. Stitches, broken collarbone, knocked out front tooth – yet NOTHING had prepared me for this pain. I screamed “THIS IS NOT FAIR” as cramps ripped through my abdomen. I thought for a stupid moment “I’m going to have a baby” and felt a rush of adrenaline. Jimmy quickly guided us through the terminal, steering us towards the closest woman’s bathroom. I remember the sound of a loud fan, Jimmy saying “oh shit. I have no change” and his boots scraping on tile as he crawled into a paid stall. I hear a click and Jimmy is coming out the stall and leading me back in. 

  “What do you need first? Toilet or sink?”  

  I push him away, latch the door behind him, and start clawing at my pants. I hear “don’t worry – I’m right here” and for a moment, congratulate myself for thinking it’s funny wondering what the other bathroom patrons are thinking. There are screeching waves and waves of motion sickness and cramping. I’m cursing in my head, cursing Alan for doing this to me, cursing at Jimmy for not knowing my every mood or feeling instinctively. Get me a fucking wet towel, you jerk, realizing I had said that out loud. Jimmy did not bang on the door or get hysterical.  He just sighed and under the stall, handed me some wet brown paper towels and some dry ones.  

  He said, “I’ll be right back with a coke” and left the bathroom. I was alone in a bus station 15 cent toilet, unaware of what state we were in, crying from pain and, having a miscarriage (“spontaneous abortion”). It didn’t feel like this was a good omen for the beginning of a journey. Not at all.  

  We missed our bus. It drove away without us. Luckily, we had our backpacks with Jimmy’s camera – something he had taken up recently, but our luggage and his guitar were still on the bus to Missouri. I was in that bathroom for 3 hours and 45 minutes. During that time, Jimmy brought me a coke, two aspirin, and a comic book. Occasionally I heard him say “hi” and then a higher pitch “pardon me” as he sat on the floor outside my stall. There were at least ten separate stalls. He didn’t seem to mind nor explain to the sea of women coming in what he was doing. He read me things out of the newspaper, while handing me water and eventually, a clean t-shirt. It said, “Kansas City Rocks”. Jimmy washed out my underwear, drying it under the hand drier, sang softly while I flushed away an unwanted mess of bloody cells and bought me a Royals hat. He was told we could catch the next bus to our stop in Missouri and, a nice ticket agent called ahead to rescue our luggage. Jimmy was told: “It will be waiting for you, young man. Not to worry.”  

  After my bathroom fiasco, Jimmy and I were sitting on a horrible sticky metal bench, shivering, waiting for the next connecting bus, Jimmy turned to me with that glint in his eyes. That nod. That smile.  

  “Hey, sis. We have two extra days now before auntie and uncle expect us…and $600. Where do you really want to go? “  

  A side of my personality came out that seemed spontaneous and a little wild. 

It kind of scared me but I liked feeling a little dangerous. I had no one to take

 

care of, no one to worry about, no one to watch or judge or have to decide ‘who 

to be’ to satisfy someone. I was finding me. Yes, Jimmy! Let’s go somewhere! 

 

The Kapinsky’s weren’t expecting us right away- let’s do it, Jimmy! We’ll tend to 

 

our living relatives much later.  

 

  Jimmy and I dropped off the world for five days and for that time, never looked back. I felt purged. I was freed in a Greyhound station. I had my whole life in front of me and the weight of a lifetime’s guilt, anger, pain and emptiness had been released and seemingly vanished. I felt tired and crampy and weak and sweating and a little lonely but mostly, a sense of freedom. I was granting myself permission to let go.  

  It was time to visit our ancestral desert spirits- our mother’s home, once our home. We bought two tickets for Tucson. The dry clay of our youth called to us. Maybe we were listening to the sounds of ghosts. I hoped Kirby remembered to feed Cat. I pulled my new hat down over my eyes. I had three sanitary pads on. I felt like a toddler with a loaded diaper. We boarded the bus, unfettered. Returning to the desert for the first time in eleven years.   

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – 1981 

 

  We did the right thing and called our new-found relatives in Missouri to say we were to be “a few days late.”  Kirby was frantic however, as we hadn’t checked in to our Holiday Inn near the Kapinsky’s. Neither Jimmy nor I had bothered to call him. He had yet to find out I miscarried or that Jimmy and I were taking a 1000-mile detour. Kirby agonized for three days before calling the  

Kapinsky’s, wondering how to tell them their “wonderful niece and nephew” were AWOL. When Kirby found out we were arriving in “a day or two or three”, he asked the Kapinsky’s to “PLEASE HAVE THEM CALL HOME AS SOON AS YOU TALK TO THEM.” The Kapinsky’s were put off by this step-father’s tone and mistook his care and concern for abruptness and aggressiveness. He was worried sick.  

  Kirby learned to hide feelings a long time ago in order to survive. Jimmy and I, selfishly, never considered him or his feelings or that perhaps he needed to know our whereabouts. How could we be cruel to this steady rock? I don’t think Kirby imagined this life either, yet was there for us. We were focused on just us now, turning down a different road, which up until this point, had swept us in a landslide of loss and left us orphans. Kirby was still our “dad” and we failed him. I was not thinking then how to repay him. I was focused on my freedom.  

 

  Jimmy and I get off the bus in Tucson. The sun is high in the sky. We are both shocked by how dry it is, the sweat evaporating from our tight skin as soon as it appears. It is too bright and too hot outside the terminal. We have our packs but no other bags, rerouted to Missouri. The people coming into the station are brown and weather-worn.  

 

  a man laughs on the subway 

         his face cracks- & falls into pieces,  

         of spit scum and slime on the floor. 

         I look up but quickly turn away 

        I hope he didn’t see me 

 

  We decide to get a map and see if we can find the name of our elementary school as a landmark. We are not sure how to get there and don’t know how much a taxi will cost to take us. We look up our old neighbors in the phone book. Terry and George Latchett are still listed, along with the address. It begins to come back to me. The sun is warm on my face. A familiar smell fills me, every sense smiling from a place I thought had died: Laughing with my brother until dusk, chasing tumbleweeds, running into momma’s arms. Kirby’s face is the one I see in my head. Not momma’s. I thought momma would be everywhere, as she usually was.  I had to bleed, uncontrollably, in a mid-west bus station to rid myself of her ghost from my womb/mind. I had to destroy the life force inside me as she had destroyed her own, and mine in the process. Daughters and mothers, left behind lifeless.  

Jimmy the brave one, calls the Latchetts. Jimmy rolls his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear. Apparently, Mrs. Latchett is screeching and squealing by the likes of us. The twins had come home.  

  George Latchett comes to pick us up in his beat up beaverboard station wagon. Mrs. Latchett insisted.  

“What would Kirby or your dear mother say, bless her heart, if we were to leave you two to fend for yourself?”  

  Mrs. L. had always said “you can take the woman out of Kentucky, but you can’t take the Kentucky out of me!” I had the desert inside of me. I understood now what she meant.  

 It was just a 20-minute drive, not including the McDonald’s stop. Mr. L.  

said “you both just seem hungry.” He told us about the neighborhood, who had left and who had stayed. No one I remembered. He let us know our house was still there, rented by some “very nice young people which is nice to see, nowadays.”  

The land is endless taupe and orange flatland, dotted with random green and yellow from flowering cactus. Vast miles of dramatic cloud shadows, greeted by mesas that give no clue how far away they are. The horizon is infinite. Every other building heading out of town seems to be a realtor. Sun Vista Realty, Desert Sands Realty, Cactus Highway Realty, Golden Star Realty, Orange Plateau Realty. I replace “realty” with “reality” in my head. It fits.   

  Our old neighborhood is more spread out than I remember. I recognize the turn into our block. Our old house is across the street from the Latchetts, but it does not look familiar. It is painted white (not brown like I remember), a wooden fence now around it and a porch added to the front. Mrs. Latchett is an old lady now. Gray hair, yellow teeth. She is shocked by our growth as well.  

  “I just can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!” was her reaction to seeing us.  

  There were no silences while we all ate her homemade cherry pie. Jimmy told them about Ohio: his music, the engine he and Kirby were working on, my poetry (I was honored he mentioned it!). Mrs. L. asked if 

Kirby “that poor man” had remarried. Jimmy looked at me and together we said “no, not really.”  

“Oh, look at that, George! The twins speaking together again!” Mrs. L.  laughed. “Yes, you two have always been quite a pair! Finishing each other’s sentences, singing the same song but be in different rooms, drawing similar pictures, liking the same food. It’s uncanny y’alls connection. Uncanny!”  

It feels incredible to have a looking glass to our past. Kirby held onto the secret of Jimmy, the shame of momma – so pre-Ohio was just not ever a part of our conversations. Besides the trinkets of momma’s, we received our first Christmas in Ohio, the “story of the twins” had vanished with the death of Momma. It didn’t seem to bother Jimmy. The Latchetts memories of us felt precious. 

  It is wonderful to hear stories about neighborhood Christmas parties and the other children we had played with 11 years ago. Mrs. L. said it was a shame when our poppa was killed “in that war” but what a nice man Kirby was and how grateful we should be to have him. We learned others saw momma’s sadness too.  People were keeping an eye on us. Mr. and Mrs. Latchett never had children so they acted as our grandparents. They were sorry they lost touch after we moved.  Kirby had never written to them. We avoided talking about “that day” which changed everything. We talked around it. Mrs. L. asks us to spend the night. She hands me a bottle of Tylenol after I come back from washing up. She said she saw me grab onto my “tummy” and that she “remembered those cramps well.”  

  Jimmy and I decide to visit our old house. It’s a beautiful morning.  

After a lovely cup of tea, Mrs. L. writes down the names of the family living there, writing out the address too for some reason. Older people were…thorough. She gives us some “nice muffins” to take over. I only had to change my sanitary napkin twice that night, so I finally feel rested. Weak but rested. The Latchett’s house smells like vanilla, mothballs and Kmart musk.  They insist on keeping air- conditioners in every room to “keep the desert dust out”. Mrs. L., our savior southern lady reminds me of Rachel’s mom, the love was the same. I began to realize, I do have amazing woman role models in my life: Teachers that cared, neighbors that cared, my julienne, Rachel. I wasn’t as motherless as I had previously imagined. I had no real demons. Why then, was I afraid of facing the memories that waited for us across the street?  

  While we had tea, I ask Jimmy “what do we say when we knock on their door? What if they say no?” Maybe I jump ahead of myself sometimes. 

  “Well, we say ‘hi, we lived here, and our mother killed herself in your living room – may we come in?’ and then hand them muffins.”  

  All four of us burst out laughing; Mrs. L. despite the maudlin reference.

  “You idiot” though I am still laughing. “Yeh, let’s lead with that. You go first.” 

  “No sis, don’t panic. I be so nice. But first I finish this cereal, yes?”    My brother was always so charming, fake accents and all.   

  “Let me ask them. Or you. It doesn’t matter.” I was getting nervous.   What if I felt nothing over there? What was I looking for? Was this trip really a good idea? I just lost part of my insides!  

  I call Jimmy into the back guest room where I am staying. I thought we needed some privacy away from the Latchetts before seeing our old home. We sit next to each other on the frilly, flowery decorated single white wrought iron bed.  

  “Seriously,” I say to him. “All this time. All this way. Here we are.”  

  We don’t touch but I feel his breath. He isn’t looking at me when I speak.  

 “You told me things, all these years, things I wanted to hear. Maybe thought I needed to hear? I appreciate that! I appreciate you! You know that with all your heart, right?”  

  I love my brother so much. He saves me all the time. Sometimes just by being there, with the knowledge of someone else authenticating your every experience. It is real. This is happening. I am not crazy. As long as we hold onto each other, we will be okay. We will continue to survive and never have to accept the path given to us by our mother. We can create our own fate.  

  Jimmy told me over and over, momma was his momma. He said he didn’t care who gave birth to him – or who didn’t raise him. Still, I wondered how angry was he with momma? Was he angry with her? I asked again during the bus ride and he answered, “how can I be angry at a person who wasn’t well?”  

  Where was Jimmy…the day momma died? Did I get off the bus alone?  

I think I remember holding his hand? What did Kirby do when he found her

body?  Was he home with her? Did she leave a note? (Why hadn’t I ever asked 

Kirby?) I remembered cars and officers. Awhile back, I berated Kirby with 

questions about Jimmy, but he provided little information. Jimmy and I were 

forced to have counseling at school, but we just talked about the “afters”. Kind of 

the what ifs. But never the day of – because it wasn’t relevant. Now, it felt 

relevant. We had chased down our ghosts.  

  I need to hear Jimmy’s thoughts. My job was to remind him of who he was, not the one hiding behind all the bullshit and charm. Did he have questions about who he was, like me? Would knowing somehow justify our existence?  

Without it, were we no longer valid?  

Did our worth cease by not knowing your roots? Did we cease to exist when my mother chose to die? As I rolled around my fantasies over the years of where Jimmy came from, I never separated his connection from my own. We were alone, together. It didn’t matter. Children without their parents. We came, they left.  Hold on to each other, my dear brother. Guidance is obtuse and fleeting. Random parenting replaced both our beginnings. Kirby becoming our parent was random.  Kirby was seemingly there at the beginning – part of our forever memories. I needed to have those memories back and hoped to find them across the street. I realized I was mad at Kirby. He took us from here. He took away both our parents.  I’m supposed to believe Mrs. L., and think of him as some kind of hero just for being there for us? Wasn’t that the decent thing to do? He didn’t hold on to julienne. There had to be something wrong with him. I went to him all the time for things, but had been feeling lately “yeh, big deal, the man is doing his job.” Should I hold up a flag too?  

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Janny.” Did I expect any other response from him?  

  “Jimmy. Please?” was all I was going to say for a while.  

  “Okay. It sucks, but doesn’t suck we’re here.” He sums it up exactly right. “It’s amazing to me how far you were able to come in your condition.”  There’s that Jimmy smile. “Other than that, I don’t know what you need to hear.  

By asking me to respond means you have expectations. I’m floundering too.”   Too smart for his own good. I try another approach.  

  “Okay. Do. You. Have. Anything. You. Need…WANT. To. Tell. Me? Talk about it, Honey bunny?” I liked playing with my twin.  

  “Nope. I’m good.”  

  “Jimmy, you know your problem? You have too many heroes’ in your life.  Me. Kirby. Momma. Maybe you trust too much.” I sound exactly like him right now, sarcastic and mean. It wasn’t lost on him.  

  “No need for the cynical you.” He finally puts his arm around me. “We’re both here. That is the miracle, eh? You’re the one rooting for the world, Janny. I am just here for the ride. Sometimes, things just happen when they’re supposed to?  I don’t mean our mother offing herself. That was tragic. But we survived. We tried to get her to survive, but we just couldn’t.”  

  I interrupt him. “What do you mean ‘we tried to make her survive’?”  

  He removes his arm and stands up. “You know, us being us. Being there.  

Being her ‘precious children’ and shit.”  

  “You mean giving two shits and caring about what happens to us?” I added, thinking I understood now.  

  We had never talked about our mother this way before. “Disrespectful” is what Kirby would say. Saying it out loud felt good.  

  “Yup. Exactly like that. They told us it wasn’t us. But because she didn’t consider us, is that supposed to make us feel better?” he said uncharacteristically loud. “So let’s go deliver some muffins!”  

  Now you see him. Now you don’t. My amazing disappearing brother. A real emotion rears up and he uses the bait and switch- sleight of hand. Never see it coming. I do. I just can’t stop him.  

  Because I was sick of focusing on my uterus, I desperately wanted some happy memories back. I was sick of this representing our dark past. Where Jimmy “came from” (what the hell did that even mean?) was a piece of cake compared to dead parents: one from suicide. Trump that.  

  I follow my brother out the door. It’s strikingly hot outside. Mrs. L. must have the A/C set at freezing. The sun blazes against our faces and it’s not even noon.

  

 

 

                                                     

 

CHAPTER 17

 

Janny 

 

  Yesterday, when we arrived, I failed to notice the soft raised elevations of the immediate landscape. Now, walking out into the sun, a familiar feeling goes through me. No lost space or time. Everything happening at once, as Vonnegut had imagined. A non-linear universe teaching us to pay attention. All things follow one another: Smoothly or roughly, but all leading to a place where truths are revealed.  

Is there a point to finding out our past? Or a point to trying to map out a future? Do we think there are answers in our past that drives us to our tomorrows?  I surmise: we will never know. We will never get “there”- and that is the ruse played. Answers are not answers. Answers are words still playing on the streets, chasing fireflies at night and listening for the ice cream truck. It is strumming sounds of momma’s voice and flute-like magic from a carved, wooden instrument.  Gardenias and night blooming flowers paint our skies as smell is our sight in the darkness. Only now exists. Nothing else. A vortex of randomness, names we give things, actions and people to pretend we have control over our fate. Perhaps being here is the secret to relinquishing all control or at least recognizing we have no control. Acceptance? What state was that in?  

  The screen door is locked so Jimmy is unable to knock on our old, wooden door. No doorbell. He bangs on the outside screened frame. The aluminum rattles enough that the inside door is opened. A young woman, perhaps 20, is holding a child. She smiles and kindly asks us “Yes?”  

  Jimmy simply states, “we used to live here.” I am surprised he is so curt.  Stunned. No small talk, smile or here’s some muffins. His usual animation has left him. I had witnessed this one other time – in the sumps as he was looking at Sal having a seizure. My brother is the one who responds to things, acts on things, takes care of things. I am the opposite. I am the one to think things through; looking at all sides before I attempted to act on something. Until that one-time in the sumps.  

  “Oh. Okay.” The woman looks harried yet trying to remain friendly. She seems unclear what we want and did not want to guess, is my observation. I speak up.  

  “I’m Janice. This is James. Cutest baby! What’s his name? We came here to visit the Latchetts across the street? Who baked these for you, by the way. We’re from Ohio. We just wanted to see what we remembered about this house. We lived here over ten years ago.”  

  “How special!” she responds. “Would you like to see your old place? Please excuse the mess. I’m Tina. This little one is Cody.”  

  I enter first, placing the muffins I had retrieved from a paralyzed Jimmy and set them on the kitchen counter, an arm’s reach from the front entry. It was the same countertop. Fake, bleached wood. I used to see faces in the manmade grain patterns. The counter is chipped and stained. To the right is the living room, littered with a playpen, lots of plastic toys and stuffed animals. The furniture is a matching rattan set: couch, 2 chairs, and a coffee table. Fake plants are in every corner and the biggest one in front of the window. Flowery curtains cover the front window. It looks strange without Venetian blinds. Smaller and cozier.  

Besides the kitchen cabinets and counter, nothing seemed familiar. No smells. No twin fingerprints or wall drawings. Different floors, walls and furniture.  No sign of momma.  

  I realize Jimmy is still standing at the front door. There is a one room A/C unit that is working hard with the heat pouring in. Tina is still holding her baby, waiting for Jimmy to come in. Neither one of us is going to yell at him to close the door. Placing the baby in the playpen, Tina tells us “we didn’t move in too long ago ourselves.” I guess she thinks we are here, looking for mementos or there to claim some item? 

  “We lived here, my brother and I, for almost six years. We grew up here.  Our room was the small one off your kitchen” as I pointed to a closed door. We are told that it was now a pantry. I see the addition of a back porch from down the hallway which once lead to a wall, now a sliding glass door.  

  “Jimmy, you coming in or what?” I finally have to say something as Tina I notice, is getting nervous about her open door. A portal to an outdoor furnace.  

  “No.” Jimmy surprised me by answering. No? I think, that’s why we’re here!  

  I go the few steps to the door to pull Jimmy in and close the damn front door. Or let’s leave, I don’t care. Jimmy is pale, drenched in sweat. He still hasn’t moved from the spot as when we arrived. I see he is shaking – clammy, sweaty yet shivering. He starts to sway. I yell “thanks Tina!” even though the foyer was part of the room she was in. I grab Jimmy’s wrist to spin him around and get him across the street to the Latchetts. Without meaning to, I slam the front door of our old house. This sound makes Jimmy cry out. A deep, guttural sob/scream that makes me jump. I remember hearing that sound one other time – from momma when she heard our daddy had died in the war. I am remembering. After momma had made that sound, she never came back to us. The sound meant I was about to lose someone. I heard Tina’s baby start to wail. Shit, Tina. Want to trade lives?   Jimmy continues to moan but allows me to pull him, lead him. He offers no resistance. He knees are buckling. The two of us landing on the hot pavement was unappealing so I use all my strength to hold him up. He had stopped making that horrible sound but was now mottled with red welts across his pale white face. With his blonde hair in the bright Arizona sun, his green eyes almost translucent, he looks like an albino.  

  Mrs. Latchett comes running out her front door. I was sure she had a front row seat to our attempted visit, a la Gladys Kravitz.  

  “Oh, my sweet dears! Whatever is going on! Oh my sweets!” she cries out.   I am out of breath and starting to tear up. The cramping in my abdomen grabs hold of me like someone tying a giant knot. Before I know what’s happening, Mr. Latchett takes Jimmy and lays him down on the couch. Mrs.  Latchett sits me down at the kitchen table with Tylenol and a cold glass of lemonade. There is already a cold compress on Jimmy’s forehead. Mr. Latchett gets on the phone with a doctor or hospital or police. I can’t tell. These two old people move quickly when they have to. I follow Mrs. Latchett into the living room. Their house was not an open floor plan like the one across the street.  

 “Jimmy? Can you speak? Honey, can you tell us what happened?” asks our hostess. Jimmy shakes his head back and forth. Good. He’s alive. 

“No, you can’t tell us what happened or no, you can’t speak?”  

 

That Mrs. Latchett is funny. I must remember to mention it later to  

Jimmy. This was going to go on for a while if I didn’t say something. I sit on the floor next to the couch, placing my left hand on my brother’s heart.  

 “You okay?” another ridiculous question only this time from me. Of course he’s not okay. 

  “I…will…be…I got so…dizzy…” Jimmy has his hand over the compress.   Mr. Latchett gets off the phone and announces to his wife: “we’ll keep an eye on him. He didn’t pass out, he’s breathing regularly. He’s not in shock.  

His heart rate is good.”  

  “Good. I’ll go get lunch ready. Maybe it was just the heat.” Mrs. Latchett says as she leads her husband into the kitchen.  

  Now that we’re alone, I ask Jimmy to please try and tell me what happened?  Please? I beg. Tears fell from his closed eyes. I have never seen him this vulnerable and exposed before. I wonder if I should call Kirby. Jimmy was starting to freak me out.  

  “I am so sorry, sis. So sorry.” He is crying quietly, but still crying. His eyes stay shut. I have never seen him cry before. I don’t remember momma’s funeral, but I wonder if he cried then? 

  “For what? What could you possibly be sorry about? I forgave you for keeping the Rachel secret – it feels like a bazillion years ago…I FORGAVE you for not telling me sooner about you having another mother, but we were kids,  

Jimmy. YOU didn’t invent the twin story. Besides, you know I LOVE being your twin, right?” I was rambling which I did when I was anxious. I had trouble listening to people. I wondered how I did so well in school. How I will do in college. I wonder what kind of mother I will be?  

  “For fucking up everything” he states.  

This was not the Jimmy I knew. He was confident. Light. Easy. Was able to dust things away with a flick of his hand. Blaming himself? Not his style. He gulped in a deep breath from a sob.  

  “What did you supposedly fuck up? And WHAT HAPPENED?” 

  Had we not already asked that? Does he remember the scream? Did he see something that scared him?  

“I could have saved our mother, Janny. I could have saved her,” he finally answers.  

  This time I am silent.  

  “I saw the walls, Janny. Not the floor or the new curtains or the furniture. I saw the walls.” He continues. “I was there. Did you know I was there? When she did it, Janny? When she decided to fucking kill herself? I was there.”  

He throws the compress across the room. I put my hand to my mouth.  

  “If I had only called out to her? Needed her. Checked in on her. Cared where she was. Stayed in to watch t.v. Go to school like a normal person so she had to come pick me up? I should have been the one to save her. It was my job.” His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.  

  The Latchetts have gorgeous wooden beams stretching from wall to wall,  and a huge side bay window, facing her fruit trees. Rows of plants: cactus, and succulents. It made the light appear golden green instead of desert red.  Soothing. We are both being bathed in sun rays now. Color had returned to Jimmy’s face. The blotchiness on his pale skin is almost gone.  

  I had felt those things Jimmy was talking about. Thousands of times. All the  

“what ifs” of that day. So many days, like now. What am I supposed to do with this? What will I regret about this moment in the future? How did I not realize  

Jimmy was there? Jimmy was with our momma. He knew before me. Maybe he could have saved her?  

  “Jimmy? Did you find the…her…body?”  

  “I told you. I was there.” This made me start to cry. I was thankful Mrs.  Latchett wasn’t bringing in food. I suspect these two sweet people are giving us our privacy.  

 “I. Was. There.” Jimmy emphasizes again. “I was outside playing, came in and found her.” There is silence for a long time. I hear a clock ticking. Finally, he continues.  

  “She didn’t look like our mother. I didn’t believe it for a long time. I thought our mother would come back, eventually.”  

  Me too.  

  “So, you weren’t there? But you found her?” I repeat to be clear. “So you weren’t there?”  

  I don’t think Jimmy ever made that distinction before. If she had committed the act without his actual presence, perhaps he could cross off one of his self-blaming items? Small point, I realize. And of little solace. We were both in desperate need of consolation and relief. We’ve carried this across the country too many times now. Maybe we can leave the guilt behind this time. Watch it float down the street like a tumbleweed. 

  “I hadn’t checked in with her all day. I usually did that when I was home and you were in school. I stayed outside too long. I was having too much fun playing.”  

“Don’t you see how ridiculous it is to blame a little kid for being outside, playing? God, even the adults around here were clueless! How were you supposed to figure her out…figure ANYTHING out? We were babies, practically.” 

Saying that for the first time, I believe it with all my heart.  

 “Jimmy, if anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I am so sorry you had to be the one to find her. Pretty sucky, huh?” I am trying to get him to laugh this time. It works.  

  “Yeh. Pretty sucky. I remember now too. I remember what happened.” 

He stares off again, this time towards the sun coming in through the window.  

“I didn’t see her really. I saw a shadow. The broken blind on the wall next to our window first. I remember thinking ‘why is our blind broken?’ but thought the shadow was so unusual. I thought of you then, sis, how you would’ve said the shadow ‘was pretty and looked like a horse’ cause it kinda did. We had wood paneling. Do you remember? The living room was dark. Things didn’t reflect off it like a regular white wall, ya’ know? I noticed that though. Then our mother. Just a lump. Not looking real. The blind was on top of her. She had yanked it down when she kicked the chair away, but it held up pretty good if you ask me. Maybe she was laying there for a while, alive? But unable to get the cord off her neck?  Maybe if I had been home sooner?” 

He stops to reach over and get a sip of water from his glass. Or maybe it’s lemonade. Neither of us is crying now. I think we’re numb.  

  “The rooms in our old house. The walls. They’re white now, right?”  

I nodded. I guess. Sure. Who notices walls?  

  He continues. “I saw the same shadow.”  

  “Just now, you mean?” I ask. He freaked out standing there and now I knew why.  

 “First thing I saw. The same shadow. I didn’t even know I even knew that, ya’ know? “  

  Yes, of course I know. How much is revealed to us by our psyche?  How much does our survival depend on not knowing certain things about ourselves? What if all truth was shown to us at once- our species would perish? We require a soft sell to life.  

  “I really miss her.” Jimmy says. “So sorry about the freak out.”  

  “We both need to freak out about this. Did…did you notice anything weird about her in the morning? Like, was momma extra sad? Or did she say anything?”  

I was not sure if this was cruel asking him, but I wanted to know if she was thinking of me. Did she mention me to my brother? Did she worry about me getting Valentine’s cards? Was she wondering what kind of day I was having?  Who did Jimmy call out to first? What did he do after he found her? He carried this around for 11 years and now, we were sharing it. Details were important.  

  “I don’t even remember seeing her at all. I think she was in bed. I was a little worried, but I wanted to go play. You do blame me.”  

  “How can I? You did nothing! You couldn’t have done anything! Postpone her inevitable? So while we’re driving, she decides to drive us all over a bridge?  Into a canyon?” I am amazed by how wise I feel. It makes me happy to get another laugh out of Jimmy too.  

  “Then we came what we were looking for, Janny. Answers about her death.  

I think we got them.” 

  Just in time, the Latchetts come in with sandwiches on trays and two pieces of Mrs. Latchett’s cherry pie. I find out Mrs. Latchett was the one to hear Jimmy cry out that day and call the police, then Kirby. Our saviors again. All the pieces were now in place.  

When we arrive in Missouri two days later to meet our father’s aunt and uncle, more pieces of our life were to be uncovered.  

 

      

   CHAPTER 18

 

      Jimmy 

 

1970 – Tucson 

 

  All night before Valentine’s Day, Janny was running back and forth between the kitchen table and our bedroom. We shared a small room off the kitchen that was once an old panty. Our beds fit snugly in separate corners with room for a tray table to hold a lamp. Janny had cardboard pieces, scissors, glue and magic markers spread out across the kitchen table.  

  I don’t remember what my mother was doing. I thought how much she would’ve loved to help my sister, as she was the one to do arts and crafts with us on the “good” days. We made birdhouses, jam, Christmas ornaments, musical instruments – the good days were fewer now.  

  Janny didn’t seem to notice me much anymore. She had already breezed through kindergarten. On the 2nd day of public school, she began reading the roll call on the teacher’s desk, out loud to the class just as the teacher was walking in.  

Janny ran back to her seat. 

  “Janice, please come up here.”  

  “Yes, Mrs. Hammer?” 

  “Janice, please continue taking attendance.” 

  Soon after, a meeting was held with the principal and my mother and the teachers to decide if Janny’s best use time should be spent coloring, pasting and outlining letters. She was placed into first grade on day three. 

  I had never been away from my sister before. All of sudden, she was letting go of my hand (she sat with me on the bus going there) and marching up the hallway to her classroom. It was hard being away from her. The world became smaller. I felt like the girl in the story, Alice, who falls into another world. I guess I was spending much of my first days in school not participating in class activities.  

The teacher, kindly but firmly, had to remind me to pick up my crayon, please.  James, pick up your scissors, please. James, pick up your paste, please. James, pick up the paper, please. James, please pick up your workbook. James, pay attention.  

  A meeting was quickly held between the principal, my mother and Mrs.  

Hammer to decide, at my mother’s insistence, that I attend school part time. Three days per week and only until lunch time. My mother would have to pick me up early those three days.  

  Pre-Valentine’s eve, my sister stayed in her own frantic-prep-event-place while I wondered what it would be like if I was getting all that attention. I imagined waking up to a giant card (my first) on my bedside tray with some candy hearts. I don’t think we were doing anything in my classroom. I think tomorrow was my day off anyway.  

  Morning came. I was up first as usual. There was nothing leaning on my lamp. On the kitchen table was a stack of homemade cards with my mother’s giant bag on the chair. I went into the small living room, made smaller by giant wooden beams across the ceiling, and took out my matchbox cars. 

  “Keep an eye on your mom today, Kiddo. Janny, let’s get going if you don’t want to take the bus today,” said Kirby.  

  Mom wouldn’t be up for hours. I think I remember Kirby bringing her in a cup of coffee. She usually was up in time to get me lunch.  

  Mornings, I was home, and when my mother and I were not making jam or outside exploring, I was on my own. I knew the tone of the day before I opened my eyes. I grabbed my jacket, a piece of fruit and checked on her before I left the house, after Kirby and Janny had left. Her room seemed darker today. I touched her forehead. It was cool, but damp.  

  “Bye, ma,” I said before I closed the door.  

  The school counselor said it was good I don’t remember what happened. It didn’t play in my head like a movie, as they had warned Kirby. There were just a few snapshots. A broken window blind, an overturned chair, my mother’s pinky finger bent up, looking delicate, fragile and out of place. Her hair covering the floor like a black puddle.  

  I don’t know how long I was outside that day. It was after lunch but before the bus came down the street carrying my sister. I spent the morning playing with my trucks in the dirt. I may have wandered down the street. I know I ran into the street after I found my mother. My head was down when I came in through the door, trying to wipe dust off my trousers.  

  The snapshots begin.  

  I scream and run into the street. Mrs. Page is outside, getting into her car.  She drops her purse and keys and runs over to me. I keep screaming. Other grown- ups arrive. Other legs are around me. I stop screaming. Someone has their arms over my shoulder. I am wiping snot onto my jacket sleeve. I am sitting at a Formica table. It feels cool to my palms. I grip my legs to my chest and I start to rock, curled onto the chair like an unopened flower bud. I am shaking. I feel cold. On cue, Mrs. Latchett is there giving me a cup of cocoa. I sip. It is exactly the right temperature. I am not shaking anymore. I can hear lots of whispers and a soap opera on in the background. Kirby is there. 

He runs over to me and picks me up in his arms. Only my dad had done that.  We are rocking. I feel calm. I am no longer crying. My shoulders hurt. The taste of chocolate and cinnamon are fresh in my mouth. I am staring down at the floor pattern that matches Mrs. Latchett’s table and counters. I smile at their little dog, Ginger. Ginger is my color, fair and blonde. I laugh when Ginger snorts on my pants. I wonder when Janny will be home. I wonder how her Valentines went at school. I wonder if she got the most Valentines because I just bet she did. I will be sure to ask her all about it tonight at dinner. I wonder where we will have dinner? I know Kirby won’t let anything bad happen to us. I can hear my mother telling me that once.  

  I think I always knew we would not have her forever. Forever was too long for her. Forever was for people like me and Janny.  

  I remember Janny getting off the bus down the street. It’s almost like her face registered the knowledge it didn’t yet have. Years of our mother’s sadness painted across her face in the winter’s lowlight, long shadows formed from street lamps, indistinguishable now from the saguaros long reaching arms. A shadow was about to follow us, across all space and time.  

  I don’t think Janny cried or screamed. She was swept up in our caring neighbor’s arms. I don’t remember our first night together – or how soon after. We stayed at various people’s houses, not always in the same room or even the same house. We were fed, taken out for ice cream. We went to a petting farm. It felt like the world had dropped on us – laden with sadness and loss. We were told not to go near our house. We didn’t even glance in that direction. Maybe our mother was still in there. If she wasn’t, where was she?  

  The psychologist had us do drawings. He showed us stuffed animals, who were dealing with losing their parents in a hunter’s trap and asked us to imagine what they were feeling. I admired the backstory. We did puzzles.  

  Dr. Kenny told us it was “okay to feel angry” and suggested ways Kirby (who only attended one session with us) could help us “express ourselves.” Kirby didn’t say much, nodded, smiled with a closed mouth, eyes distant, unable to sit still without having to look out the window, down at his watch or look up at the door. He thanked the doctor.   

  We were about to return to school after a month’s absence. We stayed with the Latchetts for a few weeks while Kirby “had things to take care of” and the twins were in the way. Mrs. Latchett had picked up our missed work and tutored us. She quickly learned I was a reader as well. I was able to complete all of Janny’s second grade work with ease. While the three of us were playing Old Maid, Kirby came to get us. It was early for him. It was still daylight. We hadn’t eaten our t.v.  dinners yet.  

“Kirby! What a lovely surprise! Y’all get in here and have something to eat!” said Mrs. Latchett too loudly.  

  “Thank you. No, I mean. Thanks so much for watching the twins. 

 

It’s time we all get back to…it.”  

 

Kirby poked his head into the den where we were playing cards and announced it was time to go and was already headed out the door. He had to duck to enter doorways. Janny and I gathered our knapsacks, and gave Mrs. Latchett a giant hug. She gathered us in to her like we were a part of her. I’ll remember her smell forever.  

  While Kirby was unlocking the door, letting in our very confused cat, Mrs.  Lucy, then carrying the garbage cans down the driveway, we went into our bedroom. It felt so small. The house felt smaller. I was not sure when we were last here. I realized it echoed because there were no curtains or anything on the front window. The ceiling seemed higher. but it took me days (weeks?) to notice the fake wooden beams were gone! The rug was even gone. The only thing that remained in our tiny front room was a wooden cabinet Kirby had made, filled with my mother’s many teapots. There was an unfamiliar red rocking chair in place of another chair.  

I felt like I was in one of Janny’s books- the character soon discovers the secret chamber hidden beneath the floorboards. Tunnels and stairs and green pathways leading to a majestic meadow filled with roaming herds of animals. 

A place far away from the ugly rocking chair that was merely a prop for a life untold.  

  I hadn’t seen Kirby come in, but all three of us were there, together, unmoved, standing quietly. I closed my eyes and became a falcon soaring across a field.  

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Kirby took a seat at the same kitchen table. The chairs were old and taped together in spots. Janny and I sat down and faced him.  

  “Here’s the deal.” Kirby took both our hands in his across the table as he spoke softly. “I love you. I will always love you. Got that? What your mom did was…I don’t know what it was. I just know how it feels. It feels really, really shitty.” 

    Janny and I both started giggling. Kirby smiled with his teeth.  

  “We are going to get through this…thing…together. I am your dad. I will be here as your dad. I will be whatever you need me to be. Got it?” 

  I never doubted him. Or us. Us three. Throughout the years, we talked about things my mother did while she was still alive, but we never talked about the day she killed herself. Or why. (All the adults kept telling us it didn’t matter, and it wasn’t our fault.) 

  One day, I would realize the loss I had felt was more than losing a mother –  it was giving up the job of being her protector. It apparently, defined me at a tender age. For now, I snuck off into the bathroom to change my pants. I had wet myself when I came into the house.  

When the following school year arrived, Janny and I about to enter the third grade together, Kirby had become even quieter. I caught him staring off or not paying attention to us, often. He was on the phone a lot during the day. The neighbors came by to check in on us and I heard hushed whispers between them. I realized it was about us. He was trying to get legal custody of us. My mother had failed to make provisions before she decided to kill herself. Kirby had never legally married my mother. Janny and I were orphans of the state. I knew no matter who my “real” parents were; I would still be with Janny. I was too young to tell her I thought James and Claire weren’t my first parents. A child doesn’t forget accidental overheard conversations. But it was silly to bring it up. I will just hold on tighter this time, I thought.  

  One crisp, clear desert morning, Kirby took us down to the courthouse in the city. We had to get dressed up. I wore pressed black pants and a white shirt. Kirby had on a tie. I had only seen him with a tie one other time – when he brought us the news about our dead poppa. Janny had a dress on. A fat, bald man behind a desk had Kirby sign some papers. Stamping them, he told Kirby a “guardianship will give you all the same rights and responsibilities. Do you understand?” I knew that meant we were staying a family for now. I told Janny everything was gonna be okay as long as we stayed together.  

  Kirby came into our lives in the worst way imaginable; an officer whose job it was to tell the nearest living relative that their son/father/husband/grandson had been killed in Vietnam. My dad was his last notification for the army, as he stayed in town to help my mom, and never left. I never knew the sacrifices he was making.  

  When Kirby announced his new job and move across the country, I knew we would be okay. I would keep an eye on my sister, be her protector now. Janny and I left school during Thanksgiving break and stayed home until the move. We helped pack up, as best we could. I placed my two boxes with Kirby’s. I wanted to make sure I would be with him.  

 

 

   

CHAPTER 19 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Missouri – 1981 

 

  “Our” father James, was an only child, born in the U.S. after his pregnant mother emigrated with him during WW2. His father was a Polish Jew who died before my father was born. Janny loved discovering that she shared a Jewish heritage with Rachel.  

  Daniel Kapinsky was our paternal grandfather’s oldest sibling.  

My grandfather was the middle child. There was a younger sister, not living.  

Our grandmother moved to Missouri to live with her husband’s brother and new wife. Another generation of fatherless sons, owed to the cost of wars.  

The information we gathered about them before our arrival was vague – but it was interesting to know Janny and I might have been raised by distant relatives in the midwest had things gone differently. It surprised no one that Kirby had never mentioned them before. A ruined box, by happenstance, had caused this revelation.   

  Uncle Dan and Aunt Esther had been living in Missouri since 1940 but spent winters in Tampa Bay. The only reason they were in Missouri in March for our visit, was due to the fact that Uncle Daniel needed to have a “small heart  procedure” and preferred his cardiologist in Missouri. 

  Janny was loopy on the trip to Missouri from Arizona, as Mrs. Latchett had given her some of her migraine medication for Janny’s continued cramping. Mrs.  Latchett seemed to know in her heart, Janny had gone through something even bigger than just chasing ghosts.  

Janny agreed it was bizarre going to visit these unknown relatives, these strangers; tangible evidence of our parent’s lives. They had mentioned to Kirby they had a “few things the dear children” may find of interest. 

 “Is that what defines us?” asked Janny while we were still on the highway.  “Stories and items weaved together, memories of life constructed from scraps of  

mismatched fabrics that create a quilt called family?”   

My sister the poet. “Hey, glad we’re on this travel thread together!” She giggled as she knew I wasn’t making fun of her.  

It was the end of March. The buzzing noise travelling into the guest bedroom window, was too early in the year to be crickets, but the sound melted comfortably with the cool air. Janny was breathing softly. I didn’t observe much but, I knew two things: when Janny was okay and when she was not. Now was okay; staying with our relatives, surrounded with their dusty relics from their hardened lives, calmed us both.  

  All four of us knocked around this house quite well. It was all so simple here. We expected drama and stories but go so enveloped in their embrace, we were able to just rest. No talk of bus trips, worrying Kirby and Arizona meltdowns. Our aunt knew what we needed and provided it effortlessly: plates of pastries, noodles, white fish and strong coffee. We enjoyed watching and laughing at our uncle smoking a cigar, humming, reading the paper; wrapped in their smells and lives like we were part of the stained wallpaper. It was what Janny needed.  

I tried not to see the sadness mirrored in Janny’s eyes, and she tried not to see the loss in mine, where it sat like a vast desert night. Comfort doesn’t always come when it’s supposed to. The gaps were great and sometimes I needed to anticipate the next fall. How many could I fill?  

Tonight I will listen to the sounds of my sister sleeping in the next bed. And rest.  

     

 

   

   

   

   

CHAPTER 20 

   

Jimmy 

 

  I get up early. Janny is sleeping in, as usual. Uncle Daniel is up before me, eating a soft-boiled egg – tap tap tapping on the top of the egg with a tiny spoon in a tiny cup. He is reading the paper. The radio is on, playing some old-time music. Benny Goodman, I think. A woman’s deep voice is singing her heart out. I think I will try and figure out the melody on my guitar. I like it. Thankfully, our bags and my guitar were waiting for us, in one (out-of-tune) piece when we arrived.  

Uncle Daniel is a small man, peering over his glasses when he speaks.  Before I sit down, he is already up, heating the milk for the sweet coffee he makes me. After one night and no pressure from them, I feel at ease.  

  “You two kids have been through a lot. Your aunt and I bleed for you.” He isn’t prone to hyperbole, but it is in his heart: This.  

  “I guess that’s true!” I answer. We have not been this intimate before.  “Between the trip, your poor mother, God rest her soul, your dear sweet father. I can imagine.” He wipes his mouth with the corner of his napkin then wipes his glasses. “You see, I too lost many as well, my young friend. Too too many.”  

  “What is…how do you know us again?” I mean to ask if he knew our mother. If he knew the real story of me. I stammer on. “Did you spend time with our dad when he was younger? Janny and I were only 3 when he was killed.”  After 2 days of being here, I finally ask.  

 Uncle Daniel has an accepting regard.

  

  “Yes. Yes, my boy. Your poppa was a miracle for us. Your grandmother moved out west I think when your poppa was 5 or so. We’ll ask Aunt Esther. She’s better with dates. Come.” He creaked when he got up. I follow him.    Standing in front of their giant, dusty bookcase (there are books everywhere), Uncle Dan has to squint through his glasses to see titles on large photo albums. They are dated with neatly hand-printed labels. 

  “I lost many people in the war. Family. Most of my family. My parents.  

My sister and brother. My village. I know from pain.”  

  We were connected. War connected us as the human family. We made brief appearances in each other’s lives; people coming and going quickly and often, destructively. I think I know why I get high. I think I know why Uncle Dan enjoys his nightly glass or two of port.  

  “When I came to America, I had no one. Thank God for your Aunt Esther.  Your grandmother came to live with us during the war, to give your father a chance at life. I never met your mother, but we wrote when your dear father was in Vietnam. Ach. Another boy killed in a senseless war.”  

  It was hard to imagine our dad being little and being here. I wondered if he missed the father he never had and if Uncle Dan filled that role.   

  “My second dad. James wasn’t my first dad,” I blurt out. I feel silly, a 17- year-old correcting an old man. It didn’t feel right. I apologize.  

  “You’re mishpocheh. Family. Your sweet parents loved you very much. You know, you were adopted by the sweetest of the sweet?” Uncle Daniel simply states.  IT is said – out loud.  

I have never thought of it that way. I knew Kirby was going to legally adopt  

us, then didn’t, but I never wondered about my mother. I didn’t think it mattered.  All that mattered, up until now, was me being Janny’s brother. Her twin. Coming in to the world together, side by side. That was her truth for 12 years. I hated when that changed. I clung to what I knew.  

  My birthday was always Janny’s birthday, as I had told Rachel. No one questioned it. I do remember once in school, a front office lady asked me my birthday to confirm it in her books. My sister’s name was right below mine. She knew we were twins. I told her the same date as my sister. She said, “oh no, I guess it’s a mistake then.” And that was that.  

  Now sitting here, I wonder how many days or weeks we were apart? Janny still read me the same horoscope. She asked me again, on the bus ride, if I ever wondered when my “real” birthday was and did Kirby know and why didn’t I have more questions about it? But, she never waited for me to respond. Probably because she knew I would’ve just shrugged my shoulders.  

  I may now get some answers to questions I didn’t even know I had? Can this kind old stranger, provide me with facts about my life? Did I have a story outside of being a twin? Was I ready to know?  

  “Did my mother just not have time to tell me?” A question easier to ask a stranger, for some reason. I never asked Kirby, even during the night of the sewer incident. If Kirby was not asked a question directly; he was not about to provide any information. Military training. I missed Kirby. He understood and helped Janny with her pregnancy, trusted her with the choice. I wondered how Kirby dealt with these women leaving his life?  

“Ach! It is simple, yet it is not simple. Bisl- a little bit mishegas.” My great-

 

uncle laughs. “I’ll try to stop with the Yiddish. You, handsome young man, need

 

to understand a few things. We have time! Eat a little something first. I’ll go wake your aunt.”  

 

I open the first photo album as he shuffles down the hallway. I stare at faces who are unfamiliar. The people are formal, posed, staring at the camera, never a smile. Not a happy bunch.  

  Aunt Esther lays out bagels and lox. (“Do you know how hard it is to find lox here? Not like our winters in Florida!”) Janny is finally up. She has some color back in her face. We talk about the area, what art gallery Aunt Esther will take us today, and we listen to her nag my uncle about his health, his eating, his posture. She is careful not to interrupt him, however, when he tells us about growing up in Poland: the fields of wildflowers, the pretty girls, the delicious desserts. His stories are rich, painting a portrait of his boyhood not unlike our own experiences. All children loved to play. Those memories become the paint- the sounds, sights, smells that color our lives.  

  Somehow, Uncle Daniel manages to convince “the two lovely ladies” to go out without us. He and I will have the afternoon together. I was getting used to the cigar smoke. Luckily, he puffs once, puts the fat stub down, then forgets about it.  

He always has to relight it.  

  With his glass of port, his large crystal ashtray, Uncle Daniel and I move into the formal dining room. Of course, Aunt Esther has left us sandwiches and other goodies. The table is covered in clear plastic, protecting a delicate lace tablecloth. We sit next to one another. I have a cream soda pop.  

Uncle Daniel slowly turns each album page, welling up as he tells a little

story about each stranger in the photos. Sometimes, I feel he is lost in a secluded 

world, speaking to spirits, making no difference if I am here or not.  

 

The photographs at the end of one album are in color. People are smiling. He gets to the back when I recognize my parents: James and Claire Kapinsky. An 8” x 10” portrait of the two of them, holding me and Janny in their arms. We were all smiling. A toothless grin from Janny, and a two front baby teeth grin from me.  My dad has his uniform on. I never saw a photo of him without his uniform (I had one other), just like Kirby; not until Julie came in our lives and began to take “candid” photos of us. 

  “Ah, my boychik, this is what we want. This.”  

  My great-uncle carefully peels back the clear but yellowing cellophane covering the photo. The photo is not stuck to the page. He hands me the photo.  

Behind the photo, there is a large envelope with the words “Arizona Family” printed across. He pulls out (3) pieces of paper, one thicker than the other two.  Two appear to be letters, one on the thinnest of paper I have ever seen. He puts the papers down on the table. Picking up his cigar, he searches for some matches. I wait patiently as he attempts to light it.  

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21  

 

  JIMMY 

 

  Uncle Daniel unfolds the first page. He hands it to me and says, “it’s from your dear mother.”  

  The handwriting is neat and in script. It is fancier than anything I can imagine about my mother. It doesn’t feel real. It is on lined stationery with a small hand drawn pink rose in the upper left corner. It isn’t dated. It reads:  

   

“My Dearest Uncle, 

  You and Aunt Esther have been so kind over the years since my James joined the service. Your generous checks have helped so! The twins are getting so big! I hope you get a chance to come out and visit. I get so lonely. I will always remember your kindness. Much love to you both. Hope you enjoy the photo.  

  Love, Claire “  

   

  My heart stops for a moment. The room is spinning slightly. This is the closest I have been to my (non-dead) mother in forever.  

  “Boychik, you were the sun, moon and stars to your mother. It didn’t matter to your father or mother whose blood you were. So it didn’t matter to us. Your mother was bit…Meshuggeneh…confused. We loved her, God rest her tortured soul. You were twins because what difference did a few hours make, eh?”  

When he hands me the heavier cardstock paper, it actually, is two pages attached. It is my birth certificate and Janny’s birth certificate. We were both born on the same day in the same hospital, but I was born at 7 A.M. She was born at 1 P.M. It lists both our parents as James and Claire Kapinsky of Tucson, Arizona. There is actual proof I exist and was wanted. And, we share a birthday after all.  

My biological parents aren’t listed.  

  “Uncle Daniel, do you know who my real parents were?”  

  “No, sweet lad. I do not.” He explains the birth certificates were sent later, and hands me the next letter. It is typed and has an army letterhead. I glance at the signature and see it is signed by Kirby, my guardian in life.  

   

“November 22, 1970 

TO THE GREAT UNCLE AND GREAT AUNT OF: 

JANICE FRANCIS KAPINSKY AND JAMES FRANCIS KAPINSKY: 

Thank you for taking the time to speak with me at length yesterday. I’m sorry it took so long after Claire’s death to contact you and therefore, unable to attend her funeral or meet the twins. I wanted to send you copies of the  

Guardianship legal papers for safe-keeping and for your own records. I understand, as the only living relatives of James Kapinsky, your nephew who died valiantly for his country in 1966, you cannot offer yourselves as guardians to his children. Although James and Claire had legally adopted Jimmy; I have no rights to either child. I have been here for them, as their father, for four years now.  

  I assure you I will continue to be the best father to them as I can possible be.  

Thank you for not contesting the legal guardianship. 

  For this gift, I thank you. One day we all will meet. 

  God bless you both.

  

  Yours truly, Captain Kirby Devlin, U.S. Army  

p.s. When we get settled in Ohio, I will contact you with our current

 information.”  

 

  I am once again confused and annoyed, left wondering why Kirby chose not to tell me all that he has known for all these years. Maybe Janny will feel relieved. 

“We never heard nothing after that! We were heartbroken we had lost you before even meeting you! Your mother, God rest her soul, died and you moved!”  He pauses to sip some port. “So many years! Ah, but thank God you are back.  

That’s all that matters! Family- mishpocheh.”  

I notice his accent gets thicker the more upset he becomes.  

He continues. “I keep the legal papers your father Kirby sent in a safe deposit. You never know. Better to be safe than sorry, is what I say. I thought the birth certificates you may need? You are grown people now. Do you have your driver’s license yet even? So grown up!”  

  Kirby had never offered any proof of our beginnings. Ever. I see by not telling me any details was his way of keeping control. Did he really (conveniently) forget to mention our Missouri relatives? Did he have copies of my birth certificate? He took me down to the driver’s license bureau when I turned 16 but took care of the paperwork while I filled out my permit application. I never thought to search to see who I was. I knew I was where I was supposed to be although later, I would run from that. For now, things fit. To know I was wanted helped too. I knew my dad was my dad and my mother was my mother. What could change that? Is that what Kirby held on to as well?  

  We all eat a wonderful Chinese meal our last night in Missouri. Janny and my aunt share stories of their day. My aunt and uncle tell us stories about our dad, James, when he was little, and the little he knew about our grandmother, Rose. On the bus ride home, I told Janny what I had in my possession: a photo of the four of us all together, my dad, my mother and us; our birth certificates; and two letters written by our mother and Kirby. She had a right to know these things.  

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22   

   

KIRBY’S STORY 

 

The twins had just turned 18. Kirby and Jimmy were fighting more since the twins had returned from Missouri almost 10 months ago. Maybe because Julienne was no longer there to be a referee, the peacemaker – arguments about politics, loud music, drinking, school, friends, pot smoking, kitchen messes, staying up all night and as Kirby perceived, Jimmy’s lack of direction, were ever-present. 

Jimmy had gotten angrier over the years. They shared less in the father-son activities that had kept them parallel to one another, but even those times required concentration to task – thus, no introspection or discussion. Kirby had learned from Janny, about the letter Claire had written to their great-uncle. Kirby understood why Jimmy was not sharing information with him; it was punishment. Not until the summer arrived – not until an IHOP in Norfolk and a stack of pancakes and a night in jail- did Jimmy finally, open up.  

 

  When Kirby was 18, he joined the service while taking college classes in engineering and math, quickly advancing to the company’s youngest appointed captain. Two tours of Vietnam then meeting Claire, changed his life’s course.   Kirby found a way to quit the army, which he loved, to be with Claire, the woman he loved who was stranded with two young children. The army allowed Kirby to work from a local base for a while, before Kirby gave up his commission. He no longer wanted to be reminded of manufactured horror. He found himself starting to agree with the anti-war sentiments of his girlfriend and began to hang out with former Vets who were fed up with Nixon and so many deaths. Before Claire died, he had more passion about things- in their brief time together. 

  After Claire’s suicide, Kirby was sent spiraling. He didn’t know why he didn’t see it coming. He didn’t understand how he didn’t stop it. He was trained in loss and one’s reaction to sudden death. He thought Claire’s depression over losing her first husband, had passed. He thought Claire had turned a corner. There were still dark days but in short spurts. It took Kirby weeks to even consider what the children were going through. He felt void of all caring after losing her. He was enraged with himself. He wasn’t sure he could come back from this. Witnessing more than his share of horrors in ‘Nam, he imagined civilian life to be more…civilized. Martin and Bobby’s death, Claire’s death, a war with no end in sight – what made sense anymore? 

It took him a few months to realize the twins mattered. The twins needed protection and love. He did make that auspicious promise to Claire, not fully understanding what he was promising. But, he was going to live up to that task of raising his girlfriend’s children. That it took so long (especially in a child’s world) for him to realize his role as consolation prize parent, made him all the more burdened by guilt. At first, he considered he was not the best choice for them. Knowing there was a distant great-uncle, he considered that option, even though they were strangers to them. He thought the children needed to stay together and be with family. There was no family without Claire. Claire was an amputation and phantom limb pain was setting in. He saw lots of guys come back from the war, feeling as if their blown off legs, arms, hands were the cause of the excruciating pain. In reality, nothing extended beyond their shoulder or hip, ripped away 10,000 miles away but still the source of real pain. Kirby needed to escape the pain, somehow. The desert haunted him, it’s long unfamiliar shadows, the drastic temperatures between night and day, the dryness. The colors and smell of Claire were everywhere. He tried to escape the origin of the loss, eventually discovering it would continue to follow him, but not before running away.  

  Kirby took off shortly after Claire’s death: after a quick cremation and service. He traded in his truck for a Harley and headed to California. He stayed at campgrounds, sat around with bikers, gypsies, stoners, hippies, retired couples and their little yappy dogs, vets like him – never without a bottle of beer or tequila in his grip. KAOs were a welcome sight for a hot shower and familiar nights spent around a campfire, maybe his arm around a girl that never went anywhere.  His hips and back ached, riding with grit in his teeth, riding gloves becoming a second skin. Blurred highway lines, miles of open road and freedom. ‘Nam and Claire faded, but the images of Jimmy and Janny never left.

      Why couldn’t he shake it? The aching subsided at the bottom of a bottle, but vibrated in his soul during the sober parts, following him like the constant humming of an engine. He felt such fear for the “what ifs” of those kids. Were they better off with him or without him?  Until his return, he hadn’t imagined the children needed him as much as they did.  They looked up to him, viewed him as their surviving parent although Kirby found this to be ironic. He was scarcely surviving.  

Claire’s death had cultivated support, which surrounded him and the children. He felt safe leaving them with loving, caring adults. He wanted to be their salvation, but he had the weight of guilt. Feelings of unworthiness never left. A parent’s job is to spare your children pain, not produce it. Being the one who brought them the news of their father dying was his responsibility – his fault too.  He didn’t just bring the news. He created broken, fractured families, feeling as responsible for a soldier’s death as if he were the enemy, shrapnel, or friendly fire that brought them down in the first place.  

 

After weeks of being away, the tiny arms and warm tears of these precious children embracing him no longer felt like a burden. Once Kirby returned to  

Arizona, he had a full beard and mustache. Janny loved it. Jimmy didn’t let go of Kirby’s long legs. A sudden desert wind blew away all questions and doubts – once he held them, he knew they were his children. He would be okay for them. And, he had something to live for.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

CHAPTER 23

 

KIRBY’S STORY 

  

  Kirby was glad to leave Arizona with the twins, transferring to a civilian job at the finance office on a military base in Ohio. He soon left the position, wanting nothing more to do with the military. He wanted to work at a bar and work on cars.  His whole life was spent doing as he was told or had to do to survive. He was raised by his mom, if you could call it that, until age 8 when he was placed in foster care, He didn’t know who his father was. His mother drank. He cleaned up after her, fed her, hardly ever went to school. After a social worker took him away one day, he was relieved he was no longer responsible for her survival; something Kirby shared with Jimmy yet, neither knew. It was hard to admit you might be responsible for making your mom go away.  

  Kirby’s mother visited a couple of times the first couple of years in foster care. He was moved around because he was perceived as starting fights, mostly because of his size. In reality, he was the one trying to break up fights. He was protector of anyone not brave enough to speak for themselves. When Kirby’s mother showed up at the designated park or local social service office, she smelled of gin and cigarettes. Visibly distracted and uncomfortable with her son, Kirby drew pictures while she muttered “what is that supposed to be?”  

  The visits eventually stopped. Kirby got word of his mother’s death while going through basic training. He was allowed to go home to Buffalo for her funeral, where he saw a couple of his aunts, both living in some sort of facility, then saying goodbye to his mother on a cold rainy day in a small cemetery. There was no stone; just a small cross to mark her grave. It was the last time Kirby went back to Buffalo. 

  The day Kirby arrived in Arizona was the worst and best day of his life.  He had been on 17 of these notifications in one year. The war was young. The army had the option of sending a telegram via a taxi cab but sometimes, if personnel and funding were available, the Army delivered the gentle, personal touch. The CNO (casualty notification officer) whose job it was to notify the NOK, was dispatched within 12 hours of receiving the KIA report. The CNO also assisted during the period immediately following the casualty, assisting in death benefits/ claims and any other personnel related effects.  

  Sergeant Kapinsky was not the only one killed in his unit. They were not assigned to Kirby, but he knew the details in case the widow asked. Relatives had unusual reactions. Most fell to their knees, followed by primal sobs and screams: “MY BOY! MY BOY! NO!” – to stoic patriotic WW2 fathers who disguised their quivering bottom lip by stating “he died for our freedom” or “better to come home in a body bag than to be a coward!” Human nature always surprised Kirby, even though he was exposed to the harsh realities of life from a young age. He maintained wonder. This job though today, would be his undoing. This young woman at the door practically glowed. Family: Claire Kapinsky, spouse, age 26.  

Two surviving dependents, a boy and girl, age 2.9 years.  

 

The sun was low in the sky and haloed her black mane from a back window. 

Squinting, Kirby’s removed his sunglasses. He could tell she knew who he was, his purpose for being there, but she still smiled when she opened the door.  

  “Ma’am? Good day. I am Captain Kirby Devlin, ma’am, United States

  

Army and I am afraid…”  

  Then she broke down. Claire was on her knees sobbing, the two children surrounding her, instinctively trying to comfort their mother. The boy looked up at Kirby. He had a curious look. One full of questions. Claire’s yellow tie-dyed dress pooled around the bottom of her body like an island for the children to huddle and survive. The three of them seemed like they would disappear in golden light.  Captain Devlin lost his heart that day. He was ready to give all to this tiny family before they completely vanished.  

  Even though he was trained to keep a degree of distance, Captain Devlin knelt beside the family. He placed his giant arms around the three of them. Perhaps because he was alone, because the army chaplain wasn’t available, Kirby uttered to them “don’t worry, we’ll get through this together”, an intimate statement as if he had been by their side since the beginning of time. He found a home and knew it.  

  Claire was different from anyone Kirby had ever met. Some said grief brought them together, but Kirby knew that one event didn’t define them. Claire told Kirby “James brought you here to take care of us” while he thought “I was always meant to be here”, defying his Captain sensibilities. Logically, they were two damaged souls from broken families, holding on then letting go of what they knew, trying not to replicate the eventual destruction. Hold on to one another and this time, save the children. 

  “Part gypsy, part Indian, part midwest farm girl” is how Claire described herself. Kirby was never able to put together all the different pieces of her life- but the small threads he was given, the experience of parents not being there – he understood and shared. At times, Kirby got the impression Claire’s parents were still alive, but during the notification of NOK, she mentioned she “had no one but the children.” Yet, some of her stories, seemed to have them alive on a farm. When Kirby questioned her (he rarely did, as he found breaking the silence when she talked about the past had the opposite effect – causing all communication to end), she corrected herself, saying “oh, yes, I mean, before they died.” He never saw pictures of them. The one wedding photo Claire had framed in the house was of three people: Claire, in a long, yellow peasant dress, a ring of flowers atop her long frizzy black hair, carrying a small bouquet of lavender; James in uniform, with short, brown curly hair a bald spot already forming on his forehead at nineteen years old; and another woman, holding a bible who Claire said was a stranger who officiated their wedding. All three were smiling, although Claire’s head was tilted slightly, looking downward, as if she had discovered a butterfly on the ground.  

Claire was pregnant and huge. Kirby didn’t know who took the picture. The photo was moved to the top of the closet until Kirby re-discovered it after she died and was packing up the house to move to Ohio. Eventually, the photo ended up next to Janny’s night stand. Kirby wished he had more mementos of Claire’s, as she blew in and out of their lives like a tumbleweed.  

  Kirby and Claire fell right into a wonderful routine. Arizona felt right to Kirby. He began to love the angles of the horizon and the changing colors, the veil that fell over the landscape at dusk. The vastness of the starry night sky Kirby had only witnessed during the dry season in Southeast Asia. Brief moments where dread left the soldiers; a time they could look up and imagine their loved ones at home – a momentary lapse of forgetting they were living in a hell-hole.  

Kirby had never been with anyone like Claire. She was so…free. On good days, the joy emanated from inside her – everyone clamoring for her attention.  

They went on small trips, where the children were able to run, explore and enjoy.  Kirby asked Claire to marry him.  

  “Honey, let’s get married,” Kirby said one night as they sat out back with a fire going, golden ashes shooting up to the sky, a non-existent horizon, a moment of infinite possibilities. The children were asleep in their beds. “I love you! I will always love you! I have always loved you!” he said, uncharacteristically with his heart on his sleeve. Claire put her arm through his and snuggled closer.  

  “We’ll see.” Claire stated too quickly. 

  “What do you mean ‘we’ll see’?” Kirby asked.  

  “I have children, Kirby. I have children I need to protect. That is my job.” 

  “Claire, don’t you see I want that to be my job?” Kirby asked with longing.  

  “What are you talking about, Kirby? Who do you think you’re protecting?  

And from who? Me? Do you think you need to protect my kids from me?”  

The fire had gone out and blackness enveloped them swiftly. Kirby had never heard Claire talk this way before. It scared him.  

  “Claire?” he said feebly. He felt her breathing hasten. “You are incredible.  An incredible mother. The kids are lucky to have you. You are so loving. No, of course I don’t think your kids need any protecting FROM you. I am…I don’t know why you said that. My sweet Claire…”  

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. This has to be about you and me. All of us. They love you Kirby. Both my babies love you. I love you. I do. I am just not ready, yet, to get married. Okay?”  

Kirby had no choice but to let it drop. He didn’t bring it up again. This was someone he might not be able to hold on to forever. 

  “Kirby,” Claire began after several minutes of silence, “sometimes I wonder why I’m alive. Still alive. I feel like a piece of me died when James was killed.  JFK. Martin. Robert. They all die. My James. I am lucky to see his eyes in  

Janice’s.” She trailed off. Claire reached over and threw another piece of wood in the pit. The fire crackled.  

  “I see no reason to go on, sometimes.” Claire confessed. 

  “What are you talking about, Claire? You have your kids! You just said your job was to protect them, right? Why would ‘not being here’ be an option for you?  

For anyone with kids?” Kirby was raising his voice now.  

  “Is there nothing else for me? So when they stop needing me, it will be okay? It’s okay, Kirby. I don’t expect you to understand.”  

  Kirby hated when she did that: dismissed a topic where she applied no logic.  In Kirby’s engineering brain, it was important to apply logic at all times. Kirby also knew Claire was scared and depressed. He had seen this before, with army buddies. His mother. He knew there was nothing he could say to get her to see rationally. Life was about finding some things, losing something else, rediscovering old things. Life held great losses, but applying logic in all situations was the only answer to “go on”. The greatest responsibility is to one’s children, no matter their age or status in life. Kirby believed this. He was still dumbfounded by what Claire was saying out loud, talking about leaving them all, in some capacity.  

  “Claire, you are more than just a mother. I fell in love with YOU.  

Just…just remember that.”

  

A proposal within a proposal: marry me and please don’t end your life.  Claire was a deer in the headlights. “I drove my truck straight into her, high beams blazing and, she froze” thought Kirby.  

  “How about you hold on for me, then? And if you can’t, I will catch you.  

Hold on for you. How does that sound?” Kirby wanted to be able to fix 

everything.  

  Claire smiled with just the corners of her mouth.  

  “You will always take care of my children? You will tell Jimmy, one day, where he came from?”  

  “You will do that, Claire! When you’re ready. I will always be here. I love you all.” It’s why I proposed, Kirby thought.  

 

  Kirby had known Jimmy was adopted. Claire wanted to wait until James got back from Vietnam before they talked to him about it. Jimmy was just a baby when he left. Claire had decided to keep things simple and continue to refer to her children as “the twins”. After James was killed, the twins were still the twins and explaining the reality – did it really matter? She did not want him to feel ashamed about any of it.  

  After Claire died, Kirby had no reason to tell Jimmy; pull another piece of history rug right out from underneath him. Both Claire and James had declared themselves Jimmy’s parent’s hours before Janny was born. Claire was in labor.  Between contractions and waiting, James told her about a little boy, just born to a sixteen-year-old heroin addict. The mother was going to die, they all feared. The girl was the daughter of one of James’ (dead) army buddies. The girl had no one. James had recognized the name when she was brought in to the same hospital. Claire didn’t hesitate at all when James brought it up. Offering a home to this infant and raising him with their daughter felt natural and right.  

  The mother lived for a few days and was able to sign the legal documents, declaring James and Claire Kapinsky the legal adoptive parents of a son. Claire was able to meet the birth mother, hug her frail birdlike body, and whisper “thank you”. No one could believe this little girl had the ability to carry a healthy baby to term, albeit, smaller in weight than Janice. Claire was able to nurse both the children. James quickly built a cradle to place next to Janny’s crib for the time- being. The story of “the twins” only had one theme: they entered this world together.  

  It was a perfect family.  

 

  “How?” Claire asked Kirby one day.  

  “How what?” Kirby replied. He stood up from bending under the truck’s hood. Kirby figured she was checking up on his project, hoping she had a beer for him. 

  “How am I a good mother?” She didn’t seem sad, but wistful.  

  “How?” Kirby wiped his hands with a dirty rag. “You raised two infants at the same time and you didn’t have to.” 

  “I am not sure. I’m just…not sure, Kirby.” She gazed down. 

  “You have comforted them both and kept them safe for all these years since 

Jim died. And, they adore you.” Kirby didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but he wanted to finish installing this air filter.  

  “What have I given them to believe in? Even my useless parents tried to

instill us with religion. Something. To hold on to.” Her voice halted, almost 

staccato-like.  

 “Why is it so hard to hold on?” Kirby asked tenderly, closing the truck 

hood for now.  

  Claire was startled. Kirby was good at making arrangements and providing for his instant family, but he was rarely, emotionally available. Claire often caught him, off guard, staring blankly, seemingly, check out of his surroundings. This time, he seemed to be tuned in to her fragility. Claire felt like a fraud, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Appearing strong and in control, many wives and mothers experienced this through this endless war. Kirby was good at handling raw, primal grief but recognizing and acknowledging despair was beyond his capabilities.  

  “Kirby, my dad lived on the reservation. My mother told me we lived there for a little bit when I was young. It was great, the parts I remember. Older women teaching me to knit and weave. We were poor, but I liked playing with everyone.  My dad had other kids before my mother, so there were a lot of us around, until we left. I mostly was raised in Texas and Kansas though. No brothers or sisters. We moved to my mother’s very rural farm that had been in the family for years. We grew okra, wheat, and had a few goats. Nothing big.”  Kirby did not interrupt her.  

  “My father and mother became devout Christians. Like devout, go-to- church-daily kind of devotion. Ya’ know? It wasn’t good for me, Kirby. I was punished a lot with belts and switches I had to collect. They made me kneel in prayer for hours when I was bad.”  

Enough silence had lapsed for Kirby to speak. The details were not important to him.  

  “Babe, are you saying you should be stricter with J and J? It sounds horrible what you went through.” Claire knew about Kirby’s shitty childhood, as well.  

  “No, of course not. Never. I pray you will never lay a hand on them either, never!” He nodded because it seemed like she was asking for his promise. “I’m saying Kirby- I don’t know what to believe in.”   

  “Okay. Why do you have to believe in anything? Do you believe you exist?  In this form? That’s a start.” said Kirby. He was getting impatient and it came across as being patronizing.   

  “What if I hurt them?”  

  “You could never do that, Claire! You would never do that. Why do you even ask? Babe, what’s really the matter?” He was too covered in oil and sweat to hug her.  

  “What if I can’t hold on? And end up hurting them?” She wasn’t making  sense.  

  Kirby sighed. “I will make sure you will be able to hold on. Where are you  going with all this? Go listen to some music. You’ll feel better.”  

  Claire stood there, unaware she was swaying. Kirby wasn’t sure if he was  allowed to go back to working on his truck. He did not want to fuck up this  relationship. The first real relationship he had. The longest too.  

  Claire saw that Kirby wanted to get back to being greasy. That day, she  made a plan: a plan she knew would hurt her children, but in the long run, it being for the best. She pushed the thought away every day, for another couple of years.  There was too much darkness. The times between the joy she once felt, became  shorter. She believed she hid it well from the children, Kirby and the neighbors.  

Eventually, that shield began to fade. There was nothing she had left to offer  anyone. Jimmy noticed, and he was not letting go of his mother.  

   

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

  

CHAPTER 24 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Virginia Beach – 1982 

   

  We turned eighteen in December, and I moved out of the house by January. Janny was upset with me. Kirby was upset with me. Julie, who kept in touch by phone, was upset with me, but she at least, understood. Sal and I bought a 1967 VW camping van, sky blue. Sal painted the front tire cover with a highway scene, disappearing into a sunset. We named the van “Urge”. Our destination (after camping out in the Smoky Mountains, tripping on mushrooms, playing guitar out in the clear night sky) was Virginia Beach. We had a friend in a band, who rented a small house off the ocean. He needed roommates. Sal had already dropped out of school. I had a GED and a vocational mechanics degree. We planned to get jobs once we got down there. We smoked lots of cigarettes.  

  Before I left, I made all kinds of promises to everyone. I told Julie, I would call weekly. I told Kirby, I would go to college in September. I told Janny, I would come back.  

  The house was old but pretty awesome. Two of us had to share the big (added on) back bedroom, once a porch/patio; the living room had a fireplace and, we had a cat I named Cat 2. The trunk/coffee table was decorated with bongs and assorted pipes. We got furniture off the streets, learning when to scout for the good stuff in the good neighborhoods between garbage pick-ups. We had some kitchen supplies in the van, and bought the rest at the Goodwill. We had four giant lounge chairs and a trunk in the living room where we ate all our meals. 

I got a job in a restaurant, bussing tables. I flirted and went out with a few girls. We played music on the beach and snuck into bars. I played my guitar whenever I could. It was the only thing I really cared about. It was a Gibson Hummingbird, handed down by my father, James. My mother (and Kirby) had told me he could play fairly well. Funny I didn’t inherit the musicality from him.  Sal began hanging out with an older guy named Pat. Scraggly and skinny, he looked to be in his 30’s or 40’s. His face was full of pockmarks. Sometimes, after we had been out all night, we stopped by Pat’s, a small cottage, seemingly located on a traffic island, close to the smell of pine cones and ocean spray. The same few guys were always there, stoned out in the back living space.  

  We entered through the back because there was always a line of people in the front from 5-7 A.M; primarily soldiers, Privates in their olive-green fatigues, waiting to be “shot up” with crystal meth before heading to their job at the base.  Kick off your day with Dr. Pat! Keeps you coming back for more! I watched for weeks, laughing at Sal after he was given a hit. He rambled endlessly, while chain- smoking cigarettes. The drug made him love everybody. I snorted lines but knew I wasn’t going to stick a needle in my arm. The drug made me feel like I had to shit.  After a night of drinking and not sleeping, it was nice to be able to hit Pat’s then spend the day hanging at the beach.  

  Sal’s buzz seemed to be better and last longer. He no longer took seizure medication as he said pot and speed worked better. No one was overdosing, like in the movies, or “getting hooked”. These guys that never left ran the drug end so that was their job. To me, everyone else shooting up were productive members of society, having some fun.  

  One morning, Pat asked me “are you sure, kid?”, holding up a needle, as he usually did after dosing up the inner circle. This time, I said “sure!” Sal screamed “alllllrighhhttttttt!! Get this shit started!” Everyone was right. It was a pure high that took away hours and years of fogginess. Everything seemed CRYSTAL CLEAR. I had an energy that surpassed all doubts and hesitations. My guitar sounded magical. I was able to play for hours until my callouses bled. We all talked about the meaning of life and music and making movies.  

  I sold dime bags at work to supplement our morning recreation. Pat turned out to be pretty wise and turned me onto Larry Coryell and Donny Hathaway. We played Maria Muldaur, Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder when we (not frequently) performed around town. Sal played keyboard and we had a nice harmony on vocals.  

  Tony was a sax player and bar owner from Manhattan. He dressed in suits with a disco feel. His shoes had lifts. He was older too. He introduced us to a different drug: heroin. I had never felt bliss like that. They called it a “body orgasm”. Being on stage with my guitar felt that way, but being on stage high then with a girl after- my life was a giant orgasm.  

  After binges that lasted for 3-4 days, I crashed hard. I had scabs on my forehead, where I had scratched and picked. I immediately got diarrhea when I finally introduced food into my body. At Pat’s, we subsisted on Pringles and Pepsi.  

I decided to take things down a bit. Perhaps, stop shooting up. Skipping the morning bump, I decided to hitchhike home alone early one morning, leaving Pat’s on 67th Street to our place down Atlantic Avenue on 20th. The sun was beginning to peek over the ocean. I had dropped some windowpane at 2 AM, so I was still tripping. Pure, magical, colorful hallucinations. Before I hit the road, I ran along the sand dunes, lost in the sensation of snowy mounds and cross country skiing.  I jumped moguls and roared, deep sounds being released from inside me. The morning wind on my face made me feel I was there with God. Bits of light reflected from the glowing sand blinded me like snow. I felt the music of the seagrass, birds, waves crashing: the ocean performing in the orchestra of dawn. 

People with their dogs began to dot the beach so I headed up the road. When a car picked me up, I was hoping I would be coherent or, be able to point. I had to be at work for the dinner shift at Denny’s. I hoped I would be able to fall asleep for a few hours after a couple of bong hits. At least this windowpane was pure. Last week, we had gotten ahold of some blotter acids that made us cramp up for two hours. We drank so much pink crap on top of a fucked up trip.  

  There weren’t many cars on the road. The third car stopped. A nice Lincoln Continental with beige leather seats. Kirby would’ve loved it, I thought. A gray haired guy in some officer’s uniform picked me up. I checked to make sure he had on pants. Sometimes, they didn’t. 

  “Hey, thanks for stopping.” (Did the right words come out?) “I’m just going a few miles up.”  

  “No problem. Just getting off work myself. I guess a walk like that could be painful barefoot on this cement, no?”  

  How was I barefoot? What happened to my shoes?  

  “Yeh, I guess. Do you work at the base?”  

  “Yup” replied this colonel/captain/lieutenant.

  

  “Hey, my dad was in ‘Nam. Were you ever in Vietnam?” I felt talkative.  

  “Yes, I was. I did two tours in country.”  

  “My dad and step-dad were both in Vietnam. My step-dad was a captain in the army.” At least I knew Kirby’s rank. The army guy asked me his name and unit. I didn’t know his unit. He asked the years they served. I kinda knew that.  

  “Your father must have participated in the first official battle in ‘Nam.  Brutal. That’s when my tour began. Kids getting blown up. No one knew what was happening to them. A kid next to me blew his head right off. Right off. His own head. He was that terrified. I was happy to have the extra weapon.” The tone of his voice never changed. He had the thousand-yard stare.  

  Kirby never talked about what it was like “over there.” I just knew you didn’t come back or you came back differently. I knew people were still angry about all of it. Even the soldiers were just doing their job. All of a sudden, I felt badly I wasn’t closer with Kirby. Things changed after that time in the sumps with Sal, after Kirby supposedly revealed all he knew about me. After Julie left us, Kirby was downright ornery. Kirby survived a fucked up childhood, Vietnam, a dead girlfriend and an ungrateful kid.  

“You really shouldn’t be hitchhiking by yourself. You know that, right?”  My attention was brought back to the ride. I think I was just grunting “wow” as the  stranger spoke. 

  “I don’t do it often. Lost my bike. Got stolen.” I lied. I didn’t have a bike. If  only he knew the number of perverts who picked me up or tried to pick me up. This guy didn’t have the pervy vibe. I was getting good at detecting “child  diddlers” – that’s what we called them.  

  “Back then, we kept doing the same things. Try to find the gooks. Kill ‘em.  

Burn down their villages. Move on. We found ways to kill more people at once.  What a waste. Funny to hear that from a military man, huh? We are getting better  at killing the enemy. More ways now to fuck up, pardon my French.” He took a  long pause. “To quote Aeschylus ‘In war, truth is the first casualty.’”  I decided this soldier was a General.   

“And, son? If you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing? You are going to  get hurt too. And fuck up.”  

  “You can let me off right up here.” I pointed.  

  “Do me a favor?” he said before letting me off. “Call your dad when you get  home.”  

  “Thanks for the ride” and I walked the few blocks home from where he  dropped me off.  

  Our front door was open. There was a stranger asleep on the maroon chair and the house smelled like cat piss. Cat was purring at my ankles. I gave him/her fresh water and shared a can of tuna. I ate mine out of the can. Cat had its’ own bowl.  

  I had a hit off the bong without waking up the only other person in the house. The cat came with me into the back room. I tried to jerk off, but I was too wired. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the room was dark. The clock said 7:30 – I had slept passed work. Shit. Sal was just returning in the bus. Someone turned on the house lights. Sal and another friend were getting ready to go back out.  

This time, they were going to a club in Norfolk to help with Tony’s band. As a crew member (we declared ourselves), there would be no problem getting in for free and without i.ds. I showered, didn’t bother calling work, and headed out. The plan was to go to Tony’s first, get high, then head in the bus with the equipment. I drove with the guy in our van, while Sal and his buddy went to retrieve amps at a storage unit.  

  There was a party going on at Tony’s nicely decorated townhouse. Tony had just gotten in some “grade A pharmaceuticals” and was willing to share. He gave me a couple of seconals, one I downed with a beer, the other I wrapped up and placed in my jean pocket. Sitting on his giant, leather couch, Steely Dan blasting in the back, the high felt good. Seconal was like a mellow heroin without the need to fall down or lose your voice. There must have been 20 people in the townhome. Everyone was dressed nicely for the club – everyone getting high by some means.  

  When there was a knock on the door and the person answering said “who?”

I instinctively said, “don’t answer it.” My sister would say that was my old soul talking. No one heard me or listened. Before I could lift my head off the couch, a group of armed men came crashing in. Loud, screaming “DON’T MOVE”, intimidating, tossing people towards the wall, throwing others down on chairs and the floor. The back of their jackets read “DEA” and “Virginia Beach PD”. The three of us on the couch were told not “to move a muscle.” They were screaming and smashing things. Tony was fucked. I whispered to the shaking girl next to me “don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” I believed that.  

  These cops/agents looked like they were from central casting: The short, crew cut hair but one with a long ponytail – the undercover cop I imagined. One by one, two of the taller (and smiling) cops took us into a separate bedroom. Tony was already handcuffed, as an officer had located a full bag of pills behind a chair cushion. I heard them discussing a theft at a drugstore. Even though the pills were found easily, the agents still managed to knock in the kitchen cabinets, take out ceiling tiles and tear up carpet. There was confusion then an eerie silence. Some whimpered. My stomach was knotting up.  

  I saw a hand gesture. It was my time to be questioned. 

“Your turn, golden boy.” Before I entered the bedroom, the smiliest cop asked me to empty my pockets. I did, producing one lone pill inside a sandwich bag. The taunting began.  

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here, Ricky?”  

  I realized too late I should have taken it out and swallowed it.  

  “So, how does it feel being a junkie, eh, golden boy?” The two looked at each other and snickered. “Let’s see the arm.” Smiley cop grabbed my arm, pushed up my sleeve. “Let’s have a looky-see.”  

  There were no tracks on my arms. They looked disappointed. One of them twirled the little baggy with the one pill around his finger.  

  “We’ve seen you around.” It wasn’t a question. I felt my heart pounding in my throat. I have to make this go away, this very bad movie. “What do you know about these pills?”  

  “I don’t even know these guys. We play together. In a band. Not with this guy, but with friends. Other friends.” I wished I had gone in the bus with Sal.  

  “Uh huh. Where’s the rest of your stash, rock star?”  

  “I don’t have a stash…they gave this to me when I got here. I am just going to help set up. I wasn’t even going to take it, I swear!” I stammered.  

  “What do you think, there Ricky? This guy know anything?”  Ricky smiled.

  

Not a pleasant smile. “That’s what I thought, Ricky. Sorry cowboy, you’re coming with us. You know too many people.”  

  I was handcuffed behind my back. It hurt. I was being led out of the house by my shoulders by the tallest cop. I didn’t see anyone else handcuffed. Just frightened looking party goers. The girl I had tried to comfort, caught my gaze. She looked terrified. I managed to nod my head before being taken out. I was placed in the back of a police car with Tony. He said “hey.” He was nodding from the heroin he had shot up earlier. “Hey” I said back and turned my face towards the window. 

  Ten cops and two people arrested, some pills recovered. I didn’t think this was the big bust the authorities were looking for. I still felt like I could somehow, talk my way out of this. No one read me my rights or offered a phone call – all the things I had seen in movies. I began shivering and couldn’t stop. I had to pee. I think I was glad I had a pill in me or else I would be really freaking out. I hoped we got out soon.  

  I had not seen Tony since we were taken from the cruiser. The smiley cop had me sit next to his desk. The fluorescent lights made him less scary even in the harsh green shadows. He took off the handcuffs.  

  “Look, I am going to have to book you and take you down to county. You can stay here until my shift ends.” Why was he being nice? 

  “Thanks?” I managed to say through my clenched teeth and unrelenting thirst. I wanted to go into a corner and drink my own piss. I wanted a blanket. I wanted to talk to Kirby and my sister. I did not believe this was happening.   It must have been at least 3 in the morning when I was taken downstairs to get fingerprinted and photographed. I was chained to a group of men via our ankles and led into a van. I guessed we were on our way “to county.” I was the blondest and youngest in our group.  

  Metallic echoes vibrated down a long hallway: the smallest sound of an opening door, the shuffling of feet, heavy breathing, distant screams added to the wretched cacophony. I had to take many short steps to keep up with my group.  My wrists were tied in front with a plastic bracelet. We were unchained and placed in individual cells. My cell was occupied; a snoring lump on the lower bunk bed. There was a steel toilet without a seat and a steel sink. No toilet paper. No mirrors.  A bare mattress on the top bunk. No blanket. No pillow.  

  I regretted having to piss in the toilet, having to expose any part of my body to this hell hole. I continued to shake even after relieving myself. I tried to hum songs in my head. I crouched on the floor, just a foot from my roommate. Various scrawls and scratches of former inmate’s graffiti decorated the ashen brick walls. “I Wuz Here” and “pigs sux ass” were the general sentiment. 

  I saw a pack of Marlboros by my roomies shoes with a book of matches stuck in the cellophane. One match. I took out a cigarette and lit it with his last match. The smoke tasted so good.  

  Before I took my second drag, the lump on the bottom bunk leapt up and began smashing my head against the concrete wall. He was on me as fast as a lizard catching a fly. He pounded my skull over and over. My arms and hands were flailing, my ears ringing as blood streaked down my face. It felt warm. My jeans were wet from fresh urine. I felt like a pack of people were beating me up or one giant snarling wild animal.  

  “You fucking fuck, thinking you can come here and take my smokes? You fucking fuck – you gonna die,” he was saying. I tried to protect myself. His stench was awful. I wasn’t sure if the grunting sounds were coming from me or him or both. I heard rattling of keys and others began storming into our cell. My head no longer felt like it was attached to my body. The smell of vomit, piss and blood was what I remembered before I passed out.  

 

  I dream I am riding in a Greyhound bus through a desolate desert with my great-uncle. I am holding Janny’s bag. It is stuffed with greeting cards. I cut my hand on the strap and drop it on the floor. There are tumbleweeds rolling down the bus aisle. I see the backs of Julie and Kirby and my mom sitting in the front. They are staring straight ahead. I call out to them, but nothing comes out. Uncle Daniel pats my knee. The bus is in the middle of the desert. It is snowing. The general who picked me up hitchhiking is at the wheel. Everywhere, there are snow-covered plateaus, snow-covered cactus. A snow drift prevents the bus from driving further so we all get out. Everyone else is gone but Janny and Sal are there talking. They begin to laugh hysterically, and start to run away. My feet are stuck in the snow and I can’t move or speak.  

  I look straight up at the sky, which is bright and cloudless. I can see stars in the daytime. The bus is gone and I’m waking through the desert. The snow is gone, and it is hot. I see a gypsy camp in a shimmering mirage-like oasis. Flute music and violins draws me to them. Kirby and Julie are sitting around the campfire with the gypsies. It is dark now. The only light comes from the fire. A young, brown- skinned girl approaches me. Her hair is straight and shiny. We start to kiss. I want to make love to her but when we pull apart for a moment, a tooth comes out of my mouth. My mother is dancing around the fire. I walk up to her. Her face is pale white, and she is crying. I ask her what’s wrong and she says I need to go with her.  Janny grabs my hand and I turn to see we are asleep in our tiny Arizona bedroom, except there is no roof. I hear my mother singing in the kitchen. I feel safe and warm. I stare up at the sky from my bed.  

 

I awoke with the ceiling only a few feet from my nose. My sore nose.  My sore face. Where was I and why was my head spinning? I tried to turn my head  to the side but was unable. I reached up and felt a stiff collar around my neck. I  was on the bottom of a bunk bed. I was in a hospital gown, my clothes gone. Two  thin blankets were covering me but I was cold. I tried to talk but my mouth stuck  together. I had no spit. My one eye wouldn’t open all the way so things were  blurry. I heard paper rustling. I think there was someone above me. A light flickered causing shadows to appear and disappear.  

  I feel so thirsty. I try again to ask for water from nobody. I am in jail. I got  beat up. I remember. I hope someone feeds Cat.   

 

 

    

 

   

 

CHAPTER 25 

   

Kirby’s Story 

 

Kirby got the call from the Virginia Beach Police Department the day after  

Jimmy’s arrest. It was from a social worker, describing the arrest for possession and subsequent beating by another inmate. She explained Jimmy was fine, required a few stitches to the back of his head but needed to be released to a responsible party. The jail was trying to figure how to get Jimmy to an arraignment, so he could be bonded out. The social worker asked how soon Kirby could get to Virginia. His son James, had filled out the wrong phone number under “next of kin” when he was booked, and it took some time locating Kirby, the social worker said. She was apologetic and sympathetic.  

  Kirby raised his voice, asking how an 18-year-old was placed in a cell with a grown man? “He’s a legal adult, Mr. Devlin” which Kirby intellectually knew.  Angry he was already released from the ER, Kirby began insisting his child continue to receive non-jail healthcare. His son was hurt, and it was hard to wrap his head around that. Mrs. Bentsworth assured Kirby his son was given the proper medical clearance, was x-rayed but he wasn’t admitted to the hospital.  

The words “standard operating procedure” gave Kirby a chill.  

He immediately got on the phone to a travel agent and arranged for a flight that afternoon. He wasn’t mad at Jimmy, just focused on “let’s take care of this.”  He still needed to tell Janny who was at her summer job at a Center for Autistic Children where she worked as an aid, planning to attend college in September and commute from home. Kirby called Julienne to see if she would come by to help out. He didn’t want to leave Janny alone. “Yes, of course I’ll be there” Julienne had told him on the phone without hesitation. Kirby hated to disturb Janny at work but had no other choice. He had to get to the bank and airport. Janny was called out of her classroom, insisting on going with Kirby. He convinced her to stay, plying her with the promise of Julienne’s company. Janny eventually, relented.  

  Mrs. Laura Bentsworth, MSW, met Kirby at the jail. It was late and usually, prisoners were not released after 5 or allowed to be seen, but she made an exception. Kirby was surprised how young and pretty Mrs. Laura Bentsworth was. On the phone, she sounded in her 70’s. Kirby followed her to her office, filled out release papers, and waited for James. The arraignment took place on a closed circuit television. Bail was set at $500.  

  Although they had feared the worse when they pulled James’ jail mate off of him, the C.O.s were convinced he was not badly hurt. The ER had confirmed this.  Mrs. Bentsworth was honest with Kirby, explaining the state did not want to pay for an armed officer to watch his son in the hospital. The jail infirmary had to suffice. His drug case was still pending but she suspected, charges would be dropped. She suggested an attorney in town. “Mention me and they’ll charge you practically nothing.” Kirby was certain Mrs. Bentsworth had winked.  

Kirby was already planning for the coming months in his head, including having to bring James back down for the court hearing. Perhaps, that’s why he missed the flirtatious signals, sympathetic gestures and general interest from Mrs.  Bentsworth? She allowed Kirby some privacy while he waited and the use of her phone. He called home. Kirby posted bail and waited for James in the depressing reception area.  

  Kirby was prepared for the worst when he finally saw his son being wheeled down the hallway. (Kirby later learned from Jimmy they had only put him in a wheelchair once they were close to the main desk area.) Jimmy’s shirt was blood stained around the collar. His eye was swollen halfway shut and there was a bandage across his nose. Jimmy managed to give Kirby that winning smile. They shook hands, but Kirby drew Jimmy in for a hug. Jimmy said “ow” and mumbled  

“I’m really sorry.” A small spot of hair in the back of Jimmy’s head was replaced by stitches. The nose wasn’t broken but badly cut.  

  Instead of driving him to his rental house, Kirby took Jimmy to a hotel. He hoped Jimmy would stay there for a few days to heal (go by the house to check on friends and Cat) then accompany him home to Ohio. He wanted to rent a car to drive back.  

  Jimmy began to remember more about the ER visit, as Kirby filled him in with the details he had received from Mrs. Bentsworth. Jimmy remembered being shot up with pain killers, then nodding out. Jimmy told Kirby what he remembered about waking up in the jail infirmary: The nice nurse who wiped his mouth, got him water, helped him get dressed before the correction officer took him to the  arraignment room. Jimmy was limping and sore. He was handcuffed again.  

“Where was I gonna go and what was I gonna do?” laughed Jimmy and Kirby.  

Kirby threw him a clean white t-shirt, a package of new underwear and socks and let Jimmy use the shower.  

“Put a shower cap on so you don’t get your stitches wet.”

 

It was dawn when they drove to breakfast.  

  “I don’t know what I was thinking” Jimmy volunteered when they finally sat  down at IHOP. Jimmy practically drank the entire pot of coffee. Absentmindedly,  he touched his cut lip, forehead, nose, making Kirby wince.   

  Kirby waved his hand away and said “we all make mistakes. We have to get  those stitches taken out in 10 days, ya’ know?”  

  “I hope Janny doesn’t make the same mistake and steal someone’s cigarettes  in college.” said Jimmy, always the entertainer.   

  For now, this was all they mentioned about the detention. Kirby could learn  the rest at the lawyer’s office. Instead, Jimmy told Kirby about the birth certificate  and the two letters he read at Uncle Daniel’s last year. He wanted to open up and  share something personal with his step-dad. He wasn’t sure how much Janny had  shared with Kirby over the past year.  

Jimmy wanted to stop being angry. He was grateful he wasn’t being  questioned about the arrest nor work or living situation or drug use. He learned that  morning how similar he and Kirby were – both abandoned by ill-equipped, drug- addicted/alcoholic mothers and both abandoned by the same woman, Claire. Both  of them had witnessed traumatic loss and neither ever escaped the flashbacks.  Kirby wished he had an answer to the nightmares, anxiety and dissociation, but  he battled the same things. The powerlessness was the worst thing Kirby felt,  however – not having all the answers for your child and being unable to spare them  from pain or from life’s constant barrage of crap. At least Julienne had provided  them all with a respite of sunshine.   

  “Kirby,” Jimmy finally asked after the stack of pancakes were gone “Why  did YOU never tell me about my real parents?” Jimmy started to choke up. The  pain pills were wearing off too.  

  “I…I…I love you. You are my son. I would do anything for you. You know  that by now.” Kirby answered quickly. 

  “But, you never told me the whole story. You knew about my birth mother  and the adoption. Why? You had a chance to tell me everything!” Jimmy was  feeling guilty about why Kirby was in Virginia Beach, was eager to move on, but felt stuck, like trying to wade out of thick mud. He surprised himself by asking why this was a secret. He convinced  himself the trip to Arizona and Missouri last year gave him all the answers. 

  “I know it doesn’t matter” continued Jimmy. “I’m sure Janny told you all the  details about the Kapinsky and Latchett visit. But that night after the sumps and  hospital, all you said was I was ‘taken in and loved.’  You knew more though. That’s why you didn’t seem shocked when I told Janny. Well, I knew then you had  known the truth about my…beginnings? But that night we talked. Why didn’t you  just tell me everything you knew…then? All you told me that night was that I was  right. Claire and James weren’t my first parents. Why not just goddamn confirm  my birthday or something?” Now Jimmy was crying.  

  Kirby reached across the table, knocking over his coffee. He had to  withdraw his hand to get napkins. Kirby had comforted this little boy one other  time, many years ago after he found his mother dead. His one job to protect those  kids from horror, failed. Horror followed him like a rabid dog.  

  Kirby remembered holding his breath that night years ago, when Janny and  

Jimmy were having a (very rare) fight and talking about their parents. Hearing  

Jimmy admit he wasn’t Janny’s “true” twin, floored him. Kirby never felt he had lied to the twins; just the opposite. Holding on to the truth that they were always  together, from the beginning, loved by the same people, was the one thing he  could do to keep them comforted. He was desperate to keep things…the same?  After all, suicide seemed like the most odious of secrets as the truth gets taken to  the grave, leaving behind only the shame.   

  Kirby reviewed that crazy day – rushing to the sumps, rescuing Sal,  hospitals, Rachel returning, secrets being told – and felt anything asked about  Jimmy’s parents can be shelved until everyone is okay, let the shock of the day  pass. Jimmy simply hadn’t asked the “right” questions that night. Kirby wished  every major decision in life came in the form of blinking railroad crossing signs. 

 > “WARNING: DO AND SAY THE RIGHT THING IN THIS SITUATION

 OR YOU WILL REGRET IT LATER” <  

  “Jim, listen to me. Your mother told me, of course. It never mattered. To me.  To her. To your father. I’m sorry I never went into details. You and your sister  were…just always you and your sister. The twins. Your parents were your parents.  The mother who gave birth to you? No matter how messed up she was, she still  loved you enough to want you to have a good mother.” 

  Jimmy was not crying anymore, but he wasn’t noticeably breathing either.  

He watched Kirby without moving a muscle.  

  “Your mother, Claire, said she held you just a few hours after she held your  sister. Your parents were thrilled to have you both. I even think…I even think, Jim,  your mom loved you the most.” Kirby and Jimmy smiled at one another.  

  “She sure has a funny way of showing it.” Jimmy said, not meaning for it to  be cruel.  

  “When you told your sister, I waited for you to ask me more questions.  Since you never did – that’s when Rachel came back, right? And Janny was just  finding out about that?” Jimmy nodded. “Yeh, so, you never asked then. Time  passes, son. People move on. I guess I thought…or hoped you were cool with the  answers you did have. I’m sorry, Jim. I should have told you our first year in Ohio. You would have handled it fine.”  

  Jimmy felt a relief but a deep sadness. Wishing he knew how to ask Kirby  for help to get off his destructive trajectory, perhaps it was time to “move on.”   Jimmy never went back to Ohio. To come home from a beating and arrest  made no sense. Even though their connection deepened the few days Kirby stayed  in Virginia Beach, Jimmy felt he was raised to find things out for himself.  

Jimmy lied and told Kirby what he wanted to hear: yes, I’ll come back in a  few months to live and go to school. Janny was mad at Jimmy for not returning with Kirby right away and told him so on the phone several times over the week. Learning Jimmy was coming back for school calmed her down. Jimmy knew everyone would be disappointed by his eventual decision, but he needed to deal  with that another time, after court. Jimmy continued to run – this time to escape the  anger he still felt by his mother’s suicide. Janny and Kirby were the constant  reminders of the day he found her and he couldn’t handle that.  

  Kirby felt their discussion at the restaurant had cleared the air completely.

Music scholarships for college were discussed, as well as fixing up the basement  

for Jimmy. Kirby had kept his family together. Kirby would fly home later in the  

week, but return in a month with a truck to take Jimmy back home. When Jimmy 

disappeared from everyone’s life for two years, Kirby was as shocked as anyone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 26 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – 1982 

 

  When Kirby returned from Virginia, he managed to get the three of us in the  same room. I had not seen him with julienne in over two years. She left us before  our 16th birthday, before our trip to Missouri. Prior to her leaving, I noticed she and Kirby had not been spending much time together, as she was involved with food co-ops, her job at the library, her weaving and artwork but managed to cook for us. She was physically there for us. I just didn’t know she was unhappy too. Once she  moved out, I felt no obligation to tell her about my pregnancy nor the miscarriage.   

The night she and Kirby told us about their break up came as a shock to us, but since there wasn’t much discussion, we took her moving out in stride. Jimmy had predicted this years ago. Julienne promised she would stay part of our lives.  

Kirby didn’t not add much to the conversation, other than “it’s for the 

best” which, in grown-up speak means “we haven’t a clue why this is happening.” I later told Jimmy I didn’t think she liked living with a human stone. I wasn’t sure how anyone stayed with Kirby – his existence seemed to be work and cars.  

Even after the night of Jimmy’s confession about Rachel’s illness and his  questionable conception, Kirby did not provide any sort of closure or answers. I  peppered him with a few questions the following weeks: was it true, were Jimmy’s parents alive, were we born on the same day, did my daddy know and why didn’t anyone tell us? – but I got short, non-committal responses. He shrugged me off,  saying “what difference does it make now?” I imagined he was protecting himself from further hurt and rejection, but my brother had a right to know the truth. Thank  goodness for Uncle Daniel. Kirby did say “it’s the way it always was” which  grown-ups liked to say; as if, the way things were done in the past is the new status  quo. I thought we grew out of this to be able to look forward to change. But, everyone seemed afraid of change. Maybe that’s why Jimmy was never told.  

When Kirby had julienne and I together at the house, Jimmy’s arrest and  

“slight accident resulting in stitches” was the topic. We were getting details, which  was unlike Kirby to offer.  

  “I will take the truck down to pick him up, with his stuff and his cat. He will  go to school with Janny in the fall.” Kirby said in his halting manner. I was  grateful Kirby was taking care of business.  

  Two weeks later, after Kirby had made the morning coffee, he knocked on  my bedroom door to take me to work. In the truck, he told me “there have been  some changes.” 

  “Jimmy has decided to stay in Virginia until his court date in August.  

He said he may want to continue traveling though.” Kirby trailed off, mumbling  “I don’t know where he plans to get traveling money, but he isn’t returning  anytime soon.” 

  “I just talked to him last week. He didn’t tell me that! I want to be with  him.” I stated.  

  “You can’t now, J. You have work – these work credits will count towards  your school and your teaching degree. You can’t give that up now. Besides, there  isn’t room for you to stay in his house. The other boys are moving out too soon. I  am not even sure where Jimmy will be.” Kirby choked up a little.  

  I was mad and stared out the truck window. I was sure this was somehow  

Kirby’s fault. He probably said something to Jimmy. I knew the blame Jimmy  carried around, and Kirby probably solidified it.  

  “How do you know this then? I can’t get him on the phone anymore. How  do you know?” I asked in a huff.  

  “He called me, J. He called me at work yesterday.” Yesterday? Kirby had  this information for a whole night and decided to tell me now, on the way to work?  Why? So I wouldn’t run off to Virginia? Did he think he could hold onto me?  

As if he were reading my mind, Kirby said “don’t even think about going down there, J. I mean it. You are needed here. Time for you to focus on yourself.  

Jimmy will figure things out.”  

  How could I get defensive at that? I didn’t realize he was paying attention to my life. Living with just Kirby since January was an adjustment. We both hadn’t realized how often or how much someone else was there to help us to talk to one another. I knew we would eventually adapt, but only because it was temporary – Jimmy was coming back to go to school with me. Now he wasn’t? I was really stuck with Kirby? No julienne or Jimmy to break the tension. Kirby had tried to spend “quality” time with me, over the years. After I found Jimmy and Sal in the sumps (Kirby called me a hero), Kirby was attentive. But so much went on that summer, with Rachel returning and Jimmy finding confirming he wasn’t my biological twin. I think my pregnancy disappointed him. Our time together faded. Kirby used Jimmy as our go-between and my protector. We both counted on him. Jimmy was our road map when we got lost; we went to him for direction. My twin put things in perspective better than anyone. To me, my brother always landed on his feet. I felt I never had to worry about him. Kirby was there too, steady and dependable. I guess I took them both for granted.  

  The arrest upset me. For the first time, I thought my brother was an idiot.  

He was too far from home and allowing himself to be influenced (again!) by Sal.  Did he feel he had to fit in? Did he finally give up on being my brother? Six  months without seeing him felt like a lifetime. Now I wondered if I would ever see him again. Maybe I will disappear as well to parts unknown or, go away for  college. 

It was too late for that. I had already been accepted to the local university,  scholarships were in place (my essay on being orphaned by war and suicide pulled in the big bucks) and besides, I would never do that to Kirby: leave him alone.  

  “How can I get in touch with him?” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. I  did not want to cry again. We were almost at my job.  

  “The phone is shut off. He called me from a pay phone, collect. Why don’t  you write him at his address for now? I wish he told me more, J. I really do.” Kirby seemed sympathetic.  

 

  Dear Jimmy, 

It’s weird not being able to see you or talk to you, my twin! Is that what this  is about? I wish you didn’t have to go to court alone or deal with all this shit without me. It all seems absurd. I wonder if you will ever get this? It feels like you are telling us all to “fuck off”.  

Seriously, please call. School starts soon and I am FREAKING OUT.

I have to get a car! I need you to help me pick one out!  

  I watch t.v. with Kirby at night! Help me, brother! This is my life now! All  my friends went away to college already!  

    Kirby said not to worry too. You will probably just get probation. 

  Love forever and always,   Your twin, JFK.  

  I shall conjure black and white curves 

to cajole my desire oft hid 

A decision to discover or not.

  I sit on the Ivy 

that strengthens me each day. 

Even the weeds shed kindness 

Beneath the Unknown

 

CHAPTER 27 

 

  Janny 

 

Michigan – 1984 

 

  I was in my junior year and student teaching. Kirby had numerous aches and pains and hated going to the V.A. I had to force him to take various medications. Any of my spare time was spent nursing him. He had mellowed. He was actually sweet- still demanding and “right” when he was “right” but we had grown closer. After he saw my “Mondale/Ferraro” bumper sticker, we avoided all political discussions. He had become Reagan-right.  

  After Jimmy’s court date and subsequent sentencing of 6 months probation  

(adjudication withheld), Jimmy convinced Virginia to transfer his probation to  NYC. He wanted to pursue a music career. Once he moved to New York, he fell  off the radar completely: no postcards, calls or letters. I think it was harder on  Kirby than on me. I was busy with school and work and student teaching. It was a  relief though, when the phone rang one night and it was from Jimmy. It was if a  two-year sigh was released from the stagnant energy of the house. Kirby seemed fully alive again. This time, I convinced Kirby to let me see Jimmy. Not fit for  traveling– Kirby’s knees and back were a mess, he “allowed” me (needed me) to be the one to take charge and visit Jimmy in rehab.  

  Kirby and I both suspected Jimmy had most likely “gotten hooked” on drugs in New York but we never shared that with one another. While we both we were on the phone with him, Jimmy explained his addiction was “gradual until it  wasn’t.” When first in NY, he had a downtown sublet, an apartment in a rent- controlled building. He told us he got to play with some big named bands but the lifestyle caught up to him. It was the hours, the people he hung with – “everyone  was partying pretty heavy, just like Virginia Beach. It was just…accepted and normal.” Jimmy said he wanted to celebrate completing probation and began using again. Heroin mostly, then crack. He got sick – lost his apartment, moved to the downtown YMCA then a shelter.  

  He sold his precious guitar. He had hit rock bottom. Everyone he had cared about was out of his life. Everything he held dear was reduced to cravings. He said he had done things he “never would have done.” Kirby, quiet on the other end of the phone, uttered “like in war.”  

  A priest wandered into the shelter Jimmy was staying one night. Even  though he wore a priest’s collar (which alienated Jimmy), he was “real and  relatable.” Surprising to Jimmy, Father Pat spent a great deal of time in India,  fascinated by their culture, religion and belief in reincarnation. Jimmy said this  man reached him in a way that probably saved his life. This man of the cloth  offered Jimmy a piece of himself that was missing.   

  “You feel you’ve been lacking all these years, but perhaps it’s what you’ve  been denying yourself?” suggested the priest.  

  Father Pat offered a perspective that Jimmy’s problems stemmed from  resistance. “Give yourself permission to release the demons of shame – accept the light inside and you will see your only responsibility is to uncover the truth. The  truth is pure, beautiful, whole and freeing. There is an alternative from having to run and hide from the pain and the fear and the loss and the loneliness and the  alienation.” But the first thing Jimmy had to do was get himself cleaned up.   The priest arranged a long term stay at a residential treatment center and  working farm in Michigan. After the priest pulled some strings, they flew Jimmy  out. He had been there 30 days when he was able to call. He sounded happy. The  Farm was about finding a different way.  

  Jimmy told us he missed us and told us we “were not responsible”  for his addiction nor disappearance. He apologized for worrying us, but said he  was “taking care of it.” He was allowed visitors now too. 

  Kirby arranged the flight and hotel for me. He did not want me to drive but  rented a car for me once I got there. The treatment center was out in the country.  Kirby paid for everything, although he said it seemed his Army disability checks were getting smaller. With promises of plant and cat care, Kirby gave me his blessing for my trip to the great white north to visit my twin. julienne, as usual,  came through with nightly visits of soup, bread, games of Scrabble and mostly, made sure Kirby was taking his medications.  

  Visitors were allowed on Sunday. I landed at dawn and left the Detroit  airport for the 90-minute drive to the center, expecting a concrete institution in the  middle of a field, surrounded by wires. I knew my twin. He’d have to be forced to stay anywhere that was going to tell him what he could or could not do. I’d imagine our visit would last an hour, through a piece of plexiglass or across a steel table.  

  It was a beautiful spring day. I was filled with excitement and anticipation,  the fresh smell of blossoms filling me with new life. Weed seeds floated through the blue, cloudless sky. A row of tall, regal Cypress trees lined a driveway flanked by long swaths of open land, dotted with small and large barn type structures, old and quaint. Gardens of various sizes were laid out in a quilt-like grid. Animals grazed or lazed in the mud, green fields and piles of straw.  

  At the end of driveway, there was a giant, red mailbox indicating I had  arrived at the address. There was a small table set by the road, with a poster board  saying “fresh eggs”. This really was a farm. Jimmy is working on a farm? Is this  priest a cult leader? A Quaker? A slave laborer? I spotted a huge white house with  a wraparound porch, attached by a breezeway to an equal-in-size red barn. I headed  towards the house, following the sign that read “Visitor Parking”. The parking area was a flat grassy area, each spot delineated by wooden tie beams. A couple of groups of smiling families were getting out of their cars, waving to people in the  distance. Hand-painted signs scattered throughout the lot: “take it easy”, “Let Go. Let God”, “one day at a time”, “turn it over”, “H.A.L.T.” – I held my purse tightly to my body. No cult would get me.  

  I walked across low cut grass to a marble stone path, bordered with tulips,  marigolds, and forsythias. Another amateur sign said “Office. Welcome!” Several  people passed me and smiled. When I turned the corner (the office was in the back of the white house), I noticed scattered rows of picnic tables, small trees, children playing in the huge expanse of yard. Beyond the manicured lawn was a primitive wooden fence with the butted heads of goats and donkeys, vying for attention from the visitors. The office door was just a screen door with a little shop bell above the entry. I was starting to feel less anxious.  

  Then I saw him. He was walking across one of the back fields, talking to a young girl, his hair appearing like it was on fire, a golden arch across his head. The  girl was laughing. He was wearing ratty jeans, tucked into partially, laced work boots coated in mud. He had on a t-shirt which accented his nicely, sculpted chest.  

Even if it was my brother, I noticed. The low morning sun followed them.  

  “May I help you?” a voice from inside the office said.  

  I turned from looking at Jimmy and the screen door gently closed behind  me. I noticed I let in a giant horse fly when I was standing there holding the door  open. A large, older black woman with the most infectious smile I had ever seen,  was retrieving a clipboard as she spoke. I wanted to bolt out the door and run to  Jimmy.  

  “Yes! I am here to see…him” as I pointed out the door. “James Kapinsky? I  am his sister, Janice?”  

  “Of course! James talks about you often.” (He does?) “Here is a brochure, a  map of the area, a schedule of events for the day, and if you can, just sign here. I  will call in James. You may wait outside, if you’d like. As you said, he’s on his  way.” She spoke into the giant microphone on her desk, announcing on the P.A.:  

“James K to visiting area, please.”  

  As I thanked her, she reminded me lunch was in two hours, but I was  welcome to fresh beverages located by the dining room. James could show me.  My heart was pumping fast. My arm pits were damp. I had mistakenly worn a  sweater with a tank top underneath, thinking it would be cooler outside. I needed to  take off the sweater but then my arm flab would show. I remained warm.   Jimmy saw me right away when I stepped down from the office entry. His  face lit up. I am sure, mine matched his. He walked towards me with his long  strides. I started to run towards him. I was sweaty and now, out of breath too.  

  “You came! There you are. Here you are. You look wonderful!” he lied. I  was panting, and my frizzy hair matted to my sweaty forehead. He gave me a huge hug, once again, feeling like the protector. The part of me that had been missing was back.  

  Jimmy introduced me to his friend, a resident who had been at the Farm for 8 months, sober, helping Jimmy with some transitioning.  

  “He’s mostly with male sponsors, don’t worry.” she laughed.  

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it was her way to say she wasn’t his  girlfriend? I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Maybe we were both single now. I  didn’t have time to date anyone. Besides, the boys at my college were idiots.  

  “Have a wonderful day together” and the pretty, wispy, not-Jimmy’s- girlfriend, left.  

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the burden I had taken on: school,

work, Kirby, the house, the constant worry about my brother’s well-being. Jimmy’s hug mended the two years we were apart; two years I felt like an orphan. In the past, we experienced the same things at the same time. His disappearance was part of who I became – easily stepping into the role of sad-loss-girl. It defined my entire life. We had separate lives now. I needed to accept that, learn to validate myself, and let go of wanting to fix him. I wasn’t sure how to be me without being defined by my twin. Is that what Jimmy is being offered here, a different way of life?  

  Jimmy took my hand. We walked to a back building, the community dining room, which was a modern, rectangular aluminum structure with concrete floors. They held fairs, auctions and large meetings here. We each got a pop from one of  the coolers, two root beers. Jimmy seemed to know everyone we passed; greeting them all with a smile and hello. Past the community building was where the fields met at a point. Low scrub then massive pines formed a natural boundary where the fields and meadows ended. We walked into the forest along the fire road.  

  Jimmy explained the program: daily group and individual sessions, daily AA and NA meetings (sometimes off the property), the farm responsibilities which  included cooking, cleaning and other chores, plus animal care, harvesting, planting and weeding. I was curious about any religious aspect to it but he said it was secular. GOD was mentioned at meetings, in the 12 steps, in the Big Book (the AA  bible), but Jimmy said that GOD could be “any higher power.” He told me he believed in God, but not anything that was shoved down anyone’s throat. He didn’t buy the devil or heaven story but felt God had stepped in to his life, in many forms, in many ways, to offer him a better way. He added he was “no holy roller.” If one made it through the first 30 days at the farm, your chances were good  you would stay, Jimmy said. No one was forced to stay. It was voluntary and free.  

           The Farm subsisted on grants, town and business donations, loyal alumni donations, and sold vegetables, animals, eggs, honey (the hives were further back) and grew hay for other local farms. Jimmy said the Farm saved his life. He knew he had far to go, but wasn’t afraid to face darkness anymore. He laughed, corrected himself and said “no, that’s bull. I am ALWAYS afraid!” I had witnessed this raw honesty and vulnerability from Jimmy just two times: once in the sumps, not  knowing if a friend’s seizure meant he was dying and the other time, when he was having flashbacks to momma’s suicide. This time, the fear was gone and replaced with hope. Hold on. Pain ends.  

  Jimmy said the meetings, the talking, the listening, the writing, the reading,  the meditation, the work in the fields and the fellowship replaced all and any  cravings he had the first 30 days. More privileges would be given to him the longer  he stayed: participated, followed the rules (no fraternization) and went “through  the steps.” The average stay at the Farm was 6-9 months, at which point you  moved to town, into a halfway “transition” house, learning how to live and work  with a small group of people in a normal, sober environment. For some, it was the  first time they budgeted, had relationships, negotiated life, celebrated holidays, mourned death – without drugs and alcohol. It was another way to live. Jimmy’s life depended on it, as I learned during a group family meeting that day. Jimmy  shared his “first step”, which was his powerlessness to drugs and how he got to this point. In another family session with a psychologist and Father Pat, we learned as family members when and how to separate; how our loved one’s addiction was our disease too. We were taught how we participated in their illness (codependence) and how to participate in their recovery (healing). I wasn’t sure how this would fly with Kirby, but I found it comforting.  

  Father Pat told me that “blame and shame game” had effected  

Jimmy (they called him James here) in unimaginable ways. Once this was thrust on him as a child, no other options were available. The negative emotions become the comfort zone. The pain, then running from the pain is S.O.P.- standard operating procedure. Kirby and my mother unknowingly, passed this to us. Their secrets became our shame. Jimmy feared if he allowed himself to stop blaming himself, he would have nothing left of our mother. He told me it was not our burden to carry any longer. We had to let it go. “We’re only as sick as our secrets.”  

  The day was magical. I went back to Detroit then flew home to Ohio  renewed and revived. When Jimmy flew home to spend Christmas with us, it got  even better. He took us (including Kirby) to open meetings and we listened to his  plans to go to Africa next year, helping Father Pat, his savior, to build homes and  deliver vaccinations to children. It would be a long nine years before we saw Jimmy after that, but I knew in my twin heart, I never had to worry about him again.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  CHAPTER 28 

 

  Janny 

 

Ohio – 1993 

 

  I actually gasp when I see my brother walk into the hotel restaurant. I am  seated in the back, on a round cushioned bench, facing the front. He takes my  breath away. My stunning twin, his long blonde hair contrasting my (now short) jet black hair, still untamable, pouring out from under a knit cap julienne had made. He was still Yin to my Yang. He sees me and grins. He sits across from me and hands me a box.  

  “Happy Birthday, Sis,” he says as he reaches over to kiss my cheek. I clumsily move around the table to stand up and give him a hug. I did not want to let go.  

  “It’s so good to finally see you.” I say.  

  He holds me tightly. I am the first one to let go. A chill goes up my spine  and all the hairs on my arm become stiff. He is home and familiar and years of not having him in my life wash over me. A wave of anger submerges the happiness of  seeing him. It shocks me – what was I angry about? A fierce blow, remembering what it felt like as a kid, when you realize not everyone was your friend?  

  “It’s been…awhile,” he says to break the silence as we both sit down.  

“Aren’t you going to open your present?”  

  “Why has it been so long?” I try to make the question seem light. I was not expecting to get an answer, at least one I could accept. 

  He looks at me in a quizzical manner, like a dog tilting its head to better hear a sound.  

“We talk, sis. You know I had some things to get through, on my  own…travelling, then I met Beth? The rest, as they say, is history.” His eyes still  shone and his smile floored me. He was humble about his achievements even while  being scolded by his sister.  

  I asked a few obligatory questions about Beth, the wonderful woman he met and married in Africa. Both of them had moved back to the states a year ago and were now running a music center for impoverished and homeless kids in NYC. with funds Father Pat was able to procure. Kirby and I had never met Beth, but we received many pictures, holiday cards and small gifts over the past 6 or so years. I nodded with approval, then went in for the kill. 

  “Why weren’t you here for Kirby, I mean?”  How quickly my anger comes out.  

  “I know. I failed him.” Jimmy isn’t shocked or hurt by my question. “Too  many times, I suppose.” Jimmy learned platitudes in recovery, I thought.  

  The tension built rapidly.  

  “Is this always about you blaming yourself for something?” I ask. 

  “You just accused me of abandoning our step-father! Not being there for you! How should I respond?” His voice raised.  

  “I didn’t say you weren’t there for me. But you’re right. You weren’t.”  I could be just as stubborn as my brother.  

“Well, anyway, Happy Birthday to you too.”  

  The waiter came by and we ordered salads and sparkling water. Both our  jaws were locked. We both had the same twin habit of gritting our teeth during  confrontations.  

  “Okay. Can we start again?” said my brother, the peacemaker.  

  I am sorry this time. I open the package Jimmy had given me. I am flooded with forgiveness as the quiet snow falls inside this glass dome. The tip of the greenish cactus now dissolves beneath a glittery fake blizzard, the miniature truck and cabin lost in a wintry desert scene.  

  I don’t have a present for Jimmy. It didn’t occur to me. Who had time for  birthday celebrations, even if this was our “big 3.0.”? I knew, realistically and  intellectually, Jimmy was out of the country when Kirby had his stroke. I know he talked to julienne and the VA staff on a regular basis. I know he sent money for Kirby’s rehab. I know he had a solid sobriety and recovery. I know he had shared his gift of compassion with the world. I know he had helped many lost souls. I knew the difference between the finality of death versus being just separated by space from a loved one. I wasn’t abandoned by him. He was here for me. For us. Now. I will breathe and accept this gift from him. Julienne would’ve been proud of me – momma too.  

  Jimmy and I shared a lifetime together, then it ended. We were separate  now: by distance, by relationships, by happenstance. We shared a childhood, both on the same path, both affected by the same events, yet both on a unique journey with different dreams and demons. Jimmy’s life began with a lie, but so had mine. I was told I had a twin. I was lied to as well. No one ever acknowledged that.   

  My life involved taking care of the man who raised us. Becoming a special education teacher, living in the home we once all shared, I felt I was now being  selfish with my anger. All I ever wanted, I realized, was to have Jimmy never leave my life. My fear was losing him. He owed none of us anything – he was lied to about his biology, yet felt it was his job to take care of momma, keep her alive. He absorbed her depression. I assumed one day, he would be gone too.  

  At one of the farm meetings, Jimmy had said “keeping my mother alive?  

That was for me. I knew losing her would be to lose my only link to my past.”   It didn’t surprise me I wasn’t his link. It hurt a little at first. He explained it  was a “six-year old’s musings” so was not necessarily rational. He assured me, “we are twins in all the ways that matter.”  

  “My biggest regret, Janny, was not contacting you in the hospital when you had your hysterectomy.” I remembered how mad Kirby was, but that was Kirby’s way of dealing with his helplessness. I told Kirby I had felt damaged.  

  “Sis, we had our share of trauma. If you’re meant to be a mom, a child will  present itself. I never cared about the biology part…of me, ya’ know? I mean, I got a mom, and a dad, and I was loved. And, I got stuck with you!” he said tenderly.  

“It killed me to know you felt like damaged goods.” 

  “Even if you had known everything, Jimmy, and I mean everything, would it  have changed anything?” I was giving him permission to let go.  

  Daddy’s death, momma’s suicide then not feeling like you ever belonged,  that’s how Jimmy described his emptiness and why he needed a sabbatical from us. I was his constant reminder of this false reality. It took him this long in his  recovery to recognize what did NOT define him. He had defined himself by his  losses, secrets and blame. External combat always translates to internal wars; one learns to separate parts of the self to survive. He didn’t want to turn into Kirby. It  never mattered to me. He was my brother. Kirby and I were his family. Besides, I  was still battling.   

  We left the restaurant, on our birthday, in great spirits. It was if all the time  and past hurts melted away by the time the salads came. I tried to prepare Jimmy  for Kirby’s condition, but it was still a shock for him when we arrived at the VA  hospital. I felt for him, to see Kirby after all these years; to see this once strapping, strong man who carried Jimmy around like a football whither to this  unrecognizable ghost in a hospital gown. Kirby did not respond to Jimmy’s  presence at all. Jimmy said it’s good he wasn’t aware of the tubes and machines  and beeps and needles. 

The sadness remained in Jimmy’s voice once he got back to New York.  We spoke on the phone nightly. I was the one telling him to remain hopeful. Kirby was making progress, the doctors said. By spring, our hopes were realized.  

 

Jimmy came back to Ohio the following spring with Beth, to help get Kirby set up in the house. We turned the garage into a bedroom/physical therapy space so Kirby wouldn’t have any stairs to climb. Jimmy and Beth paid for a full time nurse. Kirby was speaking again, a few words at a time. Ironically, the stroke made his face seem more animated. Every joy, smile, tear, emotion – registered on that  grizzly, once handsome face.   

  Julienne had made a big deal out of my book of poems being published. She  had a small party for us at her house while Jimmy was still in town, surrounded by her children. She had met a wonderful man at her food co-op many years ago. He even understood she considered Jimmy and I to be her children too. Now, Beth was part of this brood, just as julienne and her family had accepted Rachel and me, once we reconnected after I graduated college and began teaching and writing.  

Rachel was my forever life partner.  

   

  The life we come from is not the life we created. Individuals get broken and some can be healed with self-awareness, change and time. We lose some along the way but they are not ours to hold on to forever. Our lives are intertwined, if only for a brief moment, as fragile and faltering as a butterfly’s wings. We continue to  reach out our arms and hearts to all that wander onto our path. Sometimes, we have  to release them. The love we feel or give is undiminished but tested constantly. Nothing prepares us for the pain of losing someone, as we fight to prevent what we  can: not send young men to war; provide the lost with reasons and means to  continue.  

My mother was abandoned by her young husband, Kirby was abandoned by  his wife and country, and Jimmy and I were abandoned by our parents. The  creation of our new family brought me the courage to see me for who I was – a  stumbling individual who needed love and forgiveness for letting my mother  down. I was the one to let her down. I shook the dome, and everything disappeared for a while. But just for a little while.  

 

  When julienne, Rachel and I flew to New York the next winter, Jimmy and I got to celebrate a miraculous birthday, including skating at Rockefeller plaza and seeing the Christmas Tree. We met the infants: my identical twin nephews, the color of an African sunset – Beth’s face, Jimmy’s eyes (and my hair). Their names were Jabari (fearless/brave) & Jaden (“God has heard”). One of the presents I gave them was a silver baby rattle belonging to our dad, sent by our dear Aunt Esther after Uncle Daniel had passed. The twins now had a connection to their grandfather who died in Vietnam over 30 years ago.  

My present to Jimmy was something Mrs. Latchett had given to me when  we were in Arizona, the day Jimmy had his “breakdown” (I never told anyone  about that, not Rachel, not julienne, not Kirby). It was a poem momma had written when we were four. Mrs. Latchett rescued it from the trash bins, after we moved out. She figured the new renters (or Kirby) were throwing out our old memories. Jimmy treasured it, cried (this was becoming a habit with him) and thanked me for  his life. I didn’t ask how I gave him life. I think I knew. That was good enough for  me.  

 

All of us, this designated clan of happenstance, were at the JFK airport  terminal together on Christmas Eve, to welcome our newly adopted 8-month-old daughter from Cambodia. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Beth had a niece, the new twins had a cousin, Kirby and julienne were once again, grandparents, and Rachel and I were mommas. We created a family from love.

 

I knew what mattered after all. 

 

 

 

 

“Shed tears for me while I am growing old Cry tears over me while my body grows cold 

 

Shed your tears if you need, if you must But to grieve over me will cause your heart unjust 

 

Life is a breath 

Death is no more 

Carry on my Love Like I was before. 

 

When I loved, I gave you Joy 

This you remember,  My dear sweet boy. the time has come for me to go if you are sullen the light will never show. 

 

Hold tight to our memories 

Moments of the past 

This is what continues 

Is truly, what will last 

 

The life of two hearts intertwined as one 

Yours is alone now 

But the story is never done. 

 

Don’t let my death stain you 

Keep you in your tracks 

Once the moment passes 

You can never step back. “ 

 

– Claire Kapinsky, 1967  

 

51,948  8.27.16 

52,177 9.13.16 draft #3  

 

52168 words 235 pages

DRAFT 7- complete 4/5/18

 

   

 

 

   

 

 

   

   

   

   

   

   

 

 

 

 

   

   

   

 

   

 

   

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

   

   

 

 

  MIRAGE 

 

Kirby Devlin, the youngest captain in the 1st infantry division, sat down on the curb, staring at the hot pavement. He removed his army dress hat, wiping the cold sweat from his eyes with his left hand; his right hand grasping the envelope.  27-year-old Army Captain Devlin has delivered this news before and at no time did it get easier. 

   It is the worst thing anyone must do. It takes a piece of him.  

He glanced down at his dusty dress shoes, the street curb, nothing, and breathed heavily.  He was having trouble catching his breath.  Deserts were new to Kirby, but there were hidden treasures and green expanses of lushness if one paid attention. Kirby was not paying attention that day. Appropriately somber yet comforting, he was known on the base as “the best” at this business.  

This coming coming coming business of War.   

Kirby raised his head. He looked off into the dust and thought: 

First things first. First, I must go pick up my chaplain. No one was to deliver the news alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1  

 

I never meant to throw away your tomorrows 

 

JANNY 

 

Sometimes I think I was born nature’s anomaly. I was born Janice Frances Kapinsky on December 5th, 1963 moments after my brother, James Franklin Kapinsky presented himself to the world. We went home to live in a teepee.  

Momma was living there with my first dad. The dad I don’t remember. Momma was a flower child, but admired Jacqueline Kennedy. So much so, that when Mrs. Kennedy’s husband was killed two weeks before we were born, momma knew our names had to have the initials “J.F.K.”  James Kapinsky, age 19 and Claire Raines, age 23 married and in love, had twins during a birth of change in the world. My parents and Jimmy and I had approximately 18 months together before my dad went into the army.   

My parents were married for three years before momma became a widow-  before Jimmy and I lost both our parents to war; each lost in a separate way. It is how Jimmy and I felt about our whole lives: Lost in separate ways.  

I hated my name. Everyone called me “Janny” but at school, when the teacher called my full name, it sounded like hissing. We were known as the  

“twins” practically everywhere although we both did not see what the fuss was about. I remember so many voices whispering, “what about the twins? the poor twins? the orphaned twins?” It sounded like we had a disease.  

Life just kept going on for us; changes in one’s journey never becomes significant until it is looked at in retrospect. But wouldn’t that perception always relate to my womb mate? Is that the message I was getting? The aloneness I was feeling was not possible. I had my twin. The shadow over the sun was Jimmy’s silhouette? How could such a light as Jimmy cast darkness, or even stay still long enough to cast a shadow?  No, I owned the darkness too.  I just knew I shouldn’t be feeling this way.  

 

 

Ohio – December 1993

  

  It was raining the whole way to Cleveland, the windshield wipers trying to

keep up as if they were out of breath. I was on my way to visit Kirby, who was 

still only saying 1-2 syllables since the stroke.   

Jimmy refused to come.  I didn’t push it because I somewhat-tried-to 

understand. Wasn’t that the sister’s job?  We were to be 30 this year and Jimmy 

made some “moral promises” to himself, not that I understand what that meant. I 

often wondered if he ever felt a spiritual calling; perhaps become a priest or rabbi 

or something? Maybe he was tired of having to do things just because he “had 

to”?  That feeling I could understand.  

I wouldn’t be the one to let Kirby down though, no matter how irrelevant the visit. Of course, I felt I owed much to Kirby. After my mother’s death, he continued to care for me and Jimmy, in a hollow sort of way. It wasn’t Kirby’s fault. He seemed more lost than us. At least we (“the twins”) had each other.   

We moved to Ohio just a few months after the funeral.  I’m not sure why we came here. I mean, why did he pick Ohio? Did we ask? Did we care? Were we walking in some trance like state?  Maybe we were told, and maybe I don’t remember and maybe it didn’t matter.  I was grateful we had a family, still.    Jimmy was different. He always seemed wanting more. I suspected behind  

Kirby’s emptiness throughout the years was a sense of also needing more.  

I couldn’t figure out why the two of them couldn’t help each other. Who did I have? For the past few years, both of my family members had become silent: One silenced involuntarily, one silenced by choice. Both silenced, for a time, by secrets.  

Kirby never became our adoptive dad although I considered him my “real” dad. There was no more talk of adoption as mom had promised us one day.  She and Kirby never married. After her death, when no other relatives came forward to claim us, the state of Arizona declared Kirby our legal guardian. Sounded like an arrangement, not a family.  

The rain finally stopped. After five hours of driving, I arrived at the rehabilitation facility. It was a VA hospital as Kirby also served in Vietnam but survived, unlike my dad. The doctors at the VA said Kirby was young to have had such a major stroke. He had gotten heavy and always had a beer or joint or cigarette in his hands. I also found out many ‘Nam Vets died young or had developed lifelong illnesses. At least Kirby tried to survive no matter what.   

Other people in my life seemed to have given up.  

My visit with Kirby was quiet as he slept away the visit. I wandered the ward, read a little of the “Wall Street Journal” and Stephen King to some of the  other residents, talked with the nurses, then left for a hotel. I always left a big card for Kirby, usually a heart, so maybe he would know I was there.  

I was now the same age as my mother when she decided she no longer wanted to be there to see my Valentine’s day. Maybe if I had made a card for her before I left for school that day? Maybe if I had left it for her, she would have waited another day? And then another? What would another day bring her?  It would be years before I dared to asked anyone the questions I had about momma. Even then, I couldn’t ask them all. Why, for example, did momma stop wanting memories with me? Would another day have made a difference?  

 

Tucson – 1969 

 

My brother and I belt each other with clay balls. We’re laughing.  We have red caked mud on top of our Arizona sun-lightened hair –  his blonde, mine dark brown.  We are the color of pennies. Mom opens the back-iron gate and  

begins to get the hose to wash us off. It’s 103 degrees.  

She must have changed her mind because she is holding the hose like she is watering something but no water is coming out. She is staring far away.   I think I should let her know. I go to get up to head to the faucet but she sets the hose down. It just drops from her hand.  She turns to go back to the house. 

 Jimmy calls to me, “Janny!”  before he scurries away and returns to catching lizards. My twin brother and only sibling, has a way of picking lizards off saguaro like he was a roadrunner. His movements are swift and sudden. I shadow him before he disappears but turn my head to look back at the screen door.  

I think of momma and think I hear her crying.  

When the desert magically begins its colorful descent into dusk, my dad comes home. He honks and waves from his truck as he comes up the drive.  

The clay stirs under his tires. Reflected by the sun, it looks like one of those Clint Eastwood movies we would see at the drive-in, although I usually fell asleep before it was over. I made Jimmy describe, in detail, the parts I missed the next day. He was a good actor, falling in the dirt like he was shot.  

I wished my dad was a cowboy. A little girl’s dreams that go on forever.     Kirby works on the base as a clerk and is a part time bartender at a fancy hotel. We like it because on “slow” days he lets me and Jimmy come to the hotel and swim in the pool. We watch TV (we don’t have our own), spellbound with the  

“Outer Limits”.  

We see news shows and black and white images of boys wrapped in muddy gauze on stretchers – carried by dirty scared – looking soldiers onto helicopters.   

Kirby was in Vietnam but never told us what it was like.  

 Our “first” dad was killed in that place. Jimmy and I were only three years old. It was so long ago and the war is still here. Still. Children losing fathers and babies dying.   

Part of me thinks that’s why mom is sad a lot but I can’t remember what she was like before.  

  Kirby shouts “hey” to us as he gets out of the truck and goes inside. Soon after, music comes out of the door and Kirby follows, smoking one of his sweet cigarettes. Mom brings Kirby a pop. Slowly, she places her arms around his waist.  The music is loud.  Someone is screaming to give them “’another piece of your heart” but I hear momma laughing through the lady screeching and the guitar.   

         Jimmy and I wipe ourselves from rags in back of the truck.  It’s cooler, suddenly, and a piece of moon is already in the sky. I feel giddy inside. Momma hugs us even though our skin is shriveled like an orange rind left in the sun.   

  Momma smells like coconut. She says the corn is ready so we all go inside to eat. Momma isn’t “lost in space” (that’s what Jimmy says). 

I get to eat without having to watch her all the time. That’s good, I think, because I am really hungry.  

One year later, the familiar brick landscape of the Southwest would be replaced by the damp Cleveland pavement; cactus replaced by streetlights; our hardened moccasin-like feet trapped in shivery cold wet shoes and socks.  

Kirby would be forced to buy clothes for us like scarves and things called

mittens.  Boots. Jackets. Rain gear. Alien concepts.  

At 6, my desert reality was turned upside down by a sandstorm with no indication of ever clearing. My life and place in the world had shifted.  

I didn’t even see the storm coming. I didn’t know my mother was going to kill herself.  

I never thought my life would not include her.  

 

 

 

Chapter 2  

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – Valentine’s Day, 1970 

 

Momma was earth and sweat and comforts and folds and wonder and was my magical connection to the world. That all disappeared on Valentine’s Day.   I was in the first grade. Jimmy, my twin, was still in kindergarten and only three days a week. Momma just insisted. He needed her a lot more. I was popular and smart. The night before Valentine’s Day, I stayed up late, cutting and gluing (31) cards for my classmates. We made card containers in class; milk cartons covered and decorated with construction paper and glitter. We were told to bring in  

cards “for all your friends.”  

I was determined to bring home the MOST to show momma. I wanted to see her smile. It had been awhile. I knew by making each card special and individual, my magic told me I would reap the same. I got cardboard from Kirby’s laundered shirts. White on one side, grey on the other. I had some construction paper and a red magic marker. I also had a jar of rubber cement. I used the white glossy backing for the hearts. By card 18, the bright red hearts I colored began to fade pinkish as the marker began to dry out. I tried to spit on the tip of the marker.  

By card 22, the heart appeared like a ghost trying to bleed. Good enough was unacceptable. While momma slept, the fan covering her comfortable body, I went through her vanity drawer. Her vanity was the only piece of furniture I can remember from that house.   

I heard the stale sound of the paint sticking on the drawer, while I rummaged for red of some sort. Momma did not wear makeup. Her skin was naturally smooth and soft and full of color. I finally found a single treasure in the form of the reddest red lipstick that was surely, brand new. 

Its case was turquoise and opal, a tiny gold butterfly on the top. 

I could not imagine momma getting this or using it. It didn’t matter at that point, it was red and hearts were waiting in their hopeful queue. This would be the day I would come home with my milk carton full of Valentine’s and momma would smile and hug me and tell me this was what she needed. Exactly what she needed.   

I always hoped something I did or said or gestured would be what momma needed; I could discover what worked! Maybe this hand colored some now very sticky) love would be enough. This time.  

My card strategy was a success! I held my bag tightly to my chest on the ride home. The bus left me off at the top of our road. I could see our turn off but not our house, the third one in. As I walked closer, I saw two red lights and a fire truck?  

I saw people standing around. Heads looked up at me.   

I heard torn bits of conversations and information.  

I knew it was unusual to see Mrs. Latchett, standing in our driveway in a bathrobe.  She smelled like tobacco and Jean Nate which I noticed the first time she lifted me   from the ground into her bosom. Then I saw ambulance lights. Another neighbor came and threw her arms around us. It got loud. The blood pumping loudly in my ears. Words were muffled. I sat at Mrs. Latchett’s kitchen table across from a nice police lady whose smile was on me but whose eyes were on the two officers talking to Kirby outside the window where we sat. She smiled and absent- mindedly stroked the inner part of my arm. It felt so good. Was that Jimmy at Kirby’s thigh? I realized I didn’t have my Valentine’s.  

My treasure of cards. I needed to find them. I had to show momma.  

I must have dropped momma’s Indian Purse that contained 31 Valentine Cards from my classmates and a special card from my teacher. 

   I never found it. Momma never got to see them.  

Was it my fault? I had not made a card for momma to leave by the coffee pot before I left for school that day. I meant to but fell asleep. I made breakfast for me and Jimmy (Kirby was on a double shift).  Momma slept in the mornings. 

Throughout the day, I thought of momma and knew I would make her one immediately when I got home. Maybe she would be napping. Momma had no way of knowing what day it was! If she had seen a card when she woke, maybe she would have smiled and thought of memories we could make that day? She would have felt loved and knew we needed each other?  

Could I have brought her another day? What would another day bring?  She had hung herself with a strong cord from our blinds. There was a chair involved. Everything became silent afterwards.  

Before the silence, on days her darkness escaped her, momma was tied-dyed curtains and curly brown-black hair like me. She was yellow flowers and the smell of baking and carrot juice. There was singing and music. We had homemade instruments and she had her guitar. She made special jam made from prickly pears. Jimmy loved to help her.  I counted the jars, inventoried the cache, listing the recipients on a yellow pad Kirby got from his desk job.  I even had a rubber stamp that read “YTIROIRP” and a black pad of ink. I loved the sound of that stamp hitting the pad.   

The same sound of the ambulance door closing.  I don’t remember a funeral but there was a small gathering. There wasn’t any music that day. I remember I held Jimmy’s hand and watched intently his tapping foot. Whenever I looked up, Kirby was there. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3 

 

 JANNY 

 

Cleveland – December 1970 

 

        All I remember from our drive east was arriving in Ohio. The rest of the country went by in darkness or endless plains of blinding sunlight. I heard four students were shot in Ohio a few months ago so I was doubly frightened by the cold unknown. The hazy streetlights in suburbia were shrouded in sinewy drops of frozen tears.  

It was December already. We had turned seven without our mother. Twas the night before Christmas. Icy rain pelted the van; the drive down our new street was shiny like the silver chain around my neck. It was my momma’s cross.  

I unconsciously grabbed it when Kirby announced our approach to our new house. It was still warm from laying on my chest. I was cold and numb.  Jimmy sat up straight. It was nighttime, clouds covered the moon but everything looked steel gray. It was late so the few Christmas lights that were still on looked like guiding stars prismed by the sleet through the van’s windows. I imagined I could make myself climb an ice-covered light to meet momma in the sky. 

The houses were close to one another. Kirby had explained to us our new house would have a “yard” (which sounded small) but it looked smaller than we thought.  

   “You guys wait in the car, okay? I’ll leave the car running but be right back.” 

Kirby was going to turn on the house lights and “turn on the heat.” 

I had no idea how he would accomplish “turning on” the heat. The wood stove at home required cold mornings of work. 

I was more miserable than I had ever been (making us move was worse than momma dying!) The “joy and peace” of the season seemed phony and stupid. I didn’t care there would be no celebration or tree or presents. I wiped the fog from inside the backseat window and started to nudge Jimmy when I thought I saw a light go on in the front window of the house next door. I turned to hear what Jimmy was mumbling and upon turning back my attention to the cold shadowy new world outside, I glimpsed a ghostlike figure pausing in yellow light to give me the peace symbol. When I went to go wave, the light went out and the figure had vanished. Rachel and I would meet at another time. I didn’t tell Jimmy what I had seen.  

That night, Jimmy and I slept on quilts laid on top of wall-to-wall pink carpet in the largest bedroom that would turn out to be mine. Kirby promised us new beds for our new rooms in this musty-smelling house with an “upstairs”.   I cried all night; silently, like the snow that started to fall outside. Jimmy seemed to know and tried to comfort me.  

“Come on, sis. Everything will be okay. Try not to worry” he whispered.  

When I awoke as the gray outside was fading (we didn’t have curtains yet), I viewed my first winter wonderland. I felt a stirring of happiness.  

Kirby had set up a little Christmas Tree with multi-colored lights in front of  

the big living room window downstairs. The snow made it almost magical. There were four wrapped gifts under the tree; two for me and two for Jimmy.  

I investigated. Two of the presents were from Kirby and we both had presents that read “love always momma”, one large, one small.  I knew she wasn’t there. I knew she wasn’t going to appear in the doorway, her loud or quiet self-manifesting from the cold white blanket outside. I felt she was there to watch us. 

I felt her leaving us (“the quiet momma”) before she even died, preparing us for the day she vanished forever. But on this warm morning (I was guessing the “thermostat” we were shown last night was responsible for that), while Jimmy and Kirby slept, I held packages from my dead momma. I felt our connection again.   

I trembled. I looked around for the first time and saw a beginning that did not terrify me. I did not feel alone. I felt some hope and warmth enter me for the first time in a long time. I finally put the presents back under the tree, unopened.  

I plodded into the kitchen and looked through some boxes for bowls and cups. I wanted to make cereal and toast and tea for my family. I heard a knock at the front door that shook me to my core.  

It was 8 A.M., according to the stove clock. I thought I could smell cooking when I approached the door. I don’t know what I expected to see. It was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She looked my age and wore a pink hooded winter coat. It had a white soft fur neckline which outlined her beautiful heart-shaped face and strawberry hair. She held a large basket that contained a thermos, muffins, fresh milk and a big container of something steaming.  

The girl’s momma helped to hold the basket. The momma wore a floral puffy dress with a large fur coat draped over her shoulders. Her blonde hair was so high and stiff it reminded me of a tumbleweed. I thought it might blow off her head and then the girl and I would watch this puffy flowered lady chase her hair down the street. It would leave a trail in the snow. Snow! I felt giddy.  

Rachel and her momma introduced themselves. Rachel was staring at my frizzy mop of hair. The mother wished us a Happy Holiday.  

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too, Janice!” her mother chirped. “Do you need any help carrying in the basket dear?”  

No, I would be fine. Where were my parents? Still asleep. Yes, they will enjoy the hot chocolate and “brisket with barley” (isn’t brisket another name for basket?). Yes, I was in the second grade. Yes, I would ride to school with them after the vacation. Yes, I will have to check with my parents first. Yes, ma’am, that is a VW bus.  

I began to shiver in the open doorway (oh look, that’s an icicle!). Then, for the first time, the girl smiled.  

My heart beat, oh so loudly! She was just the prettiest girl, like no one I had seen in Arizona!  How did I not notice that right away; not her beauty but her smiling eyes at me!?  I felt insignificant but in love! Could this beauty be friends with an orphaned, wild-haired relocated Westerner? Her smile gave all the answers. Yes, I will be your best friend. Yes, we will spend everyday together; every moment of time whispering, planning and plotting. Yes, you will soon know all my secrets.  

Despite no furniture, feeling displaced, motherless and (currently) friendless; it was still a happy Christmas – although the definition of “happy” was shifting like the snow drifts forming outside. Later that morning, Kirby, Jimmy and I had hot chocolate (which I envisioned my best new friend Rachel stirred clockwise, patiently, deliberately, making sure the milk would not scorch at the  bottom of the pan, adding the perfect amount of cocoa, sugar, vanilla and salt), warm muffins and later, brisket which was our main meal, after we unpacked the bowls and ended up eating on the floor on a blanket in front of the tree.  

There would still be surprises. 

After our bellies were full and I had given out my handmade 3D Christmas Cards from Arizona (that I do not remember making), Kirby presented our gifts.  Jimmy gave me the knowing look – I already had previewed the packages. The small box from momma was under the tree. I had put it back, right?  From Kirby, Jimmy received a really neat pocket knife, pearl inlaid, with two crossing rifles on the handle. I had gotten a lovely pink scarf with matching gloves. I scanned under the tree for the other two presents. Jimmy’s was there; was mine the small one? 

Kirby reached under the tree (with great drama and timing for Kirby) and pulled out two gifts. His countenance changed. In his low deep voice, he said,  

“these are from your mother. Your mom. . she, uh, wanted you to have these”. 

No need to say more. Still full and warm from my savior’s’ love-offerings, I was ready to tear open (more like untie) the frayed plum sized gift. It was wrapped in burlap and yarn and the card was a piece of plain paper, haphazardly taped and then tied, that told me it was from my momma. But she was in heaven supposedly, not the north pole which I never believed in anyway. I bet Jimmy quit believing in Santa too. I didn’t have to quit. I just never believed. Would this strange man, traveling in a sleigh, liking cold places, leave me a gift-wrapped in  burlap from my dead momma? Jimmy waited and let me open mine first.  

It was knotted. Jimmy gallantly reached across me, using his new knife, cutting the yarn in one, rapid movement. The lipstick case fell onto the floor without a sound. In slow motion, I scooped it up like a bird grabbing a beetle. I held it for a long time waiting to open my hand to reveal the turquoise and gold opal inlay in a lacquered wood background. I held onto it, palm and fingers sealed tightly, waiting to smell her bedroom: my momma’s crochet coverlet that had lay across her bed, the cedar of the drawers where I first saw this lipstick. Lipstick my momma never wore but I had worn down to a useless paste because I wanted to be popular on Valentine’s Day.  

I don’t remember opening my hand, but I do remember twisting the bottom of the tube expecting a flattened red squished mess. But instead, a new glistening dewy brilliant red point began to peak out of the top of the tube: an unused stick.  A brand-new makeup crayon. Someone had replaced the tube. It was a perfect point and then, a perfect day when Jimmy opened his large boxed present from momma: her blanket. I got to smell my momma for the last time after all.  

“I know this is not what we planned, but it is what we have.” Kirby said. 

“I loved your mom, and I love you guys. I am… I am glad we are together.”   

Jimmy was absently tracing his finger around momma’s blanket while I stared at Kirby. Kirby normally didn’t initiate conversation, so it made us both a little uncomfortable. His pauses were so long we never knew when he ended a thought either. We waited.  

“So, these few things I brought with us. I hope…I know you don’t mind getting them now. Yeh, I didn’t think you’d mind.” As usual, I came to the rescue.  

“We love this Kirby!”   

Kirby had months of sullenness from us so I felt he needed to know he did something right.  

Jimmy chimed in. “This is cool. It’s cool.” 

I know our family didn’t look or sound like a normal family was supposed to, but there we were. Comforting one another without our true feelings being said.  

The tree lights danced around our imperfect family. 

If I had a Christmas wish, then it came true. 

The week after Christmas, Kirby worked on rounding up furniture. 

We got our first TV, finally! (No Saturday morning cartoons for us in Arizona.)  The glowing blue light I had envied for years, always witnessing it from the outside of cozy windows, pouring out of framed silences – not knowing at the time I would be spending hours watching alone, with Jimmy, with Rachel in her plastic bright living room, their TV being the living room centerpiece housed in a huge wooden piece of furniture; her mother’s “collectible figurines” placed  symmetrically beside the screen on little wood shelves. Watching TV with Rachel, while little ceramic children in a permanent state of joy and surprise watched us. There was never any dust on those shelves. Ever. The children on the shelves and the TV were never sad or lonely.      

Kirby had no qualms about me spending so much time with my new best friend and next-door neighbor and her family. Rachel was an only child but had a real mother and real father. Her house seemed brighter and noisier than our 

house, even though chairs and sofa (called “a loveseat”) were covered in heavy plastic.  Everything in the house matched. The curtains to the bedspreads to the wallpaper to the little towels in the “guest” bathroom, all matched. Black paisley against an orange background. It was perfect. I pretended I was their long-lost sister/daughter and I would then wake up surrounded by real wallpaper in a real house with a real family. A family that counted.

The closeness continued once school began although Jimmy, who was helping Kirby over the holidays, joined my new family’s commute to school and back. Kirby was volunteering at the Firehouse plus working his nighttime job bartending. Jimmy and I ate dinners with Rachel and her parents practically every night. It was as if this was always how it was.  

Rachel wasn’t in my class, but Jimmy and I were put together and moved around a bit until they figured where we belonged. I still had trouble with cold, dark mornings interrupting my desert dreams. On days when Rachel had piano lessons, temple, horseback riding and her mom couldn’t drive us home – Jimmy and I would walk the 2 plus miles from the Elementary School to our house. He usually talked the whole time (this school brought out his social side) and made sure my scarf was wrapped tightly around my neck and face.  

It was nice having someone taking care of me. I think it was then I began to realize my brother, my twin, would always be there. I realized that he had lost a mother too. I stopped feeling so alone.  

It didn’t happen all at once, but I cried less and put my energy into school and making sure Kirby had something to eat when he got home from his jobs.  Rachel liked coming over too. I had a pretty white bed with a matching nightstand and a small writing desk. It had a secret small drawer hidden beneath the top which held one thing: my lipstick that once belonged to my momma. I now owned two things that used to be my momma’s. A silver chain and cross (I think put over my head at momma’s service, but I’m not sure by whom) and her lipstick which I imagined my mother holding and knowing it was the last thing I held of hers before I lost her forever. I began writing poems and started a diary.  

I liked sharing my poetry with Rachel. Rachel was the only friend who knew my momma had taken her own life. She never made me feel strange or different because of it, but I tried to explain to her how strange and different I felt.  

Rachel thought it was cool Jimmy and I were allowed to be home alone  

(did we have a choice?) and we began to lie to her mother about Kirby’s presence, or lack thereof.  Rachel and her parents thought Kirby was our father and knew my momma “had died” a year ago. Somehow, I knew the details were not something we talked about. We had secrets.  

For the next four years, Rachel was at our house (with no adults) or I was at Rachel’s. Jimmy started to go with Kirby more, because he was the boy and hanging out a fire station was something he enjoyed. When Kirby began working at an automotive garage too, I thought Jimmy was going to lose his mind!   

   Holidays at Rachel’s house were loud and loving and fun as she was, with a roomful of relatives pinching our cheeks or swatting our behinds or rubbing  

Jimmy’s head or handing us quarters. (Everyone said “twins? really?” when they met us, surely comparing his golden silken locks to my hornet’s nest on top of my head.)  

I learned about Jewish holidays that overlapped our Easter and Christmas, but also discovering the important holidays like July 4th or Valentine’s Day were shared. Rachel was lucky because she got presents seven days in a row at Christmastime. She liked to help color Easter Eggs (although I couldn’t explain what that had to do with Jesus). I liked to find the matzo and sip wine even though we were young and it seemed forbidden.  

Jimmy, Rachel and I were best friends (Jimmy by default) and we shared everything together, until we were all in 6th grade; after a performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” on Christmas Eve. Another day when more promises were broken. 

Only two days after Christmas, I discovered Rachel had betrayed me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – Winter 1974 

 

I was writing the play version of “Charlotte’s Web” for our 6th grade class to perform. With Jimmy taking guitar lessons and hanging out more with Kirby, I realized I needed my own activity. I had a few friends, tried hard not to be different, even though my curly hair made me stand out, but I never participated in Card Exchange at our new school in gray Cleveland. I felt ready to be creative.  

I thought about momma in the red plateaus of Heaven.  

Kirby was now working just two jobs (he had given up the fire department).  He came home kind of blank, grabbed a few beers, managed to eat my dinner, then go back to work. Jimmy set the table and set out the jam and bread that we had with every meal. I talked about anything that I thought might interest Kirby and Jimmy and always managed to keep a conversation going, albeit, sometimes one way. No politics. No wars. No dead students. No momma. Mostly cars and music.  Jimmy kept us entertained with jokes and would break out singing, mostly with made up lyrics from popular songs, mocking us. We loved it.  

  “How do we solve problem like our Janny?” from Sound Of Music or  

“Everyone is doing the Kirby Stare, now…” (come on baby, do the locomotion).    I was so busy with the play, running a household and watching my brother, that I didn’t, at first, notice that Kirby had been combing his hair and drenching himself in a lethal mist of lemon-lime-bug-spray cologne before he left the house for his second job. I continued to construct my life through bits and pieces of other’s experiences. If I could paste one of my many selves into another’s life (I will remain still if you need me to be) I could be the fit that was missing.  

Kirby found his missing bit of sky in the way of julienne, who joined us for Thanksgiving Dinner and stayed for a while. She would bring us dance and for a little while, laughter from Kirby. 

   Julienne smelled like lavender and patchouli. She was petite with perfectly straight hair and a pigeon-toed walk that I tried to emulate. She was an urban hippie with a coat made of stinky llama fur. Pretty hair clips appeared to tame my unruly hair, along with flowers and curtains and brown bagged lunches with flowers drawn on them. Special cupcakes. Milk money. Lotions, tampons, hair conditioner, peasant blouses and bellbottoms were finally part of my life. She made me feel like I was not an outsider.   

Kirby gave up the bartending job; we were all together at night.  

We looked like a normal family. We were a family. He never asked us if julienne could join our little family, as the relationship was a surprise to him as well. If he spoke about it, perhaps it would disappear? We all held our breaths and allowed her into our lives. There was inclusion. This was a new feeling. Was this the happiest I had ever felt? Was it fair to momma?  

Julienne was the opposite of my momma who easily could have hidden julienne under her skirt. Besides physical opposites, momma was practical and inventive (“wash your hair a few times – you never know when you’ll be able to wash your hair again!”) versus julienne who was ethereal and joyful. (“little bug –  let’s put ribbons in your hair and dance.”) Her mood stayed the same no matter what kind of mood anyone else was in. 

Here was a woman I could become. Here was a woman who knew how to make my hair soft using olive oil. Here was a woman with whom I could tell secrets to and never be deceived. Momma and julienne. They both cared for us, loved us but Jimmy foretold both their endings.  

Jimmy did not hover in the kitchen anymore, the way he used to with momma. He stayed outside most of the time on his bike, exploring the suburbs.  

(“Don’t you miss the desert as much as me, Jimmy?”) At night time, he included himself with the family.  

Kirby and julienne slept in the finished basement in which their king size waterbed just fit. Occasionally, Jimmy would come into my room in the quiet of night, sit on the pink carpet, share his chocolate milk, and laugh at my castle heroine dreams of this family. I hated him for his “who gives a shit” attitude but even more for the way he could laugh so easily, all the time so that no one noticed his deep pessimism and doomsday view.  

“Janny, don’t be so stupid,” he insisted. I slurped. 

He grinned his handsome grin with his eyes looking up through the brown bottom of the glass mug and continued:  

“Kirby’s girlfriend is fun for now. But do you think she wants to stick around for the rest of the kiddie-single dad show? Stop dreaming sis.” 

Jimmy gave off a golden glow. An ancient Navajo spirit lived deep within him: A gift from my mother’s heritage. An Indian man inside a blonde- haired blue eyed 11-year-old kid. He was polite, made people feel at ease, effortlessly, but I witnessed the skeptical glint in his eyes; the sarcastic statements under his breath, only meant for my twin heart to feel. It wasn’t cynicism or anger; I didn’t realize then it was hurt and longing and reaching for something that wouldn’t be there. I think he felt momma’s loss more than me. Why couldn’t I fill that hole for him? I felt I wasn’t “adequate” for my own twin. What did that say about me? 

  I hoped he was wrong about julienne. 

CHAPTER 5 

 

Janny

 

Right before the Christmas holidays when music and dancing and julienne were a solid fixture, I worked frantically preparing for my debut performance of  

“Charlotte’s Web” for the Grover Cleveland Elementary School. My play was to premiere, right after the chorus was to perform. Serendipity, in the form of band food poisoning (something to do with the tuna casserole served at the Battle of the Bands Regionals three nights previous) left a gaping portion of time in the Annual Christmas Pageant. My teacher and champion advocate, Mrs. Flanagan, suggested my “little class project” as a possible replacement – and our principal said Yes!  

My cast knew their lines (while holding the script) but we had no scenery, costumes or stage directions. Our prior performances were basically reading   my “play version” of the book (my favorite book in 4th grade) in front of two other classes inside our classroom. This change of venue was a major coupe for me! But how to perform on a real stage? Thank God, julienne designed and sewed the costumes and made the best one for my character of Charlotte the spider. Jimmy was originally my Templeton in our class presentation. He also had to read the part of “Avery” and “Wilbur” as I had a shortage of boy volunteers from my class. In fact, Jimmy was the only one boy in the play. None of the other 6th grade boys had any bravery or talent, apparently. Rachel played the perfect Fern. With her perfect (non frizzy) curls and red hair, she transformed into Fern with pigtails and a gingham dress. I wasn’t sure how I could pull this off, as there were times when the rat and Wilbur had to appear together on stage. Mrs. Flanagan suggested she be the voice of Templeton (as a puppet and therefore, hiding herself) since Wilbur was the main character. Jimmy focused on his hog-like character, enduring 65 minutes on his knees inside a pink pig. julienne created Wilbur as a Trojan horse, built from papier mache’, paint and felt. Kirby built a barn set and a carnival set.  

I thought: E.B White would be proud.

There was a manger set up on the stage for the chorus recital which we followed. Baby Jesus was a doll that belonged to Rachel. Her God didn’t mind us using it. As we weren’t permitted to touch the manger, our set was placed around it. The barn and carnival were the wings of sleeping Baby Jesus. We were only able to rehearse once. Allowances were made in the form of index cards with the lines. Cues were reinforced by julienne. It was crowded and hot behind the stage even after the chorus students cleared out and found their way onto the stacked bleachers. Kirby and julienne made their first appearance together at my school, working to get everyone in costume and sets in place: I didn’t correct anyone who referred to them as our “parents”. I hid behind the dream of forever and pushed aside my inner doubts. As if sensing my spinning loss, Mrs. Flanagan (and Templeton) put her furry arms around me. Tonight, would be okay.  

It was splendid. Instead of me portraying Charlotte “on stage”, Mrs.  Flanagan and Kirby rigged up a sheet and spotlight (in front of the manger) to silhouette my 8 legs, made of wire hangers, felt and masking tape. Just the shadow of a spider (with the web-like hair of an 11-year-old) appeared to the audience behind a black painted web drawn on the front. The words in the web were created with pipe cleaners, lots of them, shaped into 2-foot letters that dangled over the sheet. 

I was in charge of standing in front of the light, or shutting it off when not being featured. Wilbur and Fern and the other characters talked to the negative space on the screen. It was quite brilliant. Even though I couldn’t see what was happening on stage, julienne whispered off stage to “stand back, we can’t see you” or “turn out the light- you’re not in this scene” and “get ready to release the confetti over the sheet” (baby spiders) and “you look GREAT out here!”  I could hear Fern and Wilbur and puppet Templeton by the fence post and knew everyone was doing great. We messed up a little, left out a couple of scenes but still got a standing ovation. Kirby carried me out at the end as a dead spider (and playwright) draped in his arms. With my eyes closed, I felt the heat of the overhead stage lights and imagined my lifeless body was covered in stained glass rainbows.  I knew Kirby was smiling too. I hoped momma was smiling down at us.   

The day after Christmas, I ran next door right after breakfast to wake up  

Rachel and show her my Christmas gifts. She didn’t come over Christmas Day as planned since her family was hosting out of town relatives. I was invited but needed a day to come down from my play. For the first time, I felt embraced by a real family- my family. Jimmy, Kirby, and julienne. Cooking, relaxing, singing, napping, even Jimmy played games with me. For the first time, I didn’t get a stomach ache thinking of my momma not being there. The house protected me from the cold snowy wind outside and wrapped me like a cocoon.  

Breathless (my lungs were still adapting to wet cold), my gloved hand barely made a knocking sound when Rachel’s mom opened the door slightly, peering through the crack – something I had never seen her do before. She usually swung the door open wide, loudly announcing my arrival. I held my breath when I looked up to an uncharacteristic scowl. Why wasn’t she smiling at me? What had I done? 

Before I found my voice, Rachel’s mom pronounced: 

    “Rachel is not feeling well today.”    

I tried to answer as she closed the door before my words got out. I waited until noon then dialed Rachel’s house. The phone rang and rang before Rachel’s dad answered. He, at least, was friendly.  

“Hi Hon,” he said quietly yet forcefully. “Happy late birthday and Merry Christmas! I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the performance, but well done by the way!”  

   “Th-th-thanks” I stuttered. “Is Rachel up?”  

“No Sweets. She and her mom left earlier! They are going to stay  

with relatives until after New Year’s! I’ll tell her you called. Bye Sweets!” 

I slammed down the phone, ran upstairs sobbing. julienne followed me to my room and listened to me as snot dripped from my nose and mouth. I was so confused. Pieces were missing. Always, pieces of my life seemed missing.  

“Why is he lying? Why did Rachel’s mom lie? Why didn’t Rachel tell me anything? Is everyone lying to me? Did Rachel have to run away because of me? Did someone die? I hate her! I NEVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN!” 

Julienne listened calmly while I ranted and cried and screamed. In the midst of my confusion, I knew this was about me, not Kirby, not momma and not Jimmy. But me. This was my pain and betrayal and abandonment. Julienne tried to comfort me, give me answers: “maybe they just had to go away?”  

She liked to state the obvious. I didn’t even need julienne to say anything, although she made attempts. Kirby seemed lost too but kept smiling at me.  No one knew why Rachel left so no one could comfort me. Why were they trying to make me feel better? Even in my rage, it felt nice having that feminine smell envelope me. Rachel knew almost everything about me! How could I be so stupid to trust HER?  

Rachel was like our sister. I was like her family’s daughter. Her mother told me that all the time. Rachel was with us daily. How could I start school without her? Would she come back? Why did they go away so quickly? I pictured Rachel’s father coming home at dinnertime, handing his wife a package of fresh steaks, kissing her, kissing Rachel AND ME on the head and all is well. Where did that go? 

When I was 11, I had figured my life was set. I was a bare cactus, but in bright eastern sunlight. No escape from my scraggly past. Is that an oasis ahead?  

Or is that just a mirage? Jimmy’s predictions for our future snuck into my thoughts. Who would leave next? Julienne? Kirby? Jimmy? I continued to imagine the worst, especially that I would never see her again.  

Approaching New Years, Jimmy stayed away from my room. He just stayed away from me and the household too. Maybe two days went by before I saw him.   Kirby patted my back a few times. No words spoken. I was distraught. I slept through New Year’s. It was Kirby who came to the rescue. After the first, there was still no word, no call, no letter from Rachel. Kirby went next door to talk to Rachel’s father. I thought he was going over to ask about still driving us t school, but we had julienne now for that. He was going over to get answers. He

had met  Rachel’s parents twice in two years. Once, when he came by Rachel’s

to see if I could spend the weekend and the other time this past Christmas Eve, at

the pageant at Grover Cleveland Elementary School.  

I was upstairs. My small window faced Rachel’s garage. I watched Kirby’s forceful strong body in full military stance, walk up to the house. His ears looked cold. The cherry tree right outside the window was bare so I saw him clearly, thinking the color of his ears matched the cherries in summer.  

It wasn’t odd that Kirby was trying to make things right for me. He and I were both quiet (although, I was a big talker on the outside) but we liked answers.  Jimmy possessed the outward joy, drama, sadness of the family. Jimmy was like our momma – although she had rare periods of joy. Kirby was the one delivering the news about our father’s death; packing our things after momma’s death, calmly explaining the move. Kirby gave us the headlines- what was necessary to continue.  

No in-depth story to follow. The Cliff notes.  

Before he went next door, I heard Kirby speaking with julienne.  

“The poor kid. She must know something. She has to go back to school.  

She’s been a hermit this entire vacation.”  

So, this was it. Kirby the truth-seeker, not toiling through the Arizona dust and red sky, but marching beneath the winter winds of Cleveland, Ohio to find out what happened to my best friend. And, he came back with answers. I was not to blame.  

  I was waiting at the top of the stairs, waiting for the right moment to appear when Kirby opened our front door, letting the cold wind rush up the landing. He saw my pleading eyes: WHERE IS RACHEL?  

“Rachel had to go to her aunts” he volunteered immediately.  

I startled him by charging down the stairs and bursting into the vestibule as julienne helped remove his scarf. He gazed off for a bit, not at me, not at julienne, but that Kirby stare-at-nothing.  

“Her aunt who lives in New Jersey?” he continued, now meeting my small brown eyes. “You remember Rachel’s mom talking about her? You met them all last summer?”  

Yes. Yes. Kirby. I remember. Please. Get on with it. I had always been highly impatient, but his halted way of speaking was getting to me.  

“It seems Rachel’s grandma had a stroke and they all went there to help out.  

They may be there for a while.”  

One never knew if Kirby was done saying what he had to say. I swear, he took the LONGEST pauses. I saw Jimmy out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure when he got there or where he came from. julienne broke my icicle stunned silence. It appeared Kirby had no other information he was willing to share.  

“Does everyone want soup?” asked julienne. 

While Kirby slurped soup, he listened calmly as I barraged him with questions, all met with: Don’t know. Don’t know. I don’t know anything else, honey. Sorry. Jimmy said, “this will have to do for now, sis.” Always the pragmatist. 

Jimmy did his best to keep me occupied after the winter break was over.  It got dark early but we were able to try out our new sleds and boots. I loved my leather-bound diary from Kirby and julienne that was etched with a pine cone.  

It was inscribed: For Janny’s dreams, hopes and wishes.  

When I wasn’t playing with Jimmy or baking with julienne, I was using my set of 18 rainbow magic markers (my birthday present from Rachel) to color and imaging my life in dreams. It was forced because without Rachel, my best friend around, I felt dreamless. How am I going to go on like this?  

Friendless. Motherless. Fatherless. At least I had my twin.  

 

OHIO – 1993 

 

The hotel by Kirby’s hospital was not where I typically stayed. I usually 

went for the $49.95 rates with free cable but this time, I treated myself to 5-star 

elegance. Behind the brocade of the curtains and bedspread and the lushness of 

their bathrobe, the spa feel was lost on me. I was instead, trying to remember my 

first memory of Kirby. Just being near him in mileage like this had this effect.   

He is the smell of sweat and dust, a certain knock, a certain pause; my mother’s shoulders shaking, then she is on her knees holding me. I look over her to see the lower legs of a giant in Ironed Military Green. (Did I know that because it is a crayon color?) I look up slowly, mesmerized by a hat, an out of place slightly crunched wrinkled cap that clashes with the starchiness that was this man. It was if the task of absentmindedly hitting his thigh (yet grasping a little too tightly to be a habit) indicated his lack of eavesdropping and by happenstance, merely found these three sobbing colorless beings under his gaze.  

It was as if he had not carried the official news of my father’s KIA status. It was as if he did not have to look into my mother’s endless black eyes and not be able to face her “at that moment”.  Privately, Kirby never forgave himself for being the one to deliver the news. That was one secret I knew for sure.  

Did I ever forgive Kirby for ruining our lives by happenstance? Did he know he would be feeling too much this time for this young mother and her fatherless toddlers? Did I ever think if Kirby wasn’t in our lives, both my parents would somehow, be alive? How was he able to come home from Vietnam? Why would he stick around and promise to be there for us? How was that supposed to make us feel? Loved? Lucky? Lacking? 

I knew Jimmy might forgive Kirby but wondered if he could ever really, forgive my mother? And not just for her death; rather for her slowly disappearing into the dusty years before she took her life. He claims he remembers her telling us when were two, that we were a mistake and that her life was a mistake. Jimmy had no more secrets. He was there to remind me. To be my observer.  

 

I felt a deep silence suddenly and looked over at the clock radio. The classical music I had absentmindedly turned on (I always had to find NPR on the radio) stopped. The phone rang. It was Jimmy. I guess I knew that.  

“Hey,” the familiar voice said.  

         “Hey,” I answered from the darkened room.  I was thirsty.  

         “Did you know it was me?” 

         “Of course.” I didn’t tell him that I didn’t always feel him. “Well, I wanted to ask how your visit with Kirby went and if you planned to stay around for awhile.” Jimmy continued: “I know you are shocked.  

But I want to come over. I want to see you.” 

 

If there was a word beyond shock, that was it. I was beyond shocked.  No one had seen Jimmy (including myself) for the past 8 plus years. We communicated via phone weekly and there were cards and letters, but I had not shared a real moment with him since we were 21. He had not seen Kirby since the stroke. He had missed meeting julienne’s new grandchildren (she married a wonderful man and had three beautiful step-daughters). He had missed Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas and our birthdays. I had a brief fantasy that maybe this year, we will share our birthday together? 

Jimmy ended all suspense and gave me the best surprise. 

“Sis? I will see you tomorrow. Breakfast, maybe brunch at your fancy schmancy hotel.”  

He gave me some flight details which I don’t remember writing down, but there was scribble written on my Hotel stationery (on a back of a hotel postcard because I couldn’t find a pad) – my handwriting with an airline name and flight information. Even though we made sure we were always able to get in touch, his absence over the years was great. I knew I had my twin but still resented him for not being there for Kirby. I’m not sure what I expected, but I knew this visit was going to be something important for the two of us. More so for Jimmy, when he got to see Kirby.   

  CHAPTER SIX 

 

  Jimmy 

Tucson – April 1968 

 

My mother is crying. I have seen her cry before but not like this. Janny looks scared. Kirby is not comforting her. He has his head turned down, away from the t.v. – away from other people crying on the news. I am told a famous man was killed. I don’t know who that is but he must have been important to my parents. I wonder if her got killed in Vietnam like my dad. I wondered if Kirby knew this reverend when he was in Vietnam. 

We pile into the truck, the four of us crunched together in the front seat of our pick-up truck, me feeling like the last topping someone puts on a taco. We are going down a pebbly driveway to a church stuck in the desert in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t remember much about going to church but knew my mother had  

Indian blood and I wasn’t sure what kind of religion that might be. This church (they told me we came here for Easter) seemed to help my mother act “normal”.   

Janny wishes our mother tied back her crazy black hair.  

Janny and I are pushed into a row of benches and told to hold the hand of 

the person next to you. The people pouring into the room resemble the desert 

landscape at dusk: every shade of sand and clay. Everyone is sad. Someone 

speaks about a “great leader to the cause” whose work inspired this congregation 

reach the Promised Land. A king.  

Janny asks me to read the hymn words to her because at 5, I could read better than her. No one bothered to ask me that in kindergarten. Janny was labeled the “smart one” after all. When the people at the front stopped talking, the congregation began singing “We shall overcome”. I know this is making my mother sadder. “I will take care of you” I say in my head. We are all still holding hands. Kirby did a good job of taking care of us. He was bigger than my dad I think, with a deeper laugh. He laughed easily. Often. Mostly at himself. I have his sense of humor. I try to do stupid stuff to get my mother and Janny to laugh. But I  didn’t get why he wasn’t comforting my mom now.  

A few months after our visit to the Baptist church, my mother tells us,  

“another Kennedy has been killed” just a few months after Dr. King. My mother explains the meaning of our initials. I didn’t realize we had such a big connection with the world.  

I remember thinking after my mother died “well, I kept her alive this long.”   

I felt free.  

   

  

Ohio – DECEMBER 1993 

 

It has been a long time since I have seen my sister. She doesn’t understand why. She blames herself (surprise surprise), but I wanted her to respect my decision. The problem is it hasn’t been a conscious decision. I had some things I needed to find out on my own. She is stunned when I reach out to her. We talk regularly (regularly enough for me) minus a few years of total radio silence. I am hoping this gesture of mine will be of some significance. Calling her while she was visiting Kirby and our birthdays approaching, I feel the significance.  

 I fly in from N.Y. the next morning to arrive at Janny’s hotel early. As I recall, she does not do early. I decide to check in first. I wasn’t planning on staying, but I get a room and ask the front desk to send up some toiletries. I will do a quick rinse in the room. 

As I was drying out my shirt and underpants, I lay under the bedspread and call home. I get the machine. We should change the message, I think.  

  “Hi. It’s me. I’m in. I decided to stay the night. Gonna see Kirby. Love you.  

Happy birthday to me.”  

The phone rings back almost immediately.  

“I’m glad I knew where your sister was staying so I could track you down.  At least one of the twins is responsible” my darling wife says, with no irony or sarcasm.   

  “I know. I am a lovely man. How are you?”  

         “I was just getting out of the shower when you called. You just can’t drop a bombshell like that on a stupid machine. Seeing Kirby is a big deal, Jim.” God, I loved her.  

“Well, then, you will look forward to my return. I shall report news from the front.”  

 She heard stories of Kirby’s no-bullshit-approach to things. I’m no

different.  

  “Beth? Are you there?”  

  “Yes. Looking forward to your return.” Her tone was loving.  

She wished me (and my sister) a happy birthday. There was little unsaid between us.  

I go down to the gift shop just as it opens to pick up a birthday gift for Janny. Besides a candy bar or magazine or Santa, what can I possible get? There are white lights draped around the displays to make them look festive. On a dusty glass shelf sits a row of snow globes. There are several scenes but the one I choose…it’s the last one. 

Inside this miniature glass dome is a small cabin, a cactus and a red pick-up truck. The cactus is covered in tiny multi-colored Christmas lights. A cat is in the driveway. I make it snow on the tiny scene. I can almost see two children inside the cabin.  

I try to remember driving cross country and seeing snow for the first time. I think I can remember. The globe is $15.95. I buy a Scientific American magazine and a candy bar for later. They do not have gift wrapping but the young cashier does have a bow to put on my purchased package. I realize I don’t have a card.  

She points to the back. I run and grab the first blank card I see, as I hated the  

Hallmark printed words. It has a photo of two penguins. I will write the  

appropriate words which will probably be “Happy Birthday, Love, Jim. Your 

twin forever.”  

I thank the cashier and walk across the lobby to the restaurant where I am to meet Janny. I am slightly nervous, but can’t wait to see her. I am looking forward to our reunion. Finally, a birthday we can celebrate together.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 CHAPTER 7  

 

Jimmy  

 

Ohio – December 1974  

 

Rachel was my sister’s best friend. She was always around and a part of my relationship with my sister. I felt protective of Janny. People came and went in our lives. It was the nature of things. I knew this even then. I would keep a non- noticeable distance from friends, schoolmates and family – just in case.  

I had friends I hung out with, but I didn’t have a best friend like my sister.  I was funny and entertaining, appearing as if I was popular. I think Julie, my dad’s new girlfriend, brought that out in me. She brought everyone out of themselves in our family. She was a good fit. I was glad she would be in our lives for a while.  Only Janny got to witness the dark side of me. I reminded her to keep some space between herself and others. She believed me too, but never held back her love, affection and attention from anyone. I shouldn’t have taken the joy out of her hopeful life.  

Rachel and I got closer the night my sister put on a play at school. Quite a project. The entire family and neighborhood seemed to have a hand in making the play successful. Janny was out of her shell and doing great as writer, director, and star for elementary aged kids. I never felt my age. I felt more comfortable hanging out with Kirby and his friends at the garage. They were interesting, talking about nothing. It felt like they respected me for who I was.  

I was happy for Janny that Kirby and Julie were part of the play. Finally, something just about her, for her. I was proud to be her brother. It would be a few years before I told her that.  

Rachel and I ended up having some down time, at the same time, in the cramped closet backstage: the “dressing” room. Finally, there was a lull in all the frantic activity. The play was over – hugs, bows, applause finished, auditorium emptied. Only a few last minute clean up duties to tend to. Although we were permitted to keep the sets up during the holiday break, Kirby dismantled some ahead of time. Janny was out at the truck with the parents loading up some scenery.  Rachel and I were waiting to see what else they could fit.  

“You were really great tonight!” I said, although not feeling obligated to talk. Rachel was almost like a family member and I was more comfortable with her than I had realized.  

  “Thanks! You too.” Rachel said.  

  “Are you coming over Christmas morning?” I asked knowing the answer would be “of course”. 

  “Not this year.” We both paused. We both looked down. 

  “Okay?” I said as she clearly didn’t want to talk about why. Rachel looked up at me with her big blue eyes. We were sitting practically on top of one another, a top boxes and piles of clothing. I was too warm and started to sweat. I was only 11, but had peach fuzz on my chin and hair on my underarms and groin area.  I think seeing me uncharacteristically ill-at-ease made Rachel fill in the blanks quicker.  

“Janny doesn’t know I have to go away for a while. Something is happening  

with my family. Me. My family. So, I’m not sure when we’ll even be back.”  Rachel practically whispered.  

  “Why do you have to go away? Why doesn’t Janny know? You crazy?”  

I said playing the role of big brother.  

She laughed.  

  “I’m sick, Jimmy. I found out when school started. My mom kind of didn’t want anyone to know. I have to start treatments after New Year’s so we’re leaving for freezing Minnesota tomorrow. We rented an apartment until dad can come, ya’ know, join us?”  

 “Are you…okay, Rach?” She was telling me she wasn’t, but I didn’t want to believe it. For Janny.  

  “I don’t know” she said slowly.  

We poked our heads out to see if anyone was looking for us yet, ready to go home. It seemed we still had time.  

We didn’t talk about Janny not knowing Rachel’s secret after that. I didn’t care about Rachel’s decision not to tell anyone. It really didn’t matter, did it? Janny would find out tomorrow. And I was good at keeping secrets.  

It would be weird not having Rachel around. The slight enclosure, our combined breaths filling this small space, created an intimacy we never had before. Janny was always there with us. Was this the first time I was alone  

with Rachel? She was so pretty. I don’t think I had noticed that before.  

“Janny doesn’t know things about me either. About us.” I said.  

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel asked.  

  “When I was little, I heard my mom talking. I was little, but I remember

 what she said.” I was saying things out loud I hadn’t even uttered to myself.  

  “What was it?”  

  Was I about to disclose things to this girl I had never revealed to anyone before? Will saying it out loud make it truer? Was Rachel’s impending absence allowing my protective shield to drop; to no longer keep this secret invisible? Was I about to pull off the cloak?  

“My mother was talking on the phone. To her uncle, I think. Anyway, she  

said ‘the twins will always be the twins, no matter where Jimmy came from.”  

It felt like a confession saying this. I had never told anyone. I thought perhaps I was too young to really remember this. Janny would have laughed if I told her I thought I wasn’t related to her. Rachel didn’t laugh.  

  “I don’t understand. How can you be different like that, I mean, with where you came from, if you’re Janny’s twin?”  

A fair statement from Rachel that clearly had never occurred to me like that.  

  “I heard my mom talking about it another time too. To Kirby. Our bedroom was right off the living room, so I could hear the two of them at night while sis was asleep.” 

We both knew once Janny was asleep, nothing could wake her. Rachel and I played the record player loudly, even while Janny slept in the same room.  

I continued my story.  

“Mom was in one of her good days. She had very sad days (I wasn’t sure how much Janny had told Rachel about our mom), but that night she was chatty with Kirby. She used to get him to make her promises about me and Janny. Like ‘taking care of us’ promises in case anything happened to her.”  

Rachel knew the story of my mother’s suicide. I knew they had shared a lot over the years.  

“So, she told Kirby once my ‘real parents’ had ‘left the planet’ just so Janny and I could be raised together.”  

Rachel held my gaze softly. No shock or judgment registered.  

  “Once I knew my parents weren’t aliens (I laughed a little too loudly), I put together I was left with the Kapinskys – Janny’s real parents. I was left by dead people to be raised by a mother and father – who both died too.” I took a deep breath.  

The words surprised me saying them out loud for the first time. Had I just realized ALL FOUR of my parents were gone? It felt as if I was talking about someone else. I didn’t feel that damaged.  

  Rachel had tears streaming down her cheeks.  

  “MY biological parents were friends of my dad – the dad who died in Vietnam, not Kirby? I’m pretty sure.” I’m not certain how I knew all this.  

I think at that moment I knew Kirby was my “real” dad and would always be my father. The one who mattered the most. The one who stuck around.   “Claire and James rescued me- prevented me from going to an orphanage or something. They got to name me and pick my birthday, so…” 

I kept hoping Rachel was going to interrupt me. I was used to answering questions, not just giving information to people about my past.  

  “The difference between when I was born and when Janny was born didn’t matter. I guess.”  

Did I deserve anything of my own?  

“So, you and Janny – it was just decided you would be raised together, as like, twins?” said Rachel trying to make sense of my crazy story.  

I had forgotten how much I had known. How much I filled in with lies. 

How much I didn’t really know.  

Rachel asked the obvious questions: Who knew what when? She was surprised Janny didn’t know we weren’t “twins” (if Janny knew, Rachel would have known too) and Kirby didn’t know I knew?  

This is why secrets become complicated.  

“Didn’t you ever want to know your REAL birthday?” Rachel asked.  

I had a real birthday. It was Janny’s. We were twins. We shared everything.  It didn’t matter if the day was a little different. I sure wasn’t going to be the one to take that from her too.  

I thought my mother’s death was the most complicated secret one could have.  Stories about parents are not regular tales told by 6th graders and their ilk, but people did wonder about Kirby. I was embarrassed (for Janny) whenever we had a Mother’s Day project or parent-teacher conference meeting. “This is Kirby. He stays with us?”  

I didn’t like reducing Kirby to a side-note in my life, but he was a side-note: Someone who got caught up with a woman who had two kids (pretending to be both their mothers) – all because it was his job to inform her our “father” was KIA in Vietnam? Why did it seem this war followed me my whole life? Why did I feel closer to Vietnamese children 9000 miles away then I did with my school friends?  I had an orphan’s heart. I had a picture in my head of James’ face before he was killed. Maybe some child over there saw him die. He was so far away when he was killed, so very far away. Now the war was over, lost and forgotten. I wanted to hold on to and remember his love, my first love from a father, even though Janny and I were just babies, practically. I shared that with my sister. We were twins because we lost our parents together.  

Together, as a family, we all teared up when Nixon announced a cease-fire in the beginning of the year via Mr. Walter Cronkite. We mourned together, laughed together, struggled together – an unlikely thrown together family, but still family. Rachel understood it all. My sister was lucky to have her. 

Rachel and I wondered aloud why Kirby never told me or Janny the truth about us. I don’t remember what happened after our conversation in the school closet, other than we all went out for ice cream. Since Rachel was gone the next morning, I chased all thoughts of our secrets away. It’s like it never happened.  

 

 

CHAPTER 8 

 

Janny 

 

 Ohio – 1975 

 

It was six months since my successful production of Charlotte’s Web. The summer had arrived: hot, boring, with days stretched in front of us like a flat dusty highway. Rachel’s dad had left the house a few months before. Rachel’s house remained empty. Uninhabited. I climbed the willow outside our garage, staring at her upstairs bedroom window. Jimmy stopped trying to get me to come down.  

  “At least come swimming with me, Janny!” he shouted.  

Jimmy tried to snap me out of my summer misery. My first summer in Ohio without Rachel. My first summer with a “step-mom”. No plans laid out for the twins, although Jimmy was signed up to be a boy scout.  

I was sulky, and julienne’s sunny nature wasn’t working either. She got a job at a local nursery and was not around as much. I entertained myself, usually by writing in my diary, for hours on end. In my room. Under a table in the dining room. In a corner of the yard. Alone. No need to uproot and explore. Jimmy seemed free – he was the wind. Not me. I was serious, like Kirby. Down to business. I learned to keep myself busy when momma entered her own little dark world, maybe not so little.  

I learned to be ignored was not necessarily rejection. (Leaving me was 

though.) It was an opportunity for pretend-time. It was the only release I had.

   I read a lot of books that summer: Catcher In The Rye, Siddhartha, 

 

Richard Brautigan, Vonnegut, Sylvia Plath. I listened to Jethro Tull, Marvin 

 

Gaye, Joni Mitchell and Loggins & Messina. Unfortunately, everything 

 

reminded me of Rachel.

 

I pictured Rachel was there with me, listening to my plastic turntable with the two detachable plastic speakers. The stereo came with a 45-rpm disk in case I wanted to listen to Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger or Donovan; records Rachel and I  

bought together. I had huge headphones with thick rubber insulation on the ear pieces. I heard every instrument and every note. I spent hours listening to my records, laying on the floor, looking at my neon butterfly wallpaper. I cut out pictures of Robert Redford on a horse; George Harrison cross-legged with long hair; and dead rock stars. Jimmy had cool posters in his room and made fun of my wall art.  

No matter where Rachel was or what she was doing, I imagined us on the same page in the same book, our fingers poised mouthing the same words at the exact same times. Listening to my music, side by side. Plotting, planning as best friends did.  

Jimmy had his own friends and, often left to go fishing or some other adventure without me. All our memories together seemed sad now. Well into July, one hotter than usual summer day, I temporarily abandoned my committed misery and let myself trail Jimmy and Sal (Jimmy’s boy scout buddy) on bikes down to the path next to the river. It stank on certain days, but it seemed less muggy by the water. We liked climbing into the sumps – huge sewer pipes – where the dark mustiness enveloped us like a cool compress – a respite from the stifling heat. Playing spy games (“Man from U.N.C.L.E.”), we lost ourselves in the deeper meaning of unfettered imagination.  

Jimmy and Sal were rushing ahead of me on their bikes. I was hot and called  

“Jimmmmmmmmy- Waitttttt upppppppppp!” but they seemed to be teasing me by going faster. Jimmy was easily influenced by the person closest to him. Now, it was Stupid Sal. I called Sal “Stupid Sal” ever since he had difficulty trying to figure out how much change to give me after I bought a pickle from his father’s deli. I had given him a quarter and the pickle was a nickel! Jimmy was not as judgmental or as harsh as I was. I chalked it up to being in an extra bad mood that summer.  

The boys disappeared quickly. Sal threw a piece of tinfoil at me from the  

bread julienne had made us. And then they were gone. I still knew it was Stupid  

Sal’s idea to escape from me – hop off their bikes under the bridge and dash into  

the sumps. I was quite a way back, but this portion of the river sidewalk was  

straight and their bikes were easily spottable.  

We hadn’t passed anyone on the path. I was glad because yielding on this concrete edge scared me. The river was blocked off by a chain-link fence, but the water was still 9 feet below. I was not in a hurry since I had no plans to follow them into the sewers. They were easily several “lights” ahead of me by now. If they thought I was going to chase them, they were wrong.  

A sump “light” meant approximately seven concrete tunnels in- a grate of light appeared above where the road ran on top and water drained through. The opening and first light in, was usually dry, just garbage and broken bottles. Past the first light, the cement floor of the pipes had to be straddled so sneakers stayed dry.  I planned to stay outside the tunnels for a little while until they both came out. I had to show Jimmy I didn’t care he was ignoring me in favor of his stupid friend. (Sal was thrown out of the boy scouts one year later for punching another boy.)  

I waited in the sweltering stillness, surrounded by the deep echoing summer sounds of the cicadas. The river beside me was still, mucky and smelled rotten. I looked both ways on the path. I laid my old black used Schwinn against the boys abandoned bikes. I wondered if Rachel’s new three speed was still in their garage or if she had it, wherever she was? I had no way of knowing. No call. No letter. No signs that she even existed.  

I stayed out in the sun for probably 20 minutes. Rain clouds were forming across the river. I briefly wished I hadn’t come with them and had stayed home to read. Now I had to catch up to them inside the sumps.  

I stood by the shadowy opening to the sumps. The coolness rushed out. I was going in, but still was not going to call them. I hummed loudly, my sneakers and singing reverberating in the sludge. Bottles, used condoms, cigarette butts and general slime disappeared in the enclosing darkness.  

I went through the tunnels steadily and easily. I wasn’t sure how far behind from them I was. I felt alone and scared. The ground was dry by the time I got to the first light, after losing sight of the tunnel opening. The dark space in front of me got curvier and smaller. I stopped humming and whispered “Jimmy?”  The dank silence was my answer.  

 

 

CHAPTER 9

  

  JIMMY 

 

Ohio – July 1975 

 

Sal was a pal. He knew how to get out, get in and get it going on with anyone and anything. He was not what my family called “a good influence”. Kirby did not like him, but he and I had an unwritten code that neither of us ever criticize nor judge one another passively or otherwise.  

Sal could draw and mold clay pieces into cool figures. We painted models of monsters together. He liked the smell of the little paints. We snuck sips off Kirby’s beer when he fell asleep in his chair in front of the t.v. We smoked cigarettes we stole from Kirby’s pack: Camels – filter less. We made elaborate mud tunnels, paths behind the houses- deep in moss, using cattails and rocks to form mini- waterfalls and dams where our figures encountered unescapable peril. We brought all our trucks and army men to their massive obstacle course. Most were doomed as the mud on plastic and clay eventually turned into cement. Kirby got tired of reminding us to wash everything off at the end of the day. Our army looked like victims of Vesuvius, melted together in a caked frozen mass, unrecognizable. Sal and I saw pictures of the town in Italy one day- the residents paralyzed in their last expression- mostly horror or surprise. They looked like something we could mold or play with. It was cool.  

Summer was about being outside all day, no boy scouts, riding around on bikes, creating mud trails and forts and hideouts: Buying comic books, eating 

candy, climbing trees, pretending. Janny always spent her allowance early so I

always had to buy her junk comic books too. I got paid extra for occasionally 

helping Kirby out in the garage. Janny had no interest. 

We caught fireflies and came in dirty and tired at dusk. The house smelled from fragrant soups Julie was cooking. The herbs came from her backyard garden as did all our vegetables. Sal never ate a vegetable before coming over to our house. He learned to love zucchini. I think he had a small crush on Julie. Life was good.  

Sometimes a few of us took our bikes down by the river. We knew it was kind of “off limits”. One of our favorite things to do there was to explore the tunnels, counting how many lights we could get to. The first sections of the giant cement pipes were usually dry, but the further one went in, the wetter and smaller it became. It smelled like rats and wet leaves.  

 

We were ready for another adventure. It had rained a few days in a row and we had been housebound. Sal slept over and we woke up to a clear day. We planned to make it to the river before it got too hot. Tunnels, here we come!  

“You two are going out where?” asks Kirby, his voice and look on the edge of retracting the tone of his question.  

“Dad, Stop.” I finally began calling Kirby “dad” at some point.  

“You’re still a kid. God help me when you become a teenager. But for God’s sake, you’re still a kid. Be back by sunset. Take your sister?”  

  “Okay.”  

“Hey, Jimmy? Don’t go down by the river.”  

 

And off Sal and I went. I called upstairs for Janny to join us. Sal groaned.  

I tried to feel my sister’s pain of losing her best friend. I never told her about my conversation with Rachel the night of the play. I didn’t see the point in telling her anything because she refused to move on. She went to school and came home right after. Julie gave her piano lessons. They sewed. The watched “The Guiding  

Light”. But no plays, no spontaneous singing or dressing up. No following me everywhere, asking me questions. This was her first summer without Rachel and  

Janny didn’t appear interested in having any other friends. Julie and Kirby didn’t force her into some sort of activity (like they did for me – it wasn’t my idea to join the boy scouts). Janny disappeared for hours (or I just lost track of her) but she was pretty quiet, generally. And never in the way. I guessed I missed her. Imagine, missing your twin? I didn’t want her tagging along with me and Sal, but I complied to Kirby’s wishes.  

The three of us stopped at the candy store, about 20 minutes away from our house, mostly a downhill ride. Getting home was going to be another matter.  We got cokes and wax filled candies and gum. Janny got a huge sourball.  

“Hello, children” said Mrs. Kalisman, the store’s owner. A kind faced, hunched over woman who gave us taps on our hands after we paid. A playful gesture.  

  “Hello, ma’am.” I answered. Sal and Janny were quiet.  

  “Ach! Look at you two – twins, eh? Your sister looks like your film negative!” She handed us our small bags. “We finally have some sun! Going to the pool?”  

“Yes, ma’am. Just headed there now” I lied. I saw Sal pocket some bubble gum cards. I didn’t say anything.  

We grabbed our bikes off the sidewalk and continued to the sumps down by the river. It was probably close to noon by the time we got down there. Julie had given us some fruit and homemade zucchini bread in our packs before we left.  There were steps leading down to the path next to the river- forcing us to carry down our bikes. Because of the heat and warm cokes, we stopped at the top of the stairs. We found a grassy spot in the shade and ate our bread. Sal and I were ignoring Janny, only because she did not make her presence known. She wanted it that way. To be an observer but not commit to joining in fully. That was fine. I could not be responsible for her happiness my entire life, I decided. (Although, my gut told me it was my job.) I had always felt that way. Not just because of the “twin” or orphan thing either. It was because of who she was. Janny was wickedly funny, especially with me. Her soft-spoken comments, not meant for anyone other than me, were biting and sarcastic. She had dead on responses to “Kirbyisms” as we liked to call them – Kirby’s way of delivering life messages like he was reading them off an embroidered pillow. I was her best audience and vice-versa.  

Janny was the opposite of Julie, who lit a room up with light when she entered it. There was an ease that came about with anyone lucky enough to share a space with Julie. When my sister came into a room, no one noticed. She kept her dark hair in front of her face and hid in big baggy clothes. I had no idea where her body began. Not that I cared.  

“Do you guys want to go now?” I signaled to them both. I wanted Janny to stop staring into space and get ready to get up. She didn’t move real fast.  

“Let’s go, Jimmy,” said Sal as he grabbed his bike and leapt onto the path, tossing an apple core behind him.  

  “Janny, we’ll see you down there!” I yelled, before I abandoned her. I had no more patience and didn’t want my friend to beat me to the 3rd light, as that was where the sump challenge began.  

“I’m coming!” Janny said petulantly behind me, looking like a hamster with a giant sourball in her cheek.  

Sal and I kept a fast pace, throwing down our bikes and darting into the tunnels. The water covered the floor almost to the first light. A few critters swam between our straddled legs. We didn’t have a flashlight, as we usually went with a bigger group where someone else seemed to have the light. Sal and I were not always good together. We were too much alike. Boy scouts indeed.  

We got to the fourth light which immersed us into total darkness. The shadow from the grate produced a slivered sunlight, scattering the muck below into brown one-inch fabric pieces cut for a quilt. The occasional car drove over us and shook the metal above our heads, sending down a rain of loose asphalt and dirt. We were about to light up a cigarette when I realized Janny was nowhere to be seen –  Or heard since I bolted after Sal. We propped ourselves at an angle, our butts on the incline with our feet placed across the span of pipe, our faces towards the faint  dusty light, our legs placed over and under each other, crisscrossing in the tight  space. Road vibrations and water droplets the only sounds.  

“Ready to light up?” asked Sal, stating the obvious.  

Out of a Marlboro pack, Sal pulled out a joint. Fat, tightly twisted at both ends, taking up the space of two cigarettes.  

“Guess who got a new boyfriend?” asked Sal.  

Sal’s parents were divorced and although his dad had custody, he saw his mother too. I pretended the joint was no big deal.  

“I had a bong hit once at Kirby’s friends party.” I lied.  

  “Well, then this will get you blasted, my friend.” Sal was fearless.  

  “Does the boyfriend know you took it?” I asked.  

  “By the time he realizes it, he will be too drunk to know he had it.”  I understood. Sal’s mother with another loser.  

“He was in ‘Nam though” added Sal.  

Growing up with Kirby wasn’t always easy. I didn’t know what he went through in Vietnam, but I saw him get angry with himself easily – and then needing a few beers or a joint to be able to fall asleep, or to check out.  

I watched Julie reaching out to him when she sensed he was going to a dark place. Sometimes, I figured it was our mom’s memory who sent him there. I saw him go through a few jobs too. One thing I was sure of – Kirby would forever, be in our lives. I had no reason to know nor believe this, but I did. Without question.  

Even after Julie discovered our deeply flawed selves and moved on, Kirby was steadfast in his parenting. I don’t think it was devotion to us, as much as how much he was once devoted to our mom. We were the prize in the Cracker Jacks.  

I was lucky that way- having a guy always around. Janny wasn’t a “girly girl” who seemed to miss having a mom. But when Julie arrived, I saw the big hole in Janny’s life being filled. I guess having a mother commit suicide will do that.  

When my mother was alive, I felt she needed me all the time. I felt like I was the only one allowed to enter her world of darkness. She needed me to remind her there was a way out. A child does not judge a parent’s sadness. It was watched closely with curiosity and wonderment. It is seeing your superhero without her costume.  

Janny doesn’t remember our father. He smelled like leather and shoe polish.  He had jet black hair, like my mom but looked like Captain America. I think when one super hero loses their other superhero, the surviving super hero doesn’t survive at all.  

As Sal and I toked on the joint, I told Sal the story of the parents who raised me until coming here – the story of my mom – the part of her killing herself but not the part of it being my fault. How that day, I should have known the blackness was all around; how I could have stopped her.  “Was your dad cool?” asked a very stoned Sal. 

“Which one? Kirby is a cool dad.”  

“The dead one?” clarified Sal.  

  “Yeh. He was cool.” What else could I say about my dad? That I lost my mother when we lost him? Janny and I had almost three years with our tidy family unit, until dad joined up and went to fight the commies. Until dad didn’t come back. When Kirby told us he had died a hero, I thought “heroes don’t leave their kids”, even if one of those kids was a fraud. 

“Let’s go in deeper,” Sal suggested “and light up again at the next light.  

Get it?”  

I nodded in the filtered traffic dust from above. I heard a sharp metallic sound after a car drove over our heads. I was looking up, smiling at the patterns of silt. I smelled exhaust and was about to say something profound when I realize that sound had come from Sal – he had fallen over and was writhing in a large puddle of water, blood trickling from his head. I screamed his name then instinctively, called out to Janny.  

No one answered. Sal’s arms and legs looked locked up and there was spit around his mouth. He was laying on his side, with a broken bottle beneath his cut open head.  

I pulled my bandana off my pants loop and placed it on Sal’s head. I cleared away some glass and one that was stuck in his head. He had stopped shaking but just lay there, eyes open staring off into nothing.  

“Sal. Sal. Sal. What’s going on? Are you okay? I have to go get help. Can you hear me, man?”  

I heard a whisper behind me.  

“Jimmy?”  

I was so happy to look up and see Janny. She had followed us in and found us. There was only one way to get into the sumps, but we were far in. Janny was crying. She was looking down at Sal and tears were running down her face.  

“Janny, I don’t know what’s going on. You stay here. I’ll go get help.”   “Don’t leave me here!” Janny said quietly.  

“Guys? Shit. Ow. Fuck.” Sal was stirring and trying to sit up. I took his hand and placed it on the handkerchief which had crusted onto his forehead wound.  

  “Damn Sal- what the hell, man? Hold this on your head.”  

  “Man. That was good pot.”  

  “Sal, you’re crazy man. You convulsed and fell and hit your head!”  

  We both started laughing uncontrollably. Janny was kneeling in the puddle besides us, whimpering. Coughing up spit, tears and blood, Sal and I looked like we came through a war. 

    “I’m so tired, Jimmy. Dizzy” Sal tried to say through his stoned giggling.  This caused Janny to cry harder.  

  “Can you get up?” I asked. “Do you need to stay here? Can you make it out with us?”  

  “Sure. In a minute. Damn.” Sal answered.  

  “Yeh, okay. That’ll be good.” I was shaking and didn’t know why.  

I noticed the blood wasn’t dripping down his face anymore and it seemed as if his head had stopped bleeding. We continued laughing. I soon realized Janny was gone. I think I saw the shadowy ripples across the puddles, but I couldn’t see or think further than that. We were enveloped in darkness. I positioned myself, my hands on Sal’s shoulders guiding him to lay back down. My stomach hurt from laughing as I put his head on my legs. We started to catch our breaths. We both sighed.  

Without speaking, we both got up at the same time. Unsteady. Shaky.  Stoned. Arm in arm like wounded soldiers, we limped hunched over and plodded through the tunnels. We didn’t bother to straddle and instead just waded through the murky waters, kicking away occasional cans and other unidentified objects.  

The light was bright at the opening. It seemed far away. A chill I didn’t realize I had begun to leave my body. My teeth were clenched. I started to sweat.  

Sal was breathing heavily. We hadn’t said a word and stopped at every tunnel segment to catch our breaths – concentrating on the task of getting to our bikes. I wasn’t sure what to do then. It felt as if we were under fire and Sal had been shot. 

I thought of Kirby and felt like I understood him more. Brotherhood was everything. As we got closer to the opening I felt the stifling heat, now producing steam from a summer storm encroaching. I saw Janny’s face peeking down at us.  

  “They’re HERE!” she shouted to someone.  

Two big silhouetted bodies came to greet us in the dark and quickly dragged us out the few feet to the entrance. It was Kirby and another man I had never seen. Or maybe he owned a store nearby. 

“You two are lucky I was just at the shop! Thank God for your sister!”  

The stranger and Janny were leading our bicycles back. Kirby picked up Sal and carried him over his shoulders.   

“I’m Okayyyyy…” Sal grunted as he bounced along with Kirby’s gait.  

“We’re at the steps now. Almost to my truck. Hold on.”  

Janny was next to me on the narrow sidewalk. She handed my bike off to me, so I could carry it up the stairs to the street.  

“Are you okay?” she whispered to me.  

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking, yeah, I’m fine, how did you get us, how did you know and, thanks? 

Kirby had thrown our bikes into the back of the truck and Janny and I hopped in the back with them. She stared at me the entire drive to the hospital,  

where we met up with Sal’s mother.   

Eventually, we found out Sal had a seizure in the tunnels, his second one since he was 5. They kept him for a few days to figure out what kind of medicine to give him. He was expected to make a full recovery. I wasn’t sure Janny could recover from what was about to come. 

CHAPTER 10

Janny 

 

July – 1975 

 

Before I found Sal and my brother in the sumps, I had begun to hear  

Jimmy’s voice a few tubes ahead. Just a deep echo of rumblings from the solid darkness. It made me feel warm. Finally, I saw a hint of light filtering down in the near distance. When I came upon them, Jimmy was kneeling over Sal’s body holding a bandana on Sal’s head. Sal was perfectly still. His eyes were open. I was terrified. I caught Jimmy’s gaze, got his attention, but when he looked back down at Sal, I turned around and ran as fast as I could, hunched over to reach the  

entrance. Luckily, it didn’t feel as if we were that far in.  

I got to my bike in no time and took off. I dropped my bike at the bottom of the steps, ran up to the main sidewalk and went into the first store on the boulevard. I recognized the hardware store from trips I took here with Kirby.  

Kirby and I didn’t share any hobbies, but whenever he went to the hardware store on Saturdays, I got to go. Jimmy and Kirby spent afternoons together using the tools or items we purchased. My Saturday afternoons were spent with julienne. Since Kirby didn’t show much affection, sitting next to him in the truck alone was a treat. 

The owner of the store saw my tear-stained face, listened to my out-of- breath sobs and called Kirby. I remember the feel of the cool linoleum floor and the smell of mixed metals. Mr. Joe wiped my face and tended to his store while I waited for Kirby to arrive. I hadn’t given many details other than my brother and his friend might be hurt and stuck.  

Kirby swooped in, asking me to show him exactly where the boys entered the sumps. Mr. Joe closed his store, grabbed a first aid kit and came with us.  

Kirby got us to the spot and effortlessly, took command.  

Jimmy looked stunned to see us, all of us reaching the tunnel opening seemingly at the same time. Kirby lifted Sal over his shoulders like a bag of dirt.  Julienne was at the hospital when we got there, running over to me and Jimmy.  

Kirby was in with Sal until Sal’s mother arrived. I never understood how grown-ups managed to be in the places they were supposed to be. I wondered if I would ever feel in place. Poor Jimmy was coughing, both of us filthy.  

We were wrapped in hospital blankets and the doctors gave us little doctor pins. One doctor said I was brave to go rescue my brother. We were turning to leave when I saw her. She was taller, her red hair, shorter, but I recognized her right away. I first thought it was a mirage.  

There are many falls along the way, but none could be avoided in order to bring you to the place you were meant to be. Those rare times when things finally make some sense. Seeing Rachel after all this time felt like months had dropped away in a mist of lost memories. Nothing mattered. Nothing else mattered.  

It was julienne who called out to Rachel’s mother. Their backs were turned, reading something off a board down the hospital corridor. 

“Louise? Louise!”  

Rachel and her mom both turned around simultaneously, smiling at us. 

 

“Oh my! Hello! I hope Kirby is okay, my dears. Is Kirby okay?” said  

Rachel’s mom in her usual effervescent way.  

Julienne assured her we were all fine. Her mom continued.  

“We JUST got back into town – can you believe it? What blessings! Rachel is receiving wonderful care, and everything is looking good for our girl.”  She pulled Rachel in close to her.  

“I had heard a little bit and didn’t have a chance to fill in Janny yet” said julienne.  

Rachel and I were staring at each other, grinning. I wasn’t mad or hurt. I started to pay attention to the adults with that last comment. Rachel took my hands and held them.  

“Janny. I’m sorry. I’ve been sick. Real sick. But I’m better now. My dad got transferred back here and my doctors in Minnesota said it was okay to stop  

treatments for now. I am okay.”  

I wondered about secrets. Stories. Each story held a secret or two. Momma held the biggest secret of anyone I knew. To this day, I don’t know her secret. The hidden pain that was so terrible she had to kill herself. Was she sick too? Did they forget to tell me that too? Why was I accepting of others hidden revelations?  

Why didn’t I demand more from people? Jimmy always seemed sure. Kirby seemed sure. Was it just me who was like the drain in the sink? It all swirls down to me, eventually?  

I think I spoke. I think I asked Rachel if I was going to see her soon. I remember the grown-ups making quick plans, pleasantries and whisking us away.  

Julienne squeezed me and told me how happy she was I had my friend back.  

 

Once home, we took baths, had soup and julienne handed me small pieces of missing information like pieces of warm bread. I learned what she knew about  

Rachel’s cancer: How it came on quickly; the sudden move (that wasn’t so sudden for them), better hospitals, and her father’s job. Julienne apologized to me- saying she heard the news about Rachel just a few days ago while at the food co-op. She said she wanted to tell Kirby first, then sit us down and explain Rachel’s disappearance and now, recovery. I said I understood. I was quite, tired, stunned and needed to talk to Jimmy alone. I wanted to know if he had any secrets.  

Rachel Rachel Rachel Rachel was back in my life! It felt like the best day ever. She was my distant mirage that was now real. Kirby told me how proud he was of me – how I saved Jimmy and Sal. All that mattered to me was Rachel was back – sick but now better!  

Jimmy was shaken up. I could tell. I could always tell. Even though I began ignoring him this year, I knew what he was feeling and when. He always seemed to be fine. Tonight, was different. Even after his bath, he continued to shiver every occasionally. Julienne was quite sweet with him. And he allowed her to fuss.  Kirby was attentive as well. He didn’t run out to hide in the garage as usual. I saw Jimmy had quite a few scratches – bruised knees and elbows. I heard Jimmy tell Kirby I was crying in the sumps, but I don’t remember. It felt so good to get between clean sheets, my blanket pulled up to my chin.  

Jimmy was propped up in a sleeping bag next to me on the floor. Kirby had carried a TV into my room, so we could both watch and recover together. julienne was upset with Kirby for letting Jimmy crash here, but had no reason to tell him to go into his own room. For him to tell Kirby “no, I’m cool right here,” I knew that meant he was off his game. I was here. It was okay. For a change, he had to lean on me. For this moment. We were finally alone for the first time in a long time.  

“Jimmy. Do you ever think about momma or Arizona?” I asked in the darkness once the house was asleep. The light of the streetlamp was dim through my purple paisley curtains, but shed light on Jimmy’s perfect profile. My nose was crooked. 

“Yeh. Sometimes.” I was surprised he answered so quickly. “I miss those neighbors. That neighborhood. Where we played. She will always be there, in those memories.” he said, oh so wisely and beyond his years.  

“I do. I wish she was here tonight.” I didn’t realize I had felt that way until I spoke the words.  

“Me too” answered Jimmy.  

Back in Arizona, when momma was alive, Jimmy and I spent all our time together, until school separated us. I hated it. I hated being away from him. I felt it was unfair that he got to stay home with momma too. If I had pretended to be stupid, could I have stayed home and not have to learn math? Not leave momma’s side? 

Suddenly, I had a realization. Since Jimmy was not with me on the bus that day and I don’t remember seeing him when I was told about momma’s death, where was he? Where had he been?  

“Jimmy? What um, what do you remember about her?”  “I remember things that she said. Ways that she looked.”  

“I remember the way she smelled” I added.  

He became quiet. I felt a warm breeze on my face from the open window.

  

I waited for more.  

“You should know something. I knew about Rachel,” Jimmy said into the darkness.  

“You knew what about Rachel?” I heard my voice crack.  

“I knew. I knew this whole time. Since she left.”  

“YOU KNEW WHAT ABOUT RACHEL?” I said so loudly it caused Kirby to knock on my door.  

“Everyone okay?” he said as he opened the door.  

Someone had switched the lights on. It may have been me. I started to cry.  

Kirby sat down on the edge of my bed.  

“Jimmy – want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.  

“It was just…Rachel told me about her cancer…6 months ago…before she left. And I never told Janny.” he confessed to Kirby. 

“YOU BASTARD!” I screamed.  

“Yeh. That’s the other thing I need to tell you.”  

 

CHAPTER 11  

 

Janny 

 

Jimmy had lied to me. I didn’t buy the “I just didn’t tell you” routine.   Whatever he wanted to call it, I felt like he was a coward, who had been lying to me all these months. How dare he! He knew I blamed myself for Rachel leaving.  (How could it not be my fault somehow?) He figured, if I knew she was sick and not able to do anything about it, it would be worse? For who? Me? He was trying to protect me? From what? The truth?  

Kirby had a calming presence and sat there as Jimmy talked. He didn’t explain over him or try to patronize us. He just was there. There to catch us if we fell. Jimmy was falling.  

The only thing that saved Jimmy that night from me hating him forever was hearing his “big secret” of not being related to me by blood. Kirby did not appear shocked when Jimmy dropped this bombshell on us.  

“You know you were wanted by your father, James and mother, Claire, right?” Kirby said quietly when Jimmy was catching his breath from all his confessing: “You were loved.”  

Somehow, I knew Jimmy needed to hear this many times, throughout his lifetime. Was this something Jimmy knew? He was loved and wanted?  

Did I know, somehow, he was not my real twin? I remember hearing my mother talk to Kirby about Jimmy several times. It was hard for me to understand, only that there was a possibility Jimmy and I didn’t grow together in her womb.  

Because this information seemed familiar, I wanted to pretend I was hearing it for the first time and thus, being very brave for my brother (for Kirby’s approval). I would have to seem a little bit sorry for him. I was relieved to hear Jimmy had known all these years. We were together for a reason and no one really belonged to anyone in our family. This was perfectly normal. The three of us thrown together in a windstorm.  

When Rachel arrived on my doorstep the next afternoon ready to play with us, I had forgiven Jimmy for the time being. He and Kirby stayed up and kept talking but I fell asleep. He was still here. Rachel was back. The summer was salvageable after all. If I chose to look at my brother any differently after that, it was never for the reason he thought – that we were not connected through blood.  He betrayed me by not telling me about Rachel. We were still twins in my heart and mind. One day, I would realize, he was also betrayed.  

Rachel wasn’t sick at all. We took our bikes everywhere that summer. She told us stories about being in a bed for months, needles, throwing up, operations. I guess their family must have felt ashamed? Why else do we hide things?  

Julienne drove over to Rachel’s new (rental) home everyday to bring them fresh vegetables, cooked foods. She told me she felt terrible we hadn’t known all these months. Even though it wasn’t her fault, she felt badly she hadn’t been able to do anything for them. Julienne loved fiercely.  

I found myself avoiding julienne. We used to spend a lot of time together but not lately. I wasn’t sure why. julienne never mentioned anything about Jimmy “lying” to us about Rachel’s cancer. It didn’t affect her in any way I could tell.  Maybe it didn’t seem like a lie to her. Maybe she felt Jimmy was just being loyal to my friend: Honoring Rachel’s secret.  

  I realized we hadn’t seen one another after I passed her in the hallway on my way to my room. Rachel and Jimmy were still outside, but I had torn my pants (again) on a tree we had climbed earlier. I wasn’t a total klutz, but if something were to get broken, torn, stained, ruined, I may have had something to do with it. My lack of grace got more enhanced in my teens. I already was starting to develop, faster than any of my classmates and certainly Rachel. I had to wear a bra already (thankfully purchased by julienne) and sanitary napkins too for staining. Hair was growing in places. Julienne told me my mother was probably the same way. Hearing someone else talk about momma like that felt strange.  

  Julienne gave me permission to talk about momma. She seemed to know when I was thinking about momma and mention her. This is why julienne never seemed…real. Real things were taken from me.   

  “Baby girl, come here,” julienne said in the hallway as she reached out to me.  

  We hugged.  

  “I know. I miss you too. It’s really great all you’re doing for Rachel’s family. She really appreciates it. Me too!” I said.   

  It was nice having girls around. Kirby and Jimmy were a different species sometimes. Why didn’t either of them tell me SOONER about EVERYTHING they knew about Jimmy’s origin into our family? And the question I asked him regularly: Why did you think it was protecting me not to have told me about Rachel? Kirby and Jimmy- their job as the boys to protect me, I guess.  

I didn’t feel protected, just lied to.  

  “Why don’t we go to the flea market this Saturday? Just you and me? Leave everyone else at home.”  julienne was making a date with me.  

  “Sure. Let me talk to everyone first and see what’s going on. But sure.” I was sure. I guess.  

  Saturday came, and julienne woke me up early.  

  “Come on, Janny. I want to park in the shade.” julienne had scouted out many Ohio flea markets.  

  It was so early. Rachel was in the sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. She told me to go. GO!  

  I slid on my jeans, Kirby’s large t-shirt and tied an orange bandana around my head. Julienne handed me a piece of warm zucchini banana bread with cream cheese and honey, sprinkled with a little bit of cinnamon. 

  “We’ll eat in the car, okay?” she said smiling.  

  We got into her yellow VW Super Beetle (that had no heat in the winter) and drove off with the windows open. It felt good to hear the chirping of the engine, julienne singing along with Joni Mitchell. (She looked like Joni Mitchell!) We were away from Jimmy, Rachel and Kirby, just the two of us. The bread tasted so good.  

  We parked under one of four trees located in a giant unpaved parking lot, dotted with vendor booths and tables. It wasn’t crowded yet. We were early. There was absolutely no breeze and I had already started to sweat, my hair frizzing in front of my face. Julienne glistened.  

Wandering from booth to booth, we looked at blankets, scarves, birdhouses, honeys, baked goods, civil war memorabilia, photographs, ponchos, coins, pottery, goldfish. Pretty much everything.  

  Our first purchase of the day was at a coffee stand. We had iced tea and croissants. We sat on a small picnic table under an umbrella.  

  Julienne asked me about Jimmy. She wanted to know if I was mad at my mom for not telling me the truth about my non-twin? Acknowledging how much we had been through, she asked if Jimmy and I wondered why my mom pretended we were twins?  

Was it pretend? Was I mad at her? Didn’t we both really know for years and never mention it to anyone? Weren’t we pretending too? Did it even matter? 

  “I don’t know. What did Kirby tell you? Did she even have time to tell us?”  I responded. Janny coming to the emotional rescue of a dead woman, again. 

  Wasn’t I supposed to be mad at momma for killing herself? (That’s what the counselor in Arizona kept asking.) Why couldn’t I SAVE her? If I hadn’t had my twin, then I would have been alone too? An abandoned child to face all this loss?  Did I know and not care? Was not admitting the truth, a way to hold on? I was mad at myself for everything. I was probably the real reason Rachel went away. I was probably the reason momma died. NO ONE wanted me knowing about Jimmy and that was my fault. I was mad at the stupid world for getting my father killed. I was mad we had to leave Arizona and reminders of the desert and momma’s clay worn face. (How can I carry memories around without losing them over time?) I was mad Jimmy told me julienne was going away one day. (I was mad he was probably right.) I was mad at Kirby for not telling me something every day about momma. I was mad Sal got sick too. I was mad I had to be the one to get help. I was mad Rachel got sick. I was mad the summer was ending. I was mad I had to go into Junior High School without my best friend (Rachel lived in a different district now). I was SO mad at Jimmy for not telling me Rachel was going away. I was mad at him for never telling anyone anything – like I wasn’t his sister? Why didn’t we share that? I was mad at myself for not trusting my brother enough to tell him my doubts about our history. I was mad julienne was so perfect and I was the opposite. I was mad I had frizzy black hair and big thighs like my momma. I was mad I started my period this summer. I was mad Kirby was quiet all the time. I was mad Kirby wouldn’t get us a dog to keep Ms. Lucy company. I was mad julienne changed my cat’s name from “miss” to “Ms.” I was mad I had no momma for over 7 years. I was mad I didn’t know how to ever stop being mad.  

  I told this to julienne. All of it. It came out in shouts and sobs, her not caring about the stares from passerby’s. She just listened. When she thought I was done, she encouraged me to drink my (melted) ice tea. It was hot out and snot was dripping down my nose. The tea tasted good. julienne stroked the parts of my hair shooting out from the bottom of my scarf. She waited to make sure I had stopped speaking. The silence felt good.  

  “Little bear, you are a precious being. Always. Sometimes our gifts are not…easily revealed. You have unique gifts. It takes time. And trust me, one day you will know why you are here. And one day, you may stop being mad. For now, it makes sense you are this angry.”  

  Another person there at the right time, telling me the right things. I felt

 rescued. A flood, one last deep sob, flew out of me from a deep place.  

My shoulders shook, my ribs ached. I was taking short shallow breaths. 

 Julienne was rubbing my back now. Breathe, she said. Breathe, little one.   “Jimmy and Kirby didn’t tell you about having a different mother and father than you because, well, because they’re stupid.” 

  I laughed. This time the snot came shooting out of my nose.  

  “For real. Men don’t like saying things out loud, sometimes. It scares them.  It makes things too real. They are uncomfortable with darkness. They both loved your momma very much though. And you. And now, in the light, the darkness can go away. Yes?”  

  I nodded, trying to catch my breath, then hugged her.  

  “Good. Let’s go look at the vegetables now.”  

  We brought home interesting looking vegetables we didn’t grow in our garden and made food in a wok that night. It was delicious. The brown rice balanced on my chopstick tips reminded me of our family: Precarious before it entered my mouth, but one bite contained all the savory goodness.  

  No one talked about momma at dinner; or where Jimmy came from. Maybe none of it mattered anymore.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12 

 

Jimmy 

 

Ohio – Summer 1975 

 

  Janny, Rachel and I spent the rest of the short summer together. We talked about music, the girl’s poems, movies. They listened to me play guitar: I sang music by Stephen Stills, Lou Reed, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder – I learned to play what Kirby listened to. The girls forced me to listen to Carole King and Laura Nyro.  

I was relieved Janny now knew everything about our “twinness” and forgave me for not telling her about Rachel. She was an orphan just like me. I lost four parents, she lost two. We had each other.  

We went swimming, spent weekends at the lake with Rachel and her family, and Janny helped me with my paper route. (Girls weren’t allowed to have their own paper route.) We helped in the garden. We even played with my trucks and cars in the backyard, even though we were way too cool for all that childhood silliness. We ate candy all day, read MAD magazines and occasionally, got high together. Entering junior high school was formidable.  

  Janny and I weren’t in the same class until we came to Ohio. We both “tested” smart, and were put in advanced classes. Kirby suggested we begin junior high in the general academic program. Julie disagreed. Kirby felt we had too much pressure in our lives, but Julie thought we needed the challenge. We were still referred to as “the twins” and apparently still treated as if we were one mindset. I never talked about it with Janny, but I didn’t mind. Or care.  

  I felt less afraid, not realizing that seemed to be my normal state when we lived in Arizona. Without the weight of being my mother’s keeper, I felt free. I made friends easily and felt okay if Janny and I were apart. I no longer held the burden of worrying about my mother. Janny and I never really talked about her anymore. Her life or her death.  

Kirby told me what I already knew the night Rachel returned, the night  

Janny learned all the truths. He was sorry he never told us sooner we were “twins” from different mothers. He never thought it mattered. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t know that much information. He forgot about it since we came to Ohio. I was “taken in” by Janny’s birth parents around the same time she was born. Kirby was sorry he didn’t know more. Or so he said.  

  Janny and I formed a new connection but perhaps, due to the honesty and raw notion of it all, we lost something too. Janny felt betrayed by Rachel, then me.  

Janny didn’t know I blamed myself for Rachel’s absence. And it had nothing to do with her illness or keeping her secret. I had told Rachel my secret before my own sister. I thought it was TOO horrible – her parents had no choice but to escape the weird neighbors from next door. An orphan boy? The crazy army vet and his hippie girlfriend? Two kids living a lie as twins? Lost desert souls, unprepared for Ohio winters. The house, without a shiny new car in the driveway. The house with a sea of wild flowers (weeds) in our yard in comparison to the manicured sameness, greenness of our suburban neighbors. Sunflowers that were so huge they hung over our neighbor’s fences on all three sides.  

We were freaks and now everyone will know, I thought after the night of the play. I figured Rachel wouldn’t be able to look her best friend in the eyes anymore.  I didn’t mean for her to know I wasn’t related to anyone by blood- it casually came out even though I thought I had locked that piece of knowledge away deep. 

How did something “come up” that wasn’t even in my head? Is that how aliens get here? They don’t show up on radar and arrive without notice? Were we all abducted at one point? Is that what killed my mother?  

I was later to find out, my demons hadn’t even begun to emerge. But this summer, the last one Janny and I really hung out together until our trip at seventeen, was a  brief moment of liberation from an unacknowledged internal war; unrecognized  until the freedom is once again, lost. 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

  JANICE 

 

Ohio – 1980 

 

  By our senior year, Jimmy had practically dropped out of school. He started to drink, smoke too much (with Sal, whose epilepsy didn’t seem to stop him) and cut classes. I guess it started soon after julienne left. No one was around to monitor us anymore.  

  Jimmy had a job on weekends, working with Kirby at the shop. I was getting A’s, keeping the house clean and stocked, and staying sort-of-popular. Kirby did the laundry. I disapproved of Kirby and Jimmy’s smoking (of all kinds) but I felt content when the two of them came home at night, smelling of motor oil and tobacco.  

  Kirby dated a little after julienne left him (us), drank a little too much and stayed out more. He stopped being a mechanic for a while, sleeping to 3 PM, having breakfast while I was just getting home from school, leaving for another bartending job at 5, then volunteering at the firehouse for several overnights. But for the past couple of years, the three of us fell into a familiar pattern of domesticity. Kirby settled down again, before anyone else would notice Jimmy was following in Kirby’s bad habits. I missed eating dinner in front of the t.v. with Jimmy. At least his weekends with Kirby forced him to have a schedule. 

  One wet, cold fall Saturday, Jimmy brought home a friend from the garage.  

His name was Alan. He had a long mustache that grew all the way down his chin.  It was hard to tell where his sideburns ended, and his mustache began. He had long wavy brown hair, just under his ears. He smelled like cherry pipe tobacco from the slender brown cigar, he chewed in the side of his pouty mouth. He made my heart flutter. Not since seeing Rachel for the first time had I felt this way. I wanted Alan to touch me. I wanted to touch Alan. I wanted to feel his mustache on my skin.  I wanted to kiss him and not just practice kiss like Rachel and I had done – a real womanly kiss from deep within me. I wanted to be needed and I wanted to be wanted: did that make sense? I wanted Jimmy to disappear and leave us alone! Oh God, Jimmy, don’t introduce me as Janny!  

  I walked languidly through our kitchen while they sat drinking beers on stools by the black and white (peeling) vinyl covered center island. I imagined I was a character in one of my books du jour, which always involved an independent Victorian English woman whose family’s minimal expectations of her did not repress her irascible spirit. I casually retrieved a pop as elegantly and nonchalantly as Mrs. Dalloway arranging her flowers.  

  I needed someone to explain this desire this non-intellectual beast had on me, right out of a D.H. Lawrence novel. I needed a mother. Julienne wasn’t there anymore to explain love or boys or what herbs to grow for my cramps and make into tea. She was the one who used to be there. The one who kept promises and tried to bring out my memories of the desert and momma. I discovered how to make compresses for headaches with my second mom’s horticulture knowledge.  

No make-up tips (I had Rachel’s mother for lessons with hair spray, hair straightening, and lash contraptions.) But julienne was my steady woman, there if I had questions. I had zillions, but usually asked just enough so I wouldn’t burden her. I didn’t want her to leave too.  

Many of my questions were internal: Why did Rachel and her family deny me the truth at 11? Why did Jimmy not trust me with his secret? Why did momma kill herself? What is this massive desire and wetness in my loins? Will it ever be filled? Does Alan notice me? Did he just smile? He smiles at me but goes back to talking with Jimmy. I’ll be patient. Just like the characters in my books.   No suspense that Alan was my drunken first. I was just turning 17, he was 24. He was paying attention and did notice me. It began with flirting the few times he was over visiting Jimmy. We accidentally touched, a lot. We tried to hide our mutual attraction from Jimmy. 

  It was our birthday. Kirby wasn’t home and Alan, Jimmy and I were drinking tequila. Jimmy had just gotten a 1962 Mercedes coup and was celebrating. I wasn’t sure how he felt about our shared birth date anymore, but it was the day we became twins. Hopefully, that’s how he looked at it. Alan and Jimmy seemed to know how to drink tequila quite well. My only experience with alcohol was at Rachel’s Seders. Thick wine that made us giggle. Rachel’s mom even added soda water, but the wine was still rich! This was tequila in a clear bottle, not the dark bottle I would see the Indians drink out west. We used lemons. Salt. Shot glasses. Jimmy was making us laugh so hard we’re crying. Alan’s cute grin and silly teasing. Lots of deep laughter and tears. We talk and laugh into the night. Jimmy nods off. I am tongue kissing Alan. We are laughing again, drink more, taste it on his lips. Salt. Sweat. Sweet. Sour. I feel…womanly. He is touching my nipples through my sweater. There is a cough. Jimmy wakes up.  

We all run to get our coats because someone yells “snow!”. Wet sneakers leaping into a newly white landscape. We are rolling in snow. Wrapped mitten-hands around a bottle. No more lemons. Gulping and passing. I’m spinning. Falling in the snow, Alan on top of me. We are inside again. Someone makes hot chocolate.  Jimmy has vanished upstairs. Alan takes me to the front door, wraps his leather coat around my shoulders (what happened to my coat?), grabs momma’s crocheted blanket from the couch. We stumble to the side of the garage, under our childhood climbing willow tree and a row of pine trees silhouetted like a 2D mural. I feel so sick, but warm and happy and dizzy and touching and tongues again. I’m lying on the blanket but it’s cold and wet. The darkened willow branches above me look like a crazed woman’s hair. I am wrapped around Alan like twine. There is the smell of oil mixed with winter air. He smiles down at me, I think, and tells me to slow down. I am excited and there is pushing and skin and hands moving. I’m touching him. My pants are down. He is groaning. Or maybe that’s me. I start to feel sick. I turn to my side and am retching from deep in my gut. I’m on my back again, he’s wiping my hair out of my mouth but continues to fumble between  my legs. It’s starting to hurt. I try to say please just stop wait one minute but an arm is across my chest and my crotch is burning. I feel dry and scared and my desire is gone. I am in pain, he is moaning, pushing, everything is blurry from night tears snow sickness and I can feel his penis tear at me. My eyes roll back. I wake from what, passing out? What again? He’s pounding me. It hurts so much. I start to shiver and cry. I turn my head to the side. I hear laughing and he’s off me. Oh baby, I hear him say. Somehow, we are up, holding my pants and underwear, wet pine cone needles sticking my skin from the blanket wrapped around my waist.  Alan crashes onto the couch. I find my bed and fall into it. I think I just lost my virginity. I don’t want Jimmy ever finding out about this.  

  It’s barely light when I open my eyes again. I feel crusty everywhere: My mouth, eyes, vagina, armpits. I drop last night’s armor and throw on sweatpants and my tie-dyed t-shirt. I notice I am dirty and bleeding. I use a damp towel to clean up and have to wear a maxi-pad. It’s quiet downstairs, so I hurry back into my room, wishing I had a glass for water. I take out my diary. I wonder if everyone’s “first time” was like that, if I would look and feel differently now, if anyone (Rachel?) will be able to tell? I wonder what julienne or momma would have said to me?  

  I stayed in my room until I made sure Alan had left. I knew nothing would be said between him and Jimmy about me. Alan was a grown man, even though they acted like peers. I wondered if Alan had given me a thought before he left.  Alan. Sweet Alan. Our two shadows probably remaining under the eaves, beneath the trees, forever frozen now. My secret to keep.  

  Alan stopped coming around which was good because our only interaction was him winking at me before I disappeared. I bled for a long time after we had sex, but didn’t ask anyone if that was normal. It eventually stopped and we all went on with our lives. Soon, Jimmy would once again, not only know my secrets, but become protector of them.  

 

CHAPTER 14 

 

  Janny 

 

I knew enough to know that when my period didn’t come after New Year’s, or by Valentine’s Day, I was pregnant. Panic spread throughout my body, but I felt numb at the same time. I, of course, did not know it at the time, but the journey of this pregnancy, would forever change my relationship with my brother. I did not have a plan, until a serendipitous discovery about my father’s side of the family, came to light.  

  It was March, the ground still frozen. It was a quiet walk home from school.  

I was clutching a new sanitary napkin I kept in my winter jacket “hoping” …hoping for cramps to come. I wasn’t carrying any books. So unlike me. I decided then “I will tell Kirby to ask julienne to take me to the doctor.” The doctor in my head was a nice old man, finding me a wonderful home for unwed girls. I would be able to stay there, getting served breakfast in bed, getting fatter, until I gave birth and handed my beautiful dark-haired newborn to a loving mother and father.  Surrounded by flowers, Kirby and Jimmy would drive me home, cook me pancakes and be extra nice. All my friends at school would act like nothing happened, like I hadn’t gone but they were still really happy to see me.  

I got to the front of our sidewalk and, noticed both Jimmy and Kirby’s cars were in the driveway. I spotted a pussy willow struggling on a spindly twig. It looked soft in contrast to the harsh, gray environment surrounding me. I did not bound in the door as usual. I stopped at our entryway to look into the window of the house next door; the two story brick home of Rachel’s, before their family moved out. I remember how cold and dark and lonely I felt the day we arrived in  

Ohio. But, this block, this house; Rachel’s ghostlike warm figure smiling at me – a strange little girl with wild Brillo-y hair covered in dusty desert tears, lost in a new life – Rachel’s presence transformed me.  

Having this memory gives me a sudden peace. All my worries of pregnancy, anger from betrayals and sadness from losses lifted. From the top of my woolen beret and worn slouching shoulders to my high top sneakers, I shuttered with pure joy, faith and wonder. Holding my breath at the same time, I suddenly had all the answers by no longer having questions. It was freedom. Truth.  

When my consciousness returned, and thoughts began to invade, I laughed, thinking now I might discover twin carved soap dolls hidden in the crack of a dead oak tree, feeling like we all did when we read Scout open the door to reveal Boo Radley.  

   The clarity and awareness I had dissipated as soon as I entered the front door. I usually came in the back kitchen door to let in our cat. The cat was a new addition to the family. She appeared one day this winter and never left. We called it “Cat”. I knew I should never be a mother. Julienne had taken Ms. Lucy when she moved out two years ago.  

  “Hey Kiddo,” Kirby greeted. “Have a seat. Jimmy and I have something to show you.”  

  This was intriguing. I forgot about my important news. Jimmy slid down the couch and signaled me to sit beside him – that twinkle, that wink, patting the seat cushion. Kirby dragged a box, so it was between my and Jimmy’s feet. It was a regular sized box, like for a very large cowboy hat or a wrapped newborn baby.  Since it was open, I peeked in and saw letters and some books and some dusty 45s. Jimmy was not looking in it, so I surmised he had examined the contents before I walked in. Jimmy began to explain.  

  “So sis, here’s the deal. We, uh, well you, have living relatives.”  

  Did I mention Jimmy’s way of getting to the heart of matters? According to letters found in a water-damaged box, we…I had biological relatives. A strange discovery at a strange time. A loss leading to a discovery. My grandfather, who I never met, died during WW2 when my dad was an infant. His brother sent a letter to my mom when we were all still in Arizona. Daniel Kapinsky aka “Uncle Dan” was my father’s uncle. Our father. The father I have no memories of, no real stories, other than he died in Vietnam. I fully understand the two separate events of my father dying and Kirby arriving, but for years it coincided in my toddler brain as “after Kirby came, your daddy wasn’t your daddy anymore.”   

  Kirby knew about the letter, as he had read it ten years ago when it arrived, soon after momma died. He told us he “sorta forgot” about this box of assorted Arizona items as caring for your dead girlfriend’s kids, then moving across the country just got in the way (my take, anyway). The box was rediscovered this morning, ten years after it was first sealed, when Kirby’s waterbed had developed a leak, flooding all basement contents. The serendipity thing again.  

  Kirby and Jimmy had spent the entire day together going through that box:  each letter, each photo, each trinket, two warped records, and three canning jars full of prickly pear jam. I felt jealous and a little left out that the two of them were sharing memories of momma, and I was not a part of it.  I resented Kirby, but not Jimmy.  

Jimmy was my steady memory. My male blonde mirror, experiencing the same time, in the same space; providing the easiness, the knowingness, the steady voice of my conscious that followed me like a shadow, providing the joy.  Jimmy was my constant entertainment and truth-teller. I hope he never felt “less than” because he was my everything.  

Jimmy later told me, Kirby was patient with his questions that day.  Together, they had pieced together bits of information about a family we did not know existed. We lived day to day, so never had time nor inclination to wonder about this phantom notion of “other family”, especially since not one relative was at momma’s funeral.  

  “Don’t think I give two shits about the ‘family’ thing, but it would be cool to see if anyone knew our dad.” Jimmy confessed.  

  I was relieved and shocked to hear Jimmy still refer to them as “our parents”. This meant I wasn’t alone. Neither was he.  

  One week from when the box was opened in the living room of our Ohio home, Jimmy and I were on a bus heading to Missouri to visit our great aunt and uncle: Daniel and Esther Kapinsky. Kirby found their number as they were at the same address from ten years ago. They had known my father was killed, but reached out to my mom after hearing she and James had two children. (Two!) They wanted to desperately meet their great niece and great nephew.  

  Jimmy and I were on a bus with new knowledge: his knowledge of my pregnancy, our knowledge of new relatives – on a voyage to hear stories that perhaps, might help to define us. I wanted evidence of my mother’s existence other than from just us. Momma guiding us like Mother Mary.  

Jimmy found a clinic for me outside of Missouri. The plan was to have my abortion, rest a night, then visit our uncle. He brought $600 of his cash for the procedure. Kirby gave us a check also, money for a hotel stay. Kirby knew but julienne did not. I swore them both to secrecy. I was not in the mood for her  

nurturing and teas and concerns and her dike doctors and yoga and back rubs and flutey music – I just wanted this thing OUT. Over and out! Kirby was fairly nonchalant about my news, that afternoon of discoveries (Kirby’s stoicism drove Jimmy crazy sometimes), asking if I needed money, if I was okay, if I had wanted him to contact “the boy” …? 

The boy! Again, making my life into an arrangement! I yelled at Kirby (he often let me rant) reminding him how stupid he was! No wonder women leave him! Then I let it go. I saw what was coming next, but I said it anyway. I wanted to hurt him badly.  

  “YOU’RE THE REASON SHE KILLED HERSELF!”  

 I couldn’t take it back. It was too late. I gulped in sobs, staring and waiting for Kirby to respond. The smell of the mildewy basement contents made me sick to my stomach.  

  Kirby then did something remarkable. He stood up, opened his arms and reached out to me. I threw myself into his giant chest, feeling like I took my first good deep breath in years. He held me until I finished crying. Reaching into the box, he handed me an eagle feather.  

“You’re my tribe. I am your dad, forever.”

 

 

CHAPTER 15 

 

  Janny 

 

Somewhere-in-the-midwest – March 1981 

   

  Through the nauseating fog of bus smell and sweat and my constant need to pee, I managed to focus on how nice it was to spend time with Jimmy again. He let me go on and on about what book I was reading, including detailed plot and characters. He talked about his trade school and did great imitations of the people working at the deli. He never asked about Alan or what happened that night but did mention several times “this is the right thing for you”. I knew he wouldn’t bullshit me.  

  Jimmy fed me sandwiches (cheddar cheese, avocado slices and bean sprouts on pita bread) made by julienne who thought the trip was just to see an old aunt and uncle. Kirby had called and arranged our visit. It was during my Spring Break, so it was perfect timing, if I didn’t count being pregnant. I think Kirby also preferred not being there when I had the abortion. Knowing this intuitively about Kirby made me insist even more I did not want him (or julienne) around. Julienne kept to her word when she left Kirby- she would always be there for me and Jimmy. Always. This was no big deal.  

  The irony was not lost on me (probably due to my latest Jane Austen book) that I carried the potential Kapinsky bloodline: great-grand-nephew (or niece) inside of me. It was the first time I had internalized the word “pregnancy” as well. I did try to glimpse a future of very pregnant me, being fed brisket by two sweet loving old relatives (I tried to picture Rachel’s relatives) who would raise my baby and me, the four of us nestled in Missouri somewhere. Jimmy wasn’t even in this picture I imagined, nor was Rachel. Just me and my baby and two elderly strangers. I imagined sitting at an inlaid wooden desk, overlooking a vast garden of yellow roses, writing long letters each morning while the baby played in the crib besides me in the sunlight. 

  The rest stop finally came after a long day. I used the bus bathroom six times, so we moved to the back of the bus to make it easier on me. The smell seemed worse in the back. I felt I was suffocating in diesel fumes and cigarette smoke. I was looking forward to a donut and coffee. No tea (like in our thermos). I wanted a new magazine and a newspaper. I wanted a bathroom that maybe didn’t smell like homeless people and urine. I needed a coke too because I felt as if I could throw up any minute. We had to wait while the other passengers in the front retrieved their belongings from the upper rack. I desperately, needed to get off the bus. I had a sudden feeling of vertigo. I was already standing. 

Jimmy didn’t notice and grabbed my arm to lead me out of the seats down the aisle. We were carrying packs, one each, both in fatigue green. Jimmy was wearing Kirby’s old army shirt as a jacket, decorated with peace and a “go f*ck urself” buttons.  

  The bottom of my stomach heaved hard. I became clammy and weak-kneed.  

By then, we were at the front of the bus, about to step off. Jimmy sort of half caught me as I came down the few steps on Greyhound’s finest. The bus driver uttered “watch your step, Miss!” as I started to throw up the tea and trail mix and cheese sandwich. I managed to aim it into the gutter by the curb since I was no longer standing anyway. Jimmy took off my backpack, took out his handkerchief (Kirby’s military influence) to wipe my mouth. When he knew I was done vomiting, he handed me a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, our favorite. I was bent over. It began to hurt. Really hurt. Stabbing sickness like a bad toothache that wanted to rip out your insides. I thought I experienced gut wrenching pain when Rachel first left, but I also had my share of physical injuries over the years, as well. I was a tom-boy, and ultimately, had to keep up with my twin. Stitches, broken collarbone, knocked out front tooth – yet NOTHING had prepared me for this pain. I screamed “THIS IS NOT FAIR” as cramps ripped through my abdomen. I thought for a stupid moment “I’m going to have a baby” and felt a rush of adrenaline. Jimmy quickly guided us through the terminal, steering us towards the closest woman’s bathroom. I remember the sound of a loud fan, Jimmy saying “oh shit. I have no change” and his boots scraping on tile as he crawled into a paid stall. I hear a click and Jimmy is coming out the stall and leading me back in. 

  “What do you need first? Toilet or sink?”  

  I push him away, latch the door behind him, and start clawing at my pants. I hear “don’t worry – I’m right here” and for a moment, congratulate myself for thinking it’s funny wondering what the other bathroom patrons are thinking. There are screeching waves and waves of motion sickness and cramping. I’m cursing in my head, cursing Alan for doing this to me, cursing at Jimmy for not knowing my every mood or feeling instinctively. Get me a fucking wet towel, you jerk, realizing I had said that out loud. Jimmy did not bang on the door or get hysterical.  He just sighed and under the stall, handed me some wet brown paper towels and some dry ones.  

  He said, “I’ll be right back with a coke” and left the bathroom. I was alone in a bus station 15 cent toilet, unaware of what state we were in, crying from pain and, having a miscarriage (“spontaneous abortion”). It didn’t feel like this was a good omen for the beginning of a journey. Not at all.  

  We missed our bus. It drove away without us. Luckily, we had our backpacks with Jimmy’s camera – something he had taken up recently, but our luggage and his guitar were still on the bus to Missouri. I was in that bathroom for 3 hours and 45 minutes. During that time, Jimmy brought me a coke, two aspirin, and a comic book. Occasionally I heard him say “hi” and then a higher pitch “pardon me” as he sat on the floor outside my stall. There were at least ten separate stalls. He didn’t seem to mind nor explain to the sea of women coming in what he was doing. He read me things out of the newspaper, while handing me water and eventually, a clean t-shirt. It said, “Kansas City Rocks”. Jimmy washed out my underwear, drying it under the hand drier, sang softly while I flushed away an unwanted mess of bloody cells and bought me a Royals hat. He was told we could catch the next bus to our stop in Missouri and, a nice ticket agent called ahead to rescue our luggage. Jimmy was told: “It will be waiting for you, young man. Not to worry.”  

  After my bathroom fiasco, Jimmy and I were sitting on a horrible sticky metal bench, shivering, waiting for the next connecting bus, Jimmy turned to me with that glint in his eyes. That nod. That smile.  

  “Hey, sis. We have two extra days now before auntie and uncle expect us…and $600. Where do you really want to go? “  

  A side of my personality came out that seemed spontaneous and a little wild. 

It kind of scared me but I liked feeling a little dangerous. I had no one to take

 

care of, no one to worry about, no one to watch or judge or have to decide ‘who 

to be’ to satisfy someone. I was finding me. Yes, Jimmy! Let’s go somewhere! 

 

The Kapinsky’s weren’t expecting us right away- let’s do it, Jimmy! We’ll tend to 

 

our living relatives much later.  

 

  Jimmy and I dropped off the world for five days and for that time, never looked back. I felt purged. I was freed in a Greyhound station. I had my whole life in front of me and the weight of a lifetime’s guilt, anger, pain and emptiness had been released and seemingly vanished. I felt tired and crampy and weak and sweating and a little lonely but mostly, a sense of freedom. I was granting myself permission to let go.  

  It was time to visit our ancestral desert spirits- our mother’s home, once our home. We bought two tickets for Tucson. The dry clay of our youth called to us. Maybe we were listening to the sounds of ghosts. I hoped Kirby remembered to feed Cat. I pulled my new hat down over my eyes. I had three sanitary pads on. I felt like a toddler with a loaded diaper. We boarded the bus, unfettered. Returning to the desert for the first time in eleven years.   

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Janny 

 

Arizona – 1981 

 

  We did the right thing and called our new-found relatives in Missouri to say we were to be “a few days late.”  Kirby was frantic however, as we hadn’t checked in to our Holiday Inn near the Kapinsky’s. Neither Jimmy nor I had bothered to call him. He had yet to find out I miscarried or that Jimmy and I were taking a 1000-mile detour. Kirby agonized for three days before calling the  

Kapinsky’s, wondering how to tell them their “wonderful niece and nephew” were AWOL. When Kirby found out we were arriving in “a day or two or three”, he asked the Kapinsky’s to “PLEASE HAVE THEM CALL HOME AS SOON AS YOU TALK TO THEM.” The Kapinsky’s were put off by this step-father’s tone and mistook his care and concern for abruptness and aggressiveness. He was worried sick.  

  Kirby learned to hide feelings a long time ago in order to survive. Jimmy and I, selfishly, never considered him or his feelings or that perhaps he needed to know our whereabouts. How could we be cruel to this steady rock? I don’t think Kirby imagined this life either, yet was there for us. We were focused on just us now, turning down a different road, which up until this point, had swept us in a landslide of loss and left us orphans. Kirby was still our “dad” and we failed him. I was not thinking then how to repay him. I was focused on my freedom.  

 

  Jimmy and I get off the bus in Tucson. The sun is high in the sky. We are both shocked by how dry it is, the sweat evaporating from our tight skin as soon as it appears. It is too bright and too hot outside the terminal. We have our packs but no other bags, rerouted to Missouri. The people coming into the station are brown and weather-worn.  

 

  a man laughs on the subway 

         his face cracks- & falls into pieces,  

         of spit scum and slime on the floor. 

         I look up but quickly turn away 

        I hope he didn’t see me 

 

  We decide to get a map and see if we can find the name of our elementary school as a landmark. We are not sure how to get there and don’t know how much a taxi will cost to take us. We look up our old neighbors in the phone book. Terry and George Latchett are still listed, along with the address. It begins to come back to me. The sun is warm on my face. A familiar smell fills me, every sense smiling from a place I thought had died: Laughing with my brother until dusk, chasing tumbleweeds, running into momma’s arms. Kirby’s face is the one I see in my head. Not momma’s. I thought momma would be everywhere, as she usually was.  I had to bleed, uncontrollably, in a mid-west bus station to rid myself of her ghost from my womb/mind. I had to destroy the life force inside me as she had destroyed her own, and mine in the process. Daughters and mothers, left behind lifeless.  

Jimmy the brave one, calls the Latchetts. Jimmy rolls his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear. Apparently, Mrs. Latchett is screeching and squealing by the likes of us. The twins had come home.  

  George Latchett comes to pick us up in his beat up beaverboard station wagon. Mrs. Latchett insisted.  

“What would Kirby or your dear mother say, bless her heart, if we were to leave you two to fend for yourself?”  

  Mrs. L. had always said “you can take the woman out of Kentucky, but you can’t take the Kentucky out of me!” I had the desert inside of me. I understood now what she meant.  

 It was just a 20-minute drive, not including the McDonald’s stop. Mr. L.  

said “you both just seem hungry.” He told us about the neighborhood, who had left and who had stayed. No one I remembered. He let us know our house was still there, rented by some “very nice young people which is nice to see, nowadays.”  

The land is endless taupe and orange flatland, dotted with random green and yellow from flowering cactus. Vast miles of dramatic cloud shadows, greeted by mesas that give no clue how far away they are. The horizon is infinite. Every other building heading out of town seems to be a realtor. Sun Vista Realty, Desert Sands Realty, Cactus Highway Realty, Golden Star Realty, Orange Plateau Realty. I replace “realty” with “reality” in my head. It fits.   

  Our old neighborhood is more spread out than I remember. I recognize the turn into our block. Our old house is across the street from the Latchetts, but it does not look familiar. It is painted white (not brown like I remember), a wooden fence now around it and a porch added to the front. Mrs. Latchett is an old lady now. Gray hair, yellow teeth. She is shocked by our growth as well.  

  “I just can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!” was her reaction to seeing us.  

  There were no silences while we all ate her homemade cherry pie. Jimmy told them about Ohio: his music, the engine he and Kirby were working on, my poetry (I was honored he mentioned it!). Mrs. L. asked if 

Kirby “that poor man” had remarried. Jimmy looked at me and together we said “no, not really.”  

“Oh, look at that, George! The twins speaking together again!” Mrs. L.  laughed. “Yes, you two have always been quite a pair! Finishing each other’s sentences, singing the same song but be in different rooms, drawing similar pictures, liking the same food. It’s uncanny y’alls connection. Uncanny!”  

It feels incredible to have a looking glass to our past. Kirby held onto the secret of Jimmy, the shame of momma – so pre-Ohio was just not ever a part of our conversations. Besides the trinkets of momma’s, we received our first Christmas in Ohio, the “story of the twins” had vanished with the death of Momma. It didn’t seem to bother Jimmy. The Latchetts memories of us felt precious. 

  It is wonderful to hear stories about neighborhood Christmas parties and the other children we had played with 11 years ago. Mrs. L. said it was a shame when our poppa was killed “in that war” but what a nice man Kirby was and how grateful we should be to have him. We learned others saw momma’s sadness too.  People were keeping an eye on us. Mr. and Mrs. Latchett never had children so they acted as our grandparents. They were sorry they lost touch after we moved.  Kirby had never written to them. We avoided talking about “that day” which changed everything. We talked around it. Mrs. L. asks us to spend the night. She hands me a bottle of Tylenol after I come back from washing up. She said she saw me grab onto my “tummy” and that she “remembered those cramps well.”  

  Jimmy and I decide to visit our old house. It’s a beautiful morning.  

After a lovely cup of tea, Mrs. L. writes down the names of the family living there, writing out the address too for some reason. Older people were…thorough. She gives us some “nice muffins” to take over. I only had to change my sanitary napkin twice that night, so I finally feel rested. Weak but rested. The Latchett’s house smells like vanilla, mothballs and Kmart musk.  They insist on keeping air- conditioners in every room to “keep the desert dust out”. Mrs. L., our savior southern lady reminds me of Rachel’s mom, the love was the same. I began to realize, I do have amazing woman role models in my life: Teachers that cared, neighbors that cared, my julienne, Rachel. I wasn’t as motherless as I had previously imagined. I had no real demons. Why then, was I afraid of facing the memories that waited for us across the street?  

  While we had tea, I ask Jimmy “what do we say when we knock on their door? What if they say no?” Maybe I jump ahead of myself sometimes. 

  “Well, we say ‘hi, we lived here, and our mother killed herself in your living room – may we come in?’ and then hand them muffins.”  

  All four of us burst out laughing; Mrs. L. despite the maudlin reference.

  “You idiot” though I am still laughing. “Yeh, let’s lead with that. You go first.” 

  “No sis, don’t panic. I be so nice. But first I finish this cereal, yes?”    My brother was always so charming, fake accents and all.   

  “Let me ask them. Or you. It doesn’t matter.” I was getting nervous.   What if I felt nothing over there? What was I looking for? Was this trip really a good idea? I just lost part of my insides!  

  I call Jimmy into the back guest room where I am staying. I thought we needed some privacy away from the Latchetts before seeing our old home. We sit next to each other on the frilly, flowery decorated single white wrought iron bed.  

  “Seriously,” I say to him. “All this time. All this way. Here we are.”  

  We don’t touch but I feel his breath. He isn’t looking at me when I speak.  

 “You told me things, all these years, things I wanted to hear. Maybe thought I needed to hear? I appreciate that! I appreciate you! You know that with all your heart, right?”  

  I love my brother so much. He saves me all the time. Sometimes just by being there, with the knowledge of someone else authenticating your every experience. It is real. This is happening. I am not crazy. As long as we hold onto each other, we will be okay. We will continue to survive and never have to accept the path given to us by our mother. We can create our own fate.  

  Jimmy told me over and over, momma was his momma. He said he didn’t care who gave birth to him – or who didn’t raise him. Still, I wondered how angry was he with momma? Was he angry with her? I asked again during the bus ride and he answered, “how can I be angry at a person who wasn’t well?”  

  Where was Jimmy…the day momma died? Did I get off the bus alone?  

I think I remember holding his hand? What did Kirby do when he found her

body?  Was he home with her? Did she leave a note? (Why hadn’t I ever asked 

Kirby?) I remembered cars and officers. Awhile back, I berated Kirby with 

questions about Jimmy, but he provided little information. Jimmy and I were 

forced to have counseling at school, but we just talked about the “afters”. Kind of 

the what ifs. But never the day of – because it wasn’t relevant. Now, it felt 

relevant. We had chased down our ghosts.  

  I need to hear Jimmy’s thoughts. My job was to remind him of who he was, not the one hiding behind all the bullshit and charm. Did he have questions about who he was, like me? Would knowing somehow justify our existence?  

Without it, were we no longer valid?  

Did our worth cease by not knowing your roots? Did we cease to exist when my mother chose to die? As I rolled around my fantasies over the years of where Jimmy came from, I never separated his connection from my own. We were alone, together. It didn’t matter. Children without their parents. We came, they left.  Hold on to each other, my dear brother. Guidance is obtuse and fleeting. Random parenting replaced both our beginnings. Kirby becoming our parent was random.  Kirby was seemingly there at the beginning – part of our forever memories. I needed to have those memories back and hoped to find them across the street. I realized I was mad at Kirby. He took us from here. He took away both our parents.  I’m supposed to believe Mrs. L., and think of him as some kind of hero just for being there for us? Wasn’t that the decent thing to do? He didn’t hold on to julienne. There had to be something wrong with him. I went to him all the time for things, but had been feeling lately “yeh, big deal, the man is doing his job.” Should I hold up a flag too?  

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Janny.” Did I expect any other response from him?  

  “Jimmy. Please?” was all I was going to say for a while.  

  “Okay. It sucks, but doesn’t suck we’re here.” He sums it up exactly right. “It’s amazing to me how far you were able to come in your condition.”  There’s that Jimmy smile. “Other than that, I don’t know what you need to hear.  

By asking me to respond means you have expectations. I’m floundering too.”   Too smart for his own good. I try another approach.  

  “Okay. Do. You. Have. Anything. You. Need…WANT. To. Tell. Me? Talk about it, Honey bunny?” I liked playing with my twin.  

  “Nope. I’m good.”  

  “Jimmy, you know your problem? You have too many heroes’ in your life.  Me. Kirby. Momma. Maybe you trust too much.” I sound exactly like him right now, sarcastic and mean. It wasn’t lost on him.  

  “No need for the cynical you.” He finally puts his arm around me. “We’re both here. That is the miracle, eh? You’re the one rooting for the world, Janny. I am just here for the ride. Sometimes, things just happen when they’re supposed to?  I don’t mean our mother offing herself. That was tragic. But we survived. We tried to get her to survive, but we just couldn’t.”  

  I interrupt him. “What do you mean ‘we tried to make her survive’?”  

  He removes his arm and stands up. “You know, us being us. Being there.  

Being her ‘precious children’ and shit.”  

  “You mean giving two shits and caring about what happens to us?” I added, thinking I understood now.  

  We had never talked about our mother this way before. “Disrespectful” is what Kirby would say. Saying it out loud felt good.  

  “Yup. Exactly like that. They told us it wasn’t us. But because she didn’t consider us, is that supposed to make us feel better?” he said uncharacteristically loud. “So let’s go deliver some muffins!”  

  Now you see him. Now you don’t. My amazing disappearing brother. A real emotion rears up and he uses the bait and switch- sleight of hand. Never see it coming. I do. I just can’t stop him.  

  Because I was sick of focusing on my uterus, I desperately wanted some happy memories back. I was sick of this representing our dark past. Where Jimmy “came from” (what the hell did that even mean?) was a piece of cake compared to dead parents: one from suicide. Trump that.  

  I follow my brother out the door. It’s strikingly hot outside. Mrs. L. must have the A/C set at freezing. The sun blazes against our faces and it’s not even noon.

  

 

 

                                                     

 

CHAPTER 17

 

Janny 

 

  Yesterday, when we arrived, I failed to notice the soft raised elevations of the immediate landscape. Now, walking out into the sun, a familiar feeling goes through me. No lost space or time. Everything happening at once, as Vonnegut had imagined. A non-linear universe teaching us to pay attention. All things follow one another: Smoothly or roughly, but all leading to a place where truths are revealed.  

Is there a point to finding out our past? Or a point to trying to map out a future? Do we think there are answers in our past that drives us to our tomorrows?  I surmise: we will never know. We will never get “there”- and that is the ruse played. Answers are not answers. Answers are words still playing on the streets, chasing fireflies at night and listening for the ice cream truck. It is strumming sounds of momma’s voice and flute-like magic from a carved, wooden instrument.  Gardenias and night blooming flowers paint our skies as smell is our sight in the darkness. Only now exists. Nothing else. A vortex of randomness, names we give things, actions and people to pretend we have control over our fate. Perhaps being here is the secret to relinquishing all control or at least recognizing we have no control. Acceptance? What state was that in?  

  The screen door is locked so Jimmy is unable to knock on our old, wooden door. No doorbell. He bangs on the outside screened frame. The aluminum rattles enough that the inside door is opened. A young woman, perhaps 20, is holding a child. She smiles and kindly asks us “Yes?”  

  Jimmy simply states, “we used to live here.” I am surprised he is so curt.  Stunned. No small talk, smile or here’s some muffins. His usual animation has left him. I had witnessed this one other time – in the sumps as he was looking at Sal having a seizure. My brother is the one who responds to things, acts on things, takes care of things. I am the opposite. I am the one to think things through; looking at all sides before I attempted to act on something. Until that one-time in the sumps.  

  “Oh. Okay.” The woman looks harried yet trying to remain friendly. She seems unclear what we want and did not want to guess, is my observation. I speak up.  

  “I’m Janice. This is James. Cutest baby! What’s his name? We came here to visit the Latchetts across the street? Who baked these for you, by the way. We’re from Ohio. We just wanted to see what we remembered about this house. We lived here over ten years ago.”  

  “How special!” she responds. “Would you like to see your old place? Please excuse the mess. I’m Tina. This little one is Cody.”  

  I enter first, placing the muffins I had retrieved from a paralyzed Jimmy and set them on the kitchen counter, an arm’s reach from the front entry. It was the same countertop. Fake, bleached wood. I used to see faces in the manmade grain patterns. The counter is chipped and stained. To the right is the living room, littered with a playpen, lots of plastic toys and stuffed animals. The furniture is a matching rattan set: couch, 2 chairs, and a coffee table. Fake plants are in every corner and the biggest one in front of the window. Flowery curtains cover the front window. It looks strange without Venetian blinds. Smaller and cozier.  

Besides the kitchen cabinets and counter, nothing seemed familiar. No smells. No twin fingerprints or wall drawings. Different floors, walls and furniture.  No sign of momma.  

  I realize Jimmy is still standing at the front door. There is a one room A/C unit that is working hard with the heat pouring in. Tina is still holding her baby, waiting for Jimmy to come in. Neither one of us is going to yell at him to close the door. Placing the baby in the playpen, Tina tells us “we didn’t move in too long ago ourselves.” I guess she thinks we are here, looking for mementos or there to claim some item? 

  “We lived here, my brother and I, for almost six years. We grew up here.  Our room was the small one off your kitchen” as I pointed to a closed door. We are told that it was now a pantry. I see the addition of a back porch from down the hallway which once lead to a wall, now a sliding glass door.  

  “Jimmy, you coming in or what?” I finally have to say something as Tina I notice, is getting nervous about her open door. A portal to an outdoor furnace.  

  “No.” Jimmy surprised me by answering. No? I think, that’s why we’re here!  

  I go the few steps to the door to pull Jimmy in and close the damn front door. Or let’s leave, I don’t care. Jimmy is pale, drenched in sweat. He still hasn’t moved from the spot as when we arrived. I see he is shaking – clammy, sweaty yet shivering. He starts to sway. I yell “thanks Tina!” even though the foyer was part of the room she was in. I grab Jimmy’s wrist to spin him around and get him across the street to the Latchetts. Without meaning to, I slam the front door of our old house. This sound makes Jimmy cry out. A deep, guttural sob/scream that makes me jump. I remember hearing that sound one other time – from momma when she heard our daddy had died in the war. I am remembering. After momma had made that sound, she never came back to us. The sound meant I was about to lose someone. I heard Tina’s baby start to wail. Shit, Tina. Want to trade lives?   Jimmy continues to moan but allows me to pull him, lead him. He offers no resistance. He knees are buckling. The two of us landing on the hot pavement was unappealing so I use all my strength to hold him up. He had stopped making that horrible sound but was now mottled with red welts across his pale white face. With his blonde hair in the bright Arizona sun, his green eyes almost translucent, he looks like an albino.  

  Mrs. Latchett comes running out her front door. I was sure she had a front row seat to our attempted visit, a la Gladys Kravitz.  

  “Oh, my sweet dears! Whatever is going on! Oh my sweets!” she cries out.   I am out of breath and starting to tear up. The cramping in my abdomen grabs hold of me like someone tying a giant knot. Before I know what’s happening, Mr. Latchett takes Jimmy and lays him down on the couch. Mrs.  Latchett sits me down at the kitchen table with Tylenol and a cold glass of lemonade. There is already a cold compress on Jimmy’s forehead. Mr. Latchett gets on the phone with a doctor or hospital or police. I can’t tell. These two old people move quickly when they have to. I follow Mrs. Latchett into the living room. Their house was not an open floor plan like the one across the street.  

 “Jimmy? Can you speak? Honey, can you tell us what happened?” asks our hostess. Jimmy shakes his head back and forth. Good. He’s alive. 

“No, you can’t tell us what happened or no, you can’t speak?”  

 

That Mrs. Latchett is funny. I must remember to mention it later to  

Jimmy. This was going to go on for a while if I didn’t say something. I sit on the floor next to the couch, placing my left hand on my brother’s heart.  

 “You okay?” another ridiculous question only this time from me. Of course he’s not okay. 

  “I…will…be…I got so…dizzy…” Jimmy has his hand over the compress.   Mr. Latchett gets off the phone and announces to his wife: “we’ll keep an eye on him. He didn’t pass out, he’s breathing regularly. He’s not in shock.  

His heart rate is good.”  

  “Good. I’ll go get lunch ready. Maybe it was just the heat.” Mrs. Latchett says as she leads her husband into the kitchen.  

  Now that we’re alone, I ask Jimmy to please try and tell me what happened?  Please? I beg. Tears fell from his closed eyes. I have never seen him this vulnerable and exposed before. I wonder if I should call Kirby. Jimmy was starting to freak me out.  

  “I am so sorry, sis. So sorry.” He is crying quietly, but still crying. His eyes stay shut. I have never seen him cry before. I don’t remember momma’s funeral, but I wonder if he cried then? 

  “For what? What could you possibly be sorry about? I forgave you for keeping the Rachel secret – it feels like a bazillion years ago…I FORGAVE you for not telling me sooner about you having another mother, but we were kids,  

Jimmy. YOU didn’t invent the twin story. Besides, you know I LOVE being your twin, right?” I was rambling which I did when I was anxious. I had trouble listening to people. I wondered how I did so well in school. How I will do in college. I wonder what kind of mother I will be?  

  “For fucking up everything” he states.  

This was not the Jimmy I knew. He was confident. Light. Easy. Was able to dust things away with a flick of his hand. Blaming himself? Not his style. He gulped in a deep breath from a sob.  

  “What did you supposedly fuck up? And WHAT HAPPENED?” 

  Had we not already asked that? Does he remember the scream? Did he see something that scared him?  

“I could have saved our mother, Janny. I could have saved her,” he finally answers.  

  This time I am silent.  

  “I saw the walls, Janny. Not the floor or the new curtains or the furniture. I saw the walls.” He continues. “I was there. Did you know I was there? When she did it, Janny? When she decided to fucking kill herself? I was there.”  

He throws the compress across the room. I put my hand to my mouth.  

  “If I had only called out to her? Needed her. Checked in on her. Cared where she was. Stayed in to watch t.v. Go to school like a normal person so she had to come pick me up? I should have been the one to save her. It was my job.” His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.  

  The Latchetts have gorgeous wooden beams stretching from wall to wall,  and a huge side bay window, facing her fruit trees. Rows of plants: cactus, and succulents. It made the light appear golden green instead of desert red.  Soothing. We are both being bathed in sun rays now. Color had returned to Jimmy’s face. The blotchiness on his pale skin is almost gone.  

  I had felt those things Jimmy was talking about. Thousands of times. All the  

“what ifs” of that day. So many days, like now. What am I supposed to do with this? What will I regret about this moment in the future? How did I not realize  

Jimmy was there? Jimmy was with our momma. He knew before me. Maybe he could have saved her?  

  “Jimmy? Did you find the…her…body?”  

  “I told you. I was there.” This made me start to cry. I was thankful Mrs.  Latchett wasn’t bringing in food. I suspect these two sweet people are giving us our privacy.  

 “I. Was. There.” Jimmy emphasizes again. “I was outside playing, came in and found her.” There is silence for a long time. I hear a clock ticking. Finally, he continues.  

  “She didn’t look like our mother. I didn’t believe it for a long time. I thought our mother would come back, eventually.”  

  Me too.  

  “So, you weren’t there? But you found her?” I repeat to be clear. “So you weren’t there?”  

  I don’t think Jimmy ever made that distinction before. If she had committed the act without his actual presence, perhaps he could cross off one of his self-blaming items? Small point, I realize. And of little solace. We were both in desperate need of consolation and relief. We’ve carried this across the country too many times now. Maybe we can leave the guilt behind this time. Watch it float down the street like a tumbleweed. 

  “I hadn’t checked in with her all day. I usually did that when I was home and you were in school. I stayed outside too long. I was having too much fun playing.”  

“Don’t you see how ridiculous it is to blame a little kid for being outside, playing? God, even the adults around here were clueless! How were you supposed to figure her out…figure ANYTHING out? We were babies, practically.” 

Saying that for the first time, I believe it with all my heart.  

 “Jimmy, if anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I am so sorry you had to be the one to find her. Pretty sucky, huh?” I am trying to get him to laugh this time. It works.  

  “Yeh. Pretty sucky. I remember now too. I remember what happened.” 

He stares off again, this time towards the sun coming in through the window.  

“I didn’t see her really. I saw a shadow. The broken blind on the wall next to our window first. I remember thinking ‘why is our blind broken?’ but thought the shadow was so unusual. I thought of you then, sis, how you would’ve said the shadow ‘was pretty and looked like a horse’ cause it kinda did. We had wood paneling. Do you remember? The living room was dark. Things didn’t reflect off it like a regular white wall, ya’ know? I noticed that though. Then our mother. Just a lump. Not looking real. The blind was on top of her. She had yanked it down when she kicked the chair away, but it held up pretty good if you ask me. Maybe she was laying there for a while, alive? But unable to get the cord off her neck?  Maybe if I had been home sooner?” 

He stops to reach over and get a sip of water from his glass. Or maybe it’s lemonade. Neither of us is crying now. I think we’re numb.  

  “The rooms in our old house. The walls. They’re white now, right?”  

I nodded. I guess. Sure. Who notices walls?  

  He continues. “I saw the same shadow.”  

  “Just now, you mean?” I ask. He freaked out standing there and now I knew why.  

 “First thing I saw. The same shadow. I didn’t even know I even knew that, ya’ know? “  

  Yes, of course I know. How much is revealed to us by our psyche?  How much does our survival depend on not knowing certain things about ourselves? What if all truth was shown to us at once- our species would perish? We require a soft sell to life.  

  “I really miss her.” Jimmy says. “So sorry about the freak out.”  

  “We both need to freak out about this. Did…did you notice anything weird about her in the morning? Like, was momma extra sad? Or did she say anything?”  

I was not sure if this was cruel asking him, but I wanted to know if she was thinking of me. Did she mention me to my brother? Did she worry about me getting Valentine’s cards? Was she wondering what kind of day I was having?  Who did Jimmy call out to first? What did he do after he found her? He carried this around for 11 years and now, we were sharing it. Details were important.  

  “I don’t even remember seeing her at all. I think she was in bed. I was a little worried, but I wanted to go play. You do blame me.”  

  “How can I? You did nothing! You couldn’t have done anything! Postpone her inevitable? So while we’re driving, she decides to drive us all over a bridge?  Into a canyon?” I am amazed by how wise I feel. It makes me happy to get another laugh out of Jimmy too.  

  “Then we came what we were looking for, Janny. Answers about her death.  

I think we got them.” 

  Just in time, the Latchetts come in with sandwiches on trays and two pieces of Mrs. Latchett’s cherry pie. I find out Mrs. Latchett was the one to hear Jimmy cry out that day and call the police, then Kirby. Our saviors again. All the pieces were now in place.  

When we arrive in Missouri two days later to meet our father’s aunt and uncle, more pieces of our life were to be uncovered.  

 

      

   CHAPTER 18

 

      Jimmy 

 

1970 – Tucson 

 

  All night before Valentine’s Day, Janny was running back and forth between the kitchen table and our bedroom. We shared a small room off the kitchen that was once an old panty. Our beds fit snugly in separate corners with room for a tray table to hold a lamp. Janny had cardboard pieces, scissors, glue and magic markers spread out across the kitchen table.  

  I don’t remember what my mother was doing. I thought how much she would’ve loved to help my sister, as she was the one to do arts and crafts with us on the “good” days. We made birdhouses, jam, Christmas ornaments, musical instruments – the good days were fewer now.  

  Janny didn’t seem to notice me much anymore. She had already breezed through kindergarten. On the 2nd day of public school, she began reading the roll call on the teacher’s desk, out loud to the class just as the teacher was walking in.  

Janny ran back to her seat. 

  “Janice, please come up here.”  

  “Yes, Mrs. Hammer?” 

  “Janice, please continue taking attendance.” 

  Soon after, a meeting was held with the principal and my mother and the teachers to decide if Janny’s best use time should be spent coloring, pasting and outlining letters. She was placed into first grade on day three. 

  I had never been away from my sister before. All of sudden, she was letting go of my hand (she sat with me on the bus going there) and marching up the hallway to her classroom. It was hard being away from her. The world became smaller. I felt like the girl in the story, Alice, who falls into another world. I guess I was spending much of my first days in school not participating in class activities.  

The teacher, kindly but firmly, had to remind me to pick up my crayon, please.  James, pick up your scissors, please. James, pick up your paste, please. James, pick up the paper, please. James, please pick up your workbook. James, pay attention.  

  A meeting was quickly held between the principal, my mother and Mrs.  

Hammer to decide, at my mother’s insistence, that I attend school part time. Three days per week and only until lunch time. My mother would have to pick me up early those three days.  

  Pre-Valentine’s eve, my sister stayed in her own frantic-prep-event-place while I wondered what it would be like if I was getting all that attention. I imagined waking up to a giant card (my first) on my bedside tray with some candy hearts. I don’t think we were doing anything in my classroom. I think tomorrow was my day off anyway.  

  Morning came. I was up first as usual. There was nothing leaning on my lamp. On the kitchen table was a stack of homemade cards with my mother’s giant bag on the chair. I went into the small living room, made smaller by giant wooden beams across the ceiling, and took out my matchbox cars. 

  “Keep an eye on your mom today, Kiddo. Janny, let’s get going if you don’t want to take the bus today,” said Kirby.  

  Mom wouldn’t be up for hours. I think I remember Kirby bringing her in a cup of coffee. She usually was up in time to get me lunch.  

  Mornings, I was home, and when my mother and I were not making jam or outside exploring, I was on my own. I knew the tone of the day before I opened my eyes. I grabbed my jacket, a piece of fruit and checked on her before I left the house, after Kirby and Janny had left. Her room seemed darker today. I touched her forehead. It was cool, but damp.  

  “Bye, ma,” I said before I closed the door.  

  The school counselor said it was good I don’t remember what happened. It didn’t play in my head like a movie, as they had warned Kirby. There were just a few snapshots. A broken window blind, an overturned chair, my mother’s pinky finger bent up, looking delicate, fragile and out of place. Her hair covering the floor like a black puddle.  

  I don’t know how long I was outside that day. It was after lunch but before the bus came down the street carrying my sister. I spent the morning playing with my trucks in the dirt. I may have wandered down the street. I know I ran into the street after I found my mother. My head was down when I came in through the door, trying to wipe dust off my trousers.  

  The snapshots begin.  

  I scream and run into the street. Mrs. Page is outside, getting into her car.  She drops her purse and keys and runs over to me. I keep screaming. Other grown- ups arrive. Other legs are around me. I stop screaming. Someone has their arms over my shoulder. I am wiping snot onto my jacket sleeve. I am sitting at a Formica table. It feels cool to my palms. I grip my legs to my chest and I start to rock, curled onto the chair like an unopened flower bud. I am shaking. I feel cold. On cue, Mrs. Latchett is there giving me a cup of cocoa. I sip. It is exactly the right temperature. I am not shaking anymore. I can hear lots of whispers and a soap opera on in the background. Kirby is there. 

He runs over to me and picks me up in his arms. Only my dad had done that.  We are rocking. I feel calm. I am no longer crying. My shoulders hurt. The taste of chocolate and cinnamon are fresh in my mouth. I am staring down at the floor pattern that matches Mrs. Latchett’s table and counters. I smile at their little dog, Ginger. Ginger is my color, fair and blonde. I laugh when Ginger snorts on my pants. I wonder when Janny will be home. I wonder how her Valentines went at school. I wonder if she got the most Valentines because I just bet she did. I will be sure to ask her all about it tonight at dinner. I wonder where we will have dinner? I know Kirby won’t let anything bad happen to us. I can hear my mother telling me that once.  

  I think I always knew we would not have her forever. Forever was too long for her. Forever was for people like me and Janny.  

  I remember Janny getting off the bus down the street. It’s almost like her face registered the knowledge it didn’t yet have. Years of our mother’s sadness painted across her face in the winter’s lowlight, long shadows formed from street lamps, indistinguishable now from the saguaros long reaching arms. A shadow was about to follow us, across all space and time.  

  I don’t think Janny cried or screamed. She was swept up in our caring neighbor’s arms. I don’t remember our first night together – or how soon after. We stayed at various people’s houses, not always in the same room or even the same house. We were fed, taken out for ice cream. We went to a petting farm. It felt like the world had dropped on us – laden with sadness and loss. We were told not to go near our house. We didn’t even glance in that direction. Maybe our mother was still in there. If she wasn’t, where was she?  

  The psychologist had us do drawings. He showed us stuffed animals, who were dealing with losing their parents in a hunter’s trap and asked us to imagine what they were feeling. I admired the backstory. We did puzzles.  

  Dr. Kenny told us it was “okay to feel angry” and suggested ways Kirby (who only attended one session with us) could help us “express ourselves.” Kirby didn’t say much, nodded, smiled with a closed mouth, eyes distant, unable to sit still without having to look out the window, down at his watch or look up at the door. He thanked the doctor.   

  We were about to return to school after a month’s absence. We stayed with the Latchetts for a few weeks while Kirby “had things to take care of” and the twins were in the way. Mrs. Latchett had picked up our missed work and tutored us. She quickly learned I was a reader as well. I was able to complete all of Janny’s second grade work with ease. While the three of us were playing Old Maid, Kirby came to get us. It was early for him. It was still daylight. We hadn’t eaten our t.v.  dinners yet.  

“Kirby! What a lovely surprise! Y’all get in here and have something to eat!” said Mrs. Latchett too loudly.  

  “Thank you. No, I mean. Thanks so much for watching the twins. 

 

It’s time we all get back to…it.”  

 

Kirby poked his head into the den where we were playing cards and announced it was time to go and was already headed out the door. He had to duck to enter doorways. Janny and I gathered our knapsacks, and gave Mrs. Latchett a giant hug. She gathered us in to her like we were a part of her. I’ll remember her smell forever.  

  While Kirby was unlocking the door, letting in our very confused cat, Mrs.  Lucy, then carrying the garbage cans down the driveway, we went into our bedroom. It felt so small. The house felt smaller. I was not sure when we were last here. I realized it echoed because there were no curtains or anything on the front window. The ceiling seemed higher. but it took me days (weeks?) to notice the fake wooden beams were gone! The rug was even gone. The only thing that remained in our tiny front room was a wooden cabinet Kirby had made, filled with my mother’s many teapots. There was an unfamiliar red rocking chair in place of another chair.  

I felt like I was in one of Janny’s books- the character soon discovers the secret chamber hidden beneath the floorboards. Tunnels and stairs and green pathways leading to a majestic meadow filled with roaming herds of animals. 

A place far away from the ugly rocking chair that was merely a prop for a life untold.  

  I hadn’t seen Kirby come in, but all three of us were there, together, unmoved, standing quietly. I closed my eyes and became a falcon soaring across a field.  

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Kirby took a seat at the same kitchen table. The chairs were old and taped together in spots. Janny and I sat down and faced him.  

  “Here’s the deal.” Kirby took both our hands in his across the table as he spoke softly. “I love you. I will always love you. Got that? What your mom did was…I don’t know what it was. I just know how it feels. It feels really, really shitty.” 

    Janny and I both started giggling. Kirby smiled with his teeth.  

  “We are going to get through this…thing…together. I am your dad. I will be here as your dad. I will be whatever you need me to be. Got it?” 

  I never doubted him. Or us. Us three. Throughout the years, we talked about things my mother did while she was still alive, but we never talked about the day she killed herself. Or why. (All the adults kept telling us it didn’t matter, and it wasn’t our fault.) 

  One day, I would realize the loss I had felt was more than losing a mother –  it was giving up the job of being her protector. It apparently, defined me at a tender age. For now, I snuck off into the bathroom to change my pants. I had wet myself when I came into the house.  

When the following school year arrived, Janny and I about to enter the third grade together, Kirby had become even quieter. I caught him staring off or not paying attention to us, often. He was on the phone a lot during the day. The neighbors came by to check in on us and I heard hushed whispers between them. I realized it was about us. He was trying to get legal custody of us. My mother had failed to make provisions before she decided to kill herself. Kirby had never legally married my mother. Janny and I were orphans of the state. I knew no matter who my “real” parents were; I would still be with Janny. I was too young to tell her I thought James and Claire weren’t my first parents. A child doesn’t forget accidental overheard conversations. But it was silly to bring it up. I will just hold on tighter this time, I thought.  

  One crisp, clear desert morning, Kirby took us down to the courthouse in the city. We had to get dressed up. I wore pressed black pants and a white shirt. Kirby had on a tie. I had only seen him with a tie one other time – when he brought us the news about our dead poppa. Janny had a dress on. A fat, bald man behind a desk had Kirby sign some papers. Stamping them, he told Kirby a “guardianship will give you all the same rights and responsibilities. Do you understand?” I knew that meant we were staying a family for now. I told Janny everything was gonna be okay as long as we stayed together.  

  Kirby came into our lives in the worst way imaginable; an officer whose job it was to tell the nearest living relative that their son/father/husband/grandson had been killed in Vietnam. My dad was his last notification for the army, as he stayed in town to help my mom, and never left. I never knew the sacrifices he was making.  

  When Kirby announced his new job and move across the country, I knew we would be okay. I would keep an eye on my sister, be her protector now. Janny and I left school during Thanksgiving break and stayed home until the move. We helped pack up, as best we could. I placed my two boxes with Kirby’s. I wanted to make sure I would be with him.  

 

 

   

CHAPTER 19 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Missouri – 1981 

 

  “Our” father James, was an only child, born in the U.S. after his pregnant mother emigrated with him during WW2. His father was a Polish Jew who died before my father was born. Janny loved discovering that she shared a Jewish heritage with Rachel.  

  Daniel Kapinsky was our paternal grandfather’s oldest sibling.  

My grandfather was the middle child. There was a younger sister, not living.  

Our grandmother moved to Missouri to live with her husband’s brother and new wife. Another generation of fatherless sons, owed to the cost of wars.  

The information we gathered about them before our arrival was vague – but it was interesting to know Janny and I might have been raised by distant relatives in the midwest had things gone differently. It surprised no one that Kirby had never mentioned them before. A ruined box, by happenstance, had caused this revelation.   

  Uncle Dan and Aunt Esther had been living in Missouri since 1940 but spent winters in Tampa Bay. The only reason they were in Missouri in March for our visit, was due to the fact that Uncle Daniel needed to have a “small heart  procedure” and preferred his cardiologist in Missouri. 

  Janny was loopy on the trip to Missouri from Arizona, as Mrs. Latchett had given her some of her migraine medication for Janny’s continued cramping. Mrs.  Latchett seemed to know in her heart, Janny had gone through something even bigger than just chasing ghosts.  

Janny agreed it was bizarre going to visit these unknown relatives, these strangers; tangible evidence of our parent’s lives. They had mentioned to Kirby they had a “few things the dear children” may find of interest. 

 “Is that what defines us?” asked Janny while we were still on the highway.  “Stories and items weaved together, memories of life constructed from scraps of  

mismatched fabrics that create a quilt called family?”   

My sister the poet. “Hey, glad we’re on this travel thread together!” She giggled as she knew I wasn’t making fun of her.  

It was the end of March. The buzzing noise travelling into the guest bedroom window, was too early in the year to be crickets, but the sound melted comfortably with the cool air. Janny was breathing softly. I didn’t observe much but, I knew two things: when Janny was okay and when she was not. Now was okay; staying with our relatives, surrounded with their dusty relics from their hardened lives, calmed us both.  

  All four of us knocked around this house quite well. It was all so simple here. We expected drama and stories but go so enveloped in their embrace, we were able to just rest. No talk of bus trips, worrying Kirby and Arizona meltdowns. Our aunt knew what we needed and provided it effortlessly: plates of pastries, noodles, white fish and strong coffee. We enjoyed watching and laughing at our uncle smoking a cigar, humming, reading the paper; wrapped in their smells and lives like we were part of the stained wallpaper. It was what Janny needed.  

I tried not to see the sadness mirrored in Janny’s eyes, and she tried not to see the loss in mine, where it sat like a vast desert night. Comfort doesn’t always come when it’s supposed to. The gaps were great and sometimes I needed to anticipate the next fall. How many could I fill?  

Tonight I will listen to the sounds of my sister sleeping in the next bed. And rest.  

     

 

   

   

   

   

CHAPTER 20 

   

Jimmy 

 

  I get up early. Janny is sleeping in, as usual. Uncle Daniel is up before me, eating a soft-boiled egg – tap tap tapping on the top of the egg with a tiny spoon in a tiny cup. He is reading the paper. The radio is on, playing some old-time music. Benny Goodman, I think. A woman’s deep voice is singing her heart out. I think I will try and figure out the melody on my guitar. I like it. Thankfully, our bags and my guitar were waiting for us, in one (out-of-tune) piece when we arrived.  

Uncle Daniel is a small man, peering over his glasses when he speaks.  Before I sit down, he is already up, heating the milk for the sweet coffee he makes me. After one night and no pressure from them, I feel at ease.  

  “You two kids have been through a lot. Your aunt and I bleed for you.” He isn’t prone to hyperbole, but it is in his heart: This.  

  “I guess that’s true!” I answer. We have not been this intimate before.  “Between the trip, your poor mother, God rest her soul, your dear sweet father. I can imagine.” He wipes his mouth with the corner of his napkin then wipes his glasses. “You see, I too lost many as well, my young friend. Too too many.”  

  “What is…how do you know us again?” I mean to ask if he knew our mother. If he knew the real story of me. I stammer on. “Did you spend time with our dad when he was younger? Janny and I were only 3 when he was killed.”  After 2 days of being here, I finally ask.  

 Uncle Daniel has an accepting regard.

  

  “Yes. Yes, my boy. Your poppa was a miracle for us. Your grandmother moved out west I think when your poppa was 5 or so. We’ll ask Aunt Esther. She’s better with dates. Come.” He creaked when he got up. I follow him.    Standing in front of their giant, dusty bookcase (there are books everywhere), Uncle Dan has to squint through his glasses to see titles on large photo albums. They are dated with neatly hand-printed labels. 

  “I lost many people in the war. Family. Most of my family. My parents.  

My sister and brother. My village. I know from pain.”  

  We were connected. War connected us as the human family. We made brief appearances in each other’s lives; people coming and going quickly and often, destructively. I think I know why I get high. I think I know why Uncle Dan enjoys his nightly glass or two of port.  

  “When I came to America, I had no one. Thank God for your Aunt Esther.  Your grandmother came to live with us during the war, to give your father a chance at life. I never met your mother, but we wrote when your dear father was in Vietnam. Ach. Another boy killed in a senseless war.”  

  It was hard to imagine our dad being little and being here. I wondered if he missed the father he never had and if Uncle Dan filled that role.   

  “My second dad. James wasn’t my first dad,” I blurt out. I feel silly, a 17- year-old correcting an old man. It didn’t feel right. I apologize.  

  “You’re mishpocheh. Family. Your sweet parents loved you very much. You know, you were adopted by the sweetest of the sweet?” Uncle Daniel simply states.  IT is said – out loud.  

I have never thought of it that way. I knew Kirby was going to legally adopt  

us, then didn’t, but I never wondered about my mother. I didn’t think it mattered.  All that mattered, up until now, was me being Janny’s brother. Her twin. Coming in to the world together, side by side. That was her truth for 12 years. I hated when that changed. I clung to what I knew.  

  My birthday was always Janny’s birthday, as I had told Rachel. No one questioned it. I do remember once in school, a front office lady asked me my birthday to confirm it in her books. My sister’s name was right below mine. She knew we were twins. I told her the same date as my sister. She said, “oh no, I guess it’s a mistake then.” And that was that.  

  Now sitting here, I wonder how many days or weeks we were apart? Janny still read me the same horoscope. She asked me again, on the bus ride, if I ever wondered when my “real” birthday was and did Kirby know and why didn’t I have more questions about it? But, she never waited for me to respond. Probably because she knew I would’ve just shrugged my shoulders.  

  I may now get some answers to questions I didn’t even know I had? Can this kind old stranger, provide me with facts about my life? Did I have a story outside of being a twin? Was I ready to know?  

  “Did my mother just not have time to tell me?” A question easier to ask a stranger, for some reason. I never asked Kirby, even during the night of the sewer incident. If Kirby was not asked a question directly; he was not about to provide any information. Military training. I missed Kirby. He understood and helped Janny with her pregnancy, trusted her with the choice. I wondered how Kirby dealt with these women leaving his life?  

“Ach! It is simple, yet it is not simple. Bisl- a little bit mishegas.” My great-

 

uncle laughs. “I’ll try to stop with the Yiddish. You, handsome young man, need

 

to understand a few things. We have time! Eat a little something first. I’ll go wake your aunt.”  

 

I open the first photo album as he shuffles down the hallway. I stare at faces who are unfamiliar. The people are formal, posed, staring at the camera, never a smile. Not a happy bunch.  

  Aunt Esther lays out bagels and lox. (“Do you know how hard it is to find lox here? Not like our winters in Florida!”) Janny is finally up. She has some color back in her face. We talk about the area, what art gallery Aunt Esther will take us today, and we listen to her nag my uncle about his health, his eating, his posture. She is careful not to interrupt him, however, when he tells us about growing up in Poland: the fields of wildflowers, the pretty girls, the delicious desserts. His stories are rich, painting a portrait of his boyhood not unlike our own experiences. All children loved to play. Those memories become the paint- the sounds, sights, smells that color our lives.  

  Somehow, Uncle Daniel manages to convince “the two lovely ladies” to go out without us. He and I will have the afternoon together. I was getting used to the cigar smoke. Luckily, he puffs once, puts the fat stub down, then forgets about it.  

He always has to relight it.  

  With his glass of port, his large crystal ashtray, Uncle Daniel and I move into the formal dining room. Of course, Aunt Esther has left us sandwiches and other goodies. The table is covered in clear plastic, protecting a delicate lace tablecloth. We sit next to one another. I have a cream soda pop.  

Uncle Daniel slowly turns each album page, welling up as he tells a little

story about each stranger in the photos. Sometimes, I feel he is lost in a secluded 

world, speaking to spirits, making no difference if I am here or not.  

 

The photographs at the end of one album are in color. People are smiling. He gets to the back when I recognize my parents: James and Claire Kapinsky. An 8” x 10” portrait of the two of them, holding me and Janny in their arms. We were all smiling. A toothless grin from Janny, and a two front baby teeth grin from me.  My dad has his uniform on. I never saw a photo of him without his uniform (I had one other), just like Kirby; not until Julie came in our lives and began to take “candid” photos of us. 

  “Ah, my boychik, this is what we want. This.”  

  My great-uncle carefully peels back the clear but yellowing cellophane covering the photo. The photo is not stuck to the page. He hands me the photo.  

Behind the photo, there is a large envelope with the words “Arizona Family” printed across. He pulls out (3) pieces of paper, one thicker than the other two.  Two appear to be letters, one on the thinnest of paper I have ever seen. He puts the papers down on the table. Picking up his cigar, he searches for some matches. I wait patiently as he attempts to light it.  

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21  

 

  JIMMY 

 

  Uncle Daniel unfolds the first page. He hands it to me and says, “it’s from your dear mother.”  

  The handwriting is neat and in script. It is fancier than anything I can imagine about my mother. It doesn’t feel real. It is on lined stationery with a small hand drawn pink rose in the upper left corner. It isn’t dated. It reads:  

   

“My Dearest Uncle, 

  You and Aunt Esther have been so kind over the years since my James joined the service. Your generous checks have helped so! The twins are getting so big! I hope you get a chance to come out and visit. I get so lonely. I will always remember your kindness. Much love to you both. Hope you enjoy the photo.  

  Love, Claire “  

   

  My heart stops for a moment. The room is spinning slightly. This is the closest I have been to my (non-dead) mother in forever.  

  “Boychik, you were the sun, moon and stars to your mother. It didn’t matter to your father or mother whose blood you were. So it didn’t matter to us. Your mother was bit…Meshuggeneh…confused. We loved her, God rest her tortured soul. You were twins because what difference did a few hours make, eh?”  

When he hands me the heavier cardstock paper, it actually, is two pages attached. It is my birth certificate and Janny’s birth certificate. We were both born on the same day in the same hospital, but I was born at 7 A.M. She was born at 1 P.M. It lists both our parents as James and Claire Kapinsky of Tucson, Arizona. There is actual proof I exist and was wanted. And, we share a birthday after all.  

My biological parents aren’t listed.  

  “Uncle Daniel, do you know who my real parents were?”  

  “No, sweet lad. I do not.” He explains the birth certificates were sent later, and hands me the next letter. It is typed and has an army letterhead. I glance at the signature and see it is signed by Kirby, my guardian in life.  

   

“November 22, 1970 

TO THE GREAT UNCLE AND GREAT AUNT OF: 

JANICE FRANCIS KAPINSKY AND JAMES FRANCIS KAPINSKY: 

Thank you for taking the time to speak with me at length yesterday. I’m sorry it took so long after Claire’s death to contact you and therefore, unable to attend her funeral or meet the twins. I wanted to send you copies of the  

Guardianship legal papers for safe-keeping and for your own records. I understand, as the only living relatives of James Kapinsky, your nephew who died valiantly for his country in 1966, you cannot offer yourselves as guardians to his children. Although James and Claire had legally adopted Jimmy; I have no rights to either child. I have been here for them, as their father, for four years now.  

  I assure you I will continue to be the best father to them as I can possible be.  

Thank you for not contesting the legal guardianship. 

  For this gift, I thank you. One day we all will meet. 

  God bless you both.

  

  Yours truly, Captain Kirby Devlin, U.S. Army  

p.s. When we get settled in Ohio, I will contact you with our current

 information.”  

 

  I am once again confused and annoyed, left wondering why Kirby chose not to tell me all that he has known for all these years. Maybe Janny will feel relieved. 

“We never heard nothing after that! We were heartbroken we had lost you before even meeting you! Your mother, God rest her soul, died and you moved!”  He pauses to sip some port. “So many years! Ah, but thank God you are back.  

That’s all that matters! Family- mishpocheh.”  

I notice his accent gets thicker the more upset he becomes.  

He continues. “I keep the legal papers your father Kirby sent in a safe deposit. You never know. Better to be safe than sorry, is what I say. I thought the birth certificates you may need? You are grown people now. Do you have your driver’s license yet even? So grown up!”  

  Kirby had never offered any proof of our beginnings. Ever. I see by not telling me any details was his way of keeping control. Did he really (conveniently) forget to mention our Missouri relatives? Did he have copies of my birth certificate? He took me down to the driver’s license bureau when I turned 16 but took care of the paperwork while I filled out my permit application. I never thought to search to see who I was. I knew I was where I was supposed to be although later, I would run from that. For now, things fit. To know I was wanted helped too. I knew my dad was my dad and my mother was my mother. What could change that? Is that what Kirby held on to as well?  

  We all eat a wonderful Chinese meal our last night in Missouri. Janny and my aunt share stories of their day. My aunt and uncle tell us stories about our dad, James, when he was little, and the little he knew about our grandmother, Rose. On the bus ride home, I told Janny what I had in my possession: a photo of the four of us all together, my dad, my mother and us; our birth certificates; and two letters written by our mother and Kirby. She had a right to know these things.  

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22   

   

KIRBY’S STORY 

 

The twins had just turned 18. Kirby and Jimmy were fighting more since the twins had returned from Missouri almost 10 months ago. Maybe because Julienne was no longer there to be a referee, the peacemaker – arguments about politics, loud music, drinking, school, friends, pot smoking, kitchen messes, staying up all night and as Kirby perceived, Jimmy’s lack of direction, were ever-present. 

Jimmy had gotten angrier over the years. They shared less in the father-son activities that had kept them parallel to one another, but even those times required concentration to task – thus, no introspection or discussion. Kirby had learned from Janny, about the letter Claire had written to their great-uncle. Kirby understood why Jimmy was not sharing information with him; it was punishment. Not until the summer arrived – not until an IHOP in Norfolk and a stack of pancakes and a night in jail- did Jimmy finally, open up.  

 

  When Kirby was 18, he joined the service while taking college classes in engineering and math, quickly advancing to the company’s youngest appointed captain. Two tours of Vietnam then meeting Claire, changed his life’s course.   Kirby found a way to quit the army, which he loved, to be with Claire, the woman he loved who was stranded with two young children. The army allowed Kirby to work from a local base for a while, before Kirby gave up his commission. He no longer wanted to be reminded of manufactured horror. He found himself starting to agree with the anti-war sentiments of his girlfriend and began to hang out with former Vets who were fed up with Nixon and so many deaths. Before Claire died, he had more passion about things- in their brief time together. 

  After Claire’s suicide, Kirby was sent spiraling. He didn’t know why he didn’t see it coming. He didn’t understand how he didn’t stop it. He was trained in loss and one’s reaction to sudden death. He thought Claire’s depression over losing her first husband, had passed. He thought Claire had turned a corner. There were still dark days but in short spurts. It took Kirby weeks to even consider what the children were going through. He felt void of all caring after losing her. He was enraged with himself. He wasn’t sure he could come back from this. Witnessing more than his share of horrors in ‘Nam, he imagined civilian life to be more…civilized. Martin and Bobby’s death, Claire’s death, a war with no end in sight – what made sense anymore? 

It took him a few months to realize the twins mattered. The twins needed protection and love. He did make that auspicious promise to Claire, not fully understanding what he was promising. But, he was going to live up to that task of raising his girlfriend’s children. That it took so long (especially in a child’s world) for him to realize his role as consolation prize parent, made him all the more burdened by guilt. At first, he considered he was not the best choice for them. Knowing there was a distant great-uncle, he considered that option, even though they were strangers to them. He thought the children needed to stay together and be with family. There was no family without Claire. Claire was an amputation and phantom limb pain was setting in. He saw lots of guys come back from the war, feeling as if their blown off legs, arms, hands were the cause of the excruciating pain. In reality, nothing extended beyond their shoulder or hip, ripped away 10,000 miles away but still the source of real pain. Kirby needed to escape the pain, somehow. The desert haunted him, it’s long unfamiliar shadows, the drastic temperatures between night and day, the dryness. The colors and smell of Claire were everywhere. He tried to escape the origin of the loss, eventually discovering it would continue to follow him, but not before running away.  

  Kirby took off shortly after Claire’s death: after a quick cremation and service. He traded in his truck for a Harley and headed to California. He stayed at campgrounds, sat around with bikers, gypsies, stoners, hippies, retired couples and their little yappy dogs, vets like him – never without a bottle of beer or tequila in his grip. KAOs were a welcome sight for a hot shower and familiar nights spent around a campfire, maybe his arm around a girl that never went anywhere.  His hips and back ached, riding with grit in his teeth, riding gloves becoming a second skin. Blurred highway lines, miles of open road and freedom. ‘Nam and Claire faded, but the images of Jimmy and Janny never left.

      Why couldn’t he shake it? The aching subsided at the bottom of a bottle, but vibrated in his soul during the sober parts, following him like the constant humming of an engine. He felt such fear for the “what ifs” of those kids. Were they better off with him or without him?  Until his return, he hadn’t imagined the children needed him as much as they did.  They looked up to him, viewed him as their surviving parent although Kirby found this to be ironic. He was scarcely surviving.  

Claire’s death had cultivated support, which surrounded him and the children. He felt safe leaving them with loving, caring adults. He wanted to be their salvation, but he had the weight of guilt. Feelings of unworthiness never left. A parent’s job is to spare your children pain, not produce it. Being the one who brought them the news of their father dying was his responsibility – his fault too.  He didn’t just bring the news. He created broken, fractured families, feeling as responsible for a soldier’s death as if he were the enemy, shrapnel, or friendly fire that brought them down in the first place.  

 

After weeks of being away, the tiny arms and warm tears of these precious children embracing him no longer felt like a burden. Once Kirby returned to  

Arizona, he had a full beard and mustache. Janny loved it. Jimmy didn’t let go of Kirby’s long legs. A sudden desert wind blew away all questions and doubts – once he held them, he knew they were his children. He would be okay for them. And, he had something to live for.  

   

 

 

 

   

 

CHAPTER 23

 

KIRBY’S STORY 

  

  Kirby was glad to leave Arizona with the twins, transferring to a civilian job at the finance office on a military base in Ohio. He soon left the position, wanting nothing more to do with the military. He wanted to work at a bar and work on cars.  His whole life was spent doing as he was told or had to do to survive. He was raised by his mom, if you could call it that, until age 8 when he was placed in foster care, He didn’t know who his father was. His mother drank. He cleaned up after her, fed her, hardly ever went to school. After a social worker took him away one day, he was relieved he was no longer responsible for her survival; something Kirby shared with Jimmy yet, neither knew. It was hard to admit you might be responsible for making your mom go away.  

  Kirby’s mother visited a couple of times the first couple of years in foster care. He was moved around because he was perceived as starting fights, mostly because of his size. In reality, he was the one trying to break up fights. He was protector of anyone not brave enough to speak for themselves. When Kirby’s mother showed up at the designated park or local social service office, she smelled of gin and cigarettes. Visibly distracted and uncomfortable with her son, Kirby drew pictures while she muttered “what is that supposed to be?”  

  The visits eventually stopped. Kirby got word of his mother’s death while going through basic training. He was allowed to go home to Buffalo for her funeral, where he saw a couple of his aunts, both living in some sort of facility, then saying goodbye to his mother on a cold rainy day in a small cemetery. There was no stone; just a small cross to mark her grave. It was the last time Kirby went back to Buffalo. 

  The day Kirby arrived in Arizona was the worst and best day of his life.  He had been on 17 of these notifications in one year. The war was young. The army had the option of sending a telegram via a taxi cab but sometimes, if personnel and funding were available, the Army delivered the gentle, personal touch. The CNO (casualty notification officer) whose job it was to notify the NOK, was dispatched within 12 hours of receiving the KIA report. The CNO also assisted during the period immediately following the casualty, assisting in death benefits/ claims and any other personnel related effects.  

  Sergeant Kapinsky was not the only one killed in his unit. They were not assigned to Kirby, but he knew the details in case the widow asked. Relatives had unusual reactions. Most fell to their knees, followed by primal sobs and screams: “MY BOY! MY BOY! NO!” – to stoic patriotic WW2 fathers who disguised their quivering bottom lip by stating “he died for our freedom” or “better to come home in a body bag than to be a coward!” Human nature always surprised Kirby, even though he was exposed to the harsh realities of life from a young age. He maintained wonder. This job though today, would be his undoing. This young woman at the door practically glowed. Family: Claire Kapinsky, spouse, age 26.  

Two surviving dependents, a boy and girl, age 2.9 years.  

 

The sun was low in the sky and haloed her black mane from a back window. 

Squinting, Kirby’s removed his sunglasses. He could tell she knew who he was, his purpose for being there, but she still smiled when she opened the door.  

  “Ma’am? Good day. I am Captain Kirby Devlin, ma’am, United States

  

Army and I am afraid…”  

  Then she broke down. Claire was on her knees sobbing, the two children surrounding her, instinctively trying to comfort their mother. The boy looked up at Kirby. He had a curious look. One full of questions. Claire’s yellow tie-dyed dress pooled around the bottom of her body like an island for the children to huddle and survive. The three of them seemed like they would disappear in golden light.  Captain Devlin lost his heart that day. He was ready to give all to this tiny family before they completely vanished.  

  Even though he was trained to keep a degree of distance, Captain Devlin knelt beside the family. He placed his giant arms around the three of them. Perhaps because he was alone, because the army chaplain wasn’t available, Kirby uttered to them “don’t worry, we’ll get through this together”, an intimate statement as if he had been by their side since the beginning of time. He found a home and knew it.  

  Claire was different from anyone Kirby had ever met. Some said grief brought them together, but Kirby knew that one event didn’t define them. Claire told Kirby “James brought you here to take care of us” while he thought “I was always meant to be here”, defying his Captain sensibilities. Logically, they were two damaged souls from broken families, holding on then letting go of what they knew, trying not to replicate the eventual destruction. Hold on to one another and this time, save the children. 

  “Part gypsy, part Indian, part midwest farm girl” is how Claire described herself. Kirby was never able to put together all the different pieces of her life- but the small threads he was given, the experience of parents not being there – he understood and shared. At times, Kirby got the impression Claire’s parents were still alive, but during the notification of NOK, she mentioned she “had no one but the children.” Yet, some of her stories, seemed to have them alive on a farm. When Kirby questioned her (he rarely did, as he found breaking the silence when she talked about the past had the opposite effect – causing all communication to end), she corrected herself, saying “oh, yes, I mean, before they died.” He never saw pictures of them. The one wedding photo Claire had framed in the house was of three people: Claire, in a long, yellow peasant dress, a ring of flowers atop her long frizzy black hair, carrying a small bouquet of lavender; James in uniform, with short, brown curly hair a bald spot already forming on his forehead at nineteen years old; and another woman, holding a bible who Claire said was a stranger who officiated their wedding. All three were smiling, although Claire’s head was tilted slightly, looking downward, as if she had discovered a butterfly on the ground.  

Claire was pregnant and huge. Kirby didn’t know who took the picture. The photo was moved to the top of the closet until Kirby re-discovered it after she died and was packing up the house to move to Ohio. Eventually, the photo ended up next to Janny’s night stand. Kirby wished he had more mementos of Claire’s, as she blew in and out of their lives like a tumbleweed.  

  Kirby and Claire fell right into a wonderful routine. Arizona felt right to Kirby. He began to love the angles of the horizon and the changing colors, the veil that fell over the landscape at dusk. The vastness of the starry night sky Kirby had only witnessed during the dry season in Southeast Asia. Brief moments where dread left the soldiers; a time they could look up and imagine their loved ones at home – a momentary lapse of forgetting they were living in a hell-hole.  

Kirby had never been with anyone like Claire. She was so…free. On good days, the joy emanated from inside her – everyone clamoring for her attention.  

They went on small trips, where the children were able to run, explore and enjoy.  Kirby asked Claire to marry him.  

  “Honey, let’s get married,” Kirby said one night as they sat out back with a fire going, golden ashes shooting up to the sky, a non-existent horizon, a moment of infinite possibilities. The children were asleep in their beds. “I love you! I will always love you! I have always loved you!” he said, uncharacteristically with his heart on his sleeve. Claire put her arm through his and snuggled closer.  

  “We’ll see.” Claire stated too quickly. 

  “What do you mean ‘we’ll see’?” Kirby asked.  

  “I have children, Kirby. I have children I need to protect. That is my job.” 

  “Claire, don’t you see I want that to be my job?” Kirby asked with longing.  

  “What are you talking about, Kirby? Who do you think you’re protecting?  

And from who? Me? Do you think you need to protect my kids from me?”  

The fire had gone out and blackness enveloped them swiftly. Kirby had never heard Claire talk this way before. It scared him.  

  “Claire?” he said feebly. He felt her breathing hasten. “You are incredible.  An incredible mother. The kids are lucky to have you. You are so loving. No, of course I don’t think your kids need any protecting FROM you. I am…I don’t know why you said that. My sweet Claire…”  

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. This has to be about you and me. All of us. They love you Kirby. Both my babies love you. I love you. I do. I am just not ready, yet, to get married. Okay?”  

Kirby had no choice but to let it drop. He didn’t bring it up again. This was someone he might not be able to hold on to forever. 

  “Kirby,” Claire began after several minutes of silence, “sometimes I wonder why I’m alive. Still alive. I feel like a piece of me died when James was killed.  JFK. Martin. Robert. They all die. My James. I am lucky to see his eyes in  

Janice’s.” She trailed off. Claire reached over and threw another piece of wood in the pit. The fire crackled.  

  “I see no reason to go on, sometimes.” Claire confessed. 

  “What are you talking about, Claire? You have your kids! You just said your job was to protect them, right? Why would ‘not being here’ be an option for you?  

For anyone with kids?” Kirby was raising his voice now.  

  “Is there nothing else for me? So when they stop needing me, it will be okay? It’s okay, Kirby. I don’t expect you to understand.”  

  Kirby hated when she did that: dismissed a topic where she applied no logic.  In Kirby’s engineering brain, it was important to apply logic at all times. Kirby also knew Claire was scared and depressed. He had seen this before, with army buddies. His mother. He knew there was nothing he could say to get her to see rationally. Life was about finding some things, losing something else, rediscovering old things. Life held great losses, but applying logic in all situations was the only answer to “go on”. The greatest responsibility is to one’s children, no matter their age or status in life. Kirby believed this. He was still dumbfounded by what Claire was saying out loud, talking about leaving them all, in some capacity.  

  “Claire, you are more than just a mother. I fell in love with YOU.  

Just…just remember that.”

  

A proposal within a proposal: marry me and please don’t end your life.  Claire was a deer in the headlights. “I drove my truck straight into her, high beams blazing and, she froze” thought Kirby.  

  “How about you hold on for me, then? And if you can’t, I will catch you.  

Hold on for you. How does that sound?” Kirby wanted to be able to fix 

everything.  

  Claire smiled with just the corners of her mouth.  

  “You will always take care of my children? You will tell Jimmy, one day, where he came from?”  

  “You will do that, Claire! When you’re ready. I will always be here. I love you all.” It’s why I proposed, Kirby thought.  

 

  Kirby had known Jimmy was adopted. Claire wanted to wait until James got back from Vietnam before they talked to him about it. Jimmy was just a baby when he left. Claire had decided to keep things simple and continue to refer to her children as “the twins”. After James was killed, the twins were still the twins and explaining the reality – did it really matter? She did not want him to feel ashamed about any of it.  

  After Claire died, Kirby had no reason to tell Jimmy; pull another piece of history rug right out from underneath him. Both Claire and James had declared themselves Jimmy’s parent’s hours before Janny was born. Claire was in labor.  Between contractions and waiting, James told her about a little boy, just born to a sixteen-year-old heroin addict. The mother was going to die, they all feared. The girl was the daughter of one of James’ (dead) army buddies. The girl had no one. James had recognized the name when she was brought in to the same hospital. Claire didn’t hesitate at all when James brought it up. Offering a home to this infant and raising him with their daughter felt natural and right.  

  The mother lived for a few days and was able to sign the legal documents, declaring James and Claire Kapinsky the legal adoptive parents of a son. Claire was able to meet the birth mother, hug her frail birdlike body, and whisper “thank you”. No one could believe this little girl had the ability to carry a healthy baby to term, albeit, smaller in weight than Janice. Claire was able to nurse both the children. James quickly built a cradle to place next to Janny’s crib for the time- being. The story of “the twins” only had one theme: they entered this world together.  

  It was a perfect family.  

 

  “How?” Claire asked Kirby one day.  

  “How what?” Kirby replied. He stood up from bending under the truck’s hood. Kirby figured she was checking up on his project, hoping she had a beer for him. 

  “How am I a good mother?” She didn’t seem sad, but wistful.  

  “How?” Kirby wiped his hands with a dirty rag. “You raised two infants at the same time and you didn’t have to.” 

  “I am not sure. I’m just…not sure, Kirby.” She gazed down. 

  “You have comforted them both and kept them safe for all these years since 

Jim died. And, they adore you.” Kirby didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but he wanted to finish installing this air filter.  

  “What have I given them to believe in? Even my useless parents tried to

instill us with religion. Something. To hold on to.” Her voice halted, almost 

staccato-like.  

 “Why is it so hard to hold on?” Kirby asked tenderly, closing the truck 

hood for now.  

  Claire was startled. Kirby was good at making arrangements and providing for his instant family, but he was rarely, emotionally available. Claire often caught him, off guard, staring blankly, seemingly, check out of his surroundings. This time, he seemed to be tuned in to her fragility. Claire felt like a fraud, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Appearing strong and in control, many wives and mothers experienced this through this endless war. Kirby was good at handling raw, primal grief but recognizing and acknowledging despair was beyond his capabilities.  

  “Kirby, my dad lived on the reservation. My mother told me we lived there for a little bit when I was young. It was great, the parts I remember. Older women teaching me to knit and weave. We were poor, but I liked playing with everyone.  My dad had other kids before my mother, so there were a lot of us around, until we left. I mostly was raised in Texas and Kansas though. No brothers or sisters. We moved to my mother’s very rural farm that had been in the family for years. We grew okra, wheat, and had a few goats. Nothing big.”  Kirby did not interrupt her.  

  “My father and mother became devout Christians. Like devout, go-to- church-daily kind of devotion. Ya’ know? It wasn’t good for me, Kirby. I was punished a lot with belts and switches I had to collect. They made me kneel in prayer for hours when I was bad.”  

Enough silence had lapsed for Kirby to speak. The details were not important to him.  

  “Babe, are you saying you should be stricter with J and J? It sounds horrible what you went through.” Claire knew about Kirby’s shitty childhood, as well.  

  “No, of course not. Never. I pray you will never lay a hand on them either, never!” He nodded because it seemed like she was asking for his promise. “I’m saying Kirby- I don’t know what to believe in.”   

  “Okay. Why do you have to believe in anything? Do you believe you exist?  In this form? That’s a start.” said Kirby. He was getting impatient and it came across as being patronizing.   

  “What if I hurt them?”  

  “You could never do that, Claire! You would never do that. Why do you even ask? Babe, what’s really the matter?” He was too covered in oil and sweat to hug her.  

  “What if I can’t hold on? And end up hurting them?” She wasn’t making  sense.  

  Kirby sighed. “I will make sure you will be able to hold on. Where are you  going with all this? Go listen to some music. You’ll feel better.”  

  Claire stood there, unaware she was swaying. Kirby wasn’t sure if he was  allowed to go back to working on his truck. He did not want to fuck up this  relationship. The first real relationship he had. The longest too.  

  Claire saw that Kirby wanted to get back to being greasy. That day, she  made a plan: a plan she knew would hurt her children, but in the long run, it being for the best. She pushed the thought away every day, for another couple of years.  There was too much darkness. The times between the joy she once felt, became  shorter. She believed she hid it well from the children, Kirby and the neighbors.  

Eventually, that shield began to fade. There was nothing she had left to offer  anyone. Jimmy noticed, and he was not letting go of his mother.  

   

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

  

CHAPTER 24 

 

  Jimmy 

 

Virginia Beach – 1982 

   

  We turned eighteen in December, and I moved out of the house by January. Janny was upset with me. Kirby was upset with me. Julie, who kept in touch by phone, was upset with me, but she at least, understood. Sal and I bought a 1967 VW camping van, sky blue. Sal painted the front tire cover with a highway scene, disappearing into a sunset. We named the van “Urge”. Our destination (after camping out in the Smoky Mountains, tripping on mushrooms, playing guitar out in the clear night sky) was Virginia Beach. We had a friend in a band, who rented a small house off the ocean. He needed roommates. Sal had already dropped out of school. I had a GED and a vocational mechanics degree. We planned to get jobs once we got down there. We smoked lots of cigarettes.  

  Before I left, I made all kinds of promises to everyone. I told Julie, I would call weekly. I told Kirby, I would go to college in September. I told Janny, I would come back.  

  The house was old but pretty awesome. Two of us had to share the big (added on) back bedroom, once a porch/patio; the living room had a fireplace and, we had a cat I named Cat 2. The trunk/coffee table was decorated with bongs and assorted pipes. We got furniture off the streets, learning when to scout for the good stuff in the good neighborhoods between garbage pick-ups. We had some kitchen supplies in the van, and bought the rest at the Goodwill. We had four giant lounge chairs and a trunk in the living room where we ate all our meals. 

I got a job in a restaurant, bussing tables. I flirted and went out with a few girls. We played music on the beach and snuck into bars. I played my guitar whenever I could. It was the only thing I really cared about. It was a Gibson Hummingbird, handed down by my father, James. My mother (and Kirby) had told me he could play fairly well. Funny I didn’t inherit the musicality from him.  Sal began hanging out with an older guy named Pat. Scraggly and skinny, he looked to be in his 30’s or 40’s. His face was full of pockmarks. Sometimes, after we had been out all night, we stopped by Pat’s, a small cottage, seemingly located on a traffic island, close to the smell of pine cones and ocean spray. The same few guys were always there, stoned out in the back living space.  

  We entered through the back because there was always a line of people in the front from 5-7 A.M; primarily soldiers, Privates in their olive-green fatigues, waiting to be “shot up” with crystal meth before heading to their job at the base.  Kick off your day with Dr. Pat! Keeps you coming back for more! I watched for weeks, laughing at Sal after he was given a hit. He rambled endlessly, while chain- smoking cigarettes. The drug made him love everybody. I snorted lines but knew I wasn’t going to stick a needle in my arm. The drug made me feel like I had to shit.  After a night of drinking and not sleeping, it was nice to be able to hit Pat’s then spend the day hanging at the beach.  

  Sal’s buzz seemed to be better and last longer. He no longer took seizure medication as he said pot and speed worked better. No one was overdosing, like in the movies, or “getting hooked”. These guys that never left ran the drug end so that was their job. To me, everyone else shooting up were productive members of society, having some fun.  

  One morning, Pat asked me “are you sure, kid?”, holding up a needle, as he usually did after dosing up the inner circle. This time, I said “sure!” Sal screamed “alllllrighhhttttttt!! Get this shit started!” Everyone was right. It was a pure high that took away hours and years of fogginess. Everything seemed CRYSTAL CLEAR. I had an energy that surpassed all doubts and hesitations. My guitar sounded magical. I was able to play for hours until my callouses bled. We all talked about the meaning of life and music and making movies.  

  I sold dime bags at work to supplement our morning recreation. Pat turned out to be pretty wise and turned me onto Larry Coryell and Donny Hathaway. We played Maria Muldaur, Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder when we (not frequently) performed around town. Sal played keyboard and we had a nice harmony on vocals.  

  Tony was a sax player and bar owner from Manhattan. He dressed in suits with a disco feel. His shoes had lifts. He was older too. He introduced us to a different drug: heroin. I had never felt bliss like that. They called it a “body orgasm”. Being on stage with my guitar felt that way, but being on stage high then with a girl after- my life was a giant orgasm.  

  After binges that lasted for 3-4 days, I crashed hard. I had scabs on my forehead, where I had scratched and picked. I immediately got diarrhea when I finally introduced food into my body. At Pat’s, we subsisted on Pringles and Pepsi.  

I decided to take things down a bit. Perhaps, stop shooting up. Skipping the morning bump, I decided to hitchhike home alone early one morning, leaving Pat’s on 67th Street to our place down Atlantic Avenue on 20th. The sun was beginning to peek over the ocean. I had dropped some windowpane at 2 AM, so I was still tripping. Pure, magical, colorful hallucinations. Before I hit the road, I ran along the sand dunes, lost in the sensation of snowy mounds and cross country skiing.  I jumped moguls and roared, deep sounds being released from inside me. The morning wind on my face made me feel I was there with God. Bits of light reflected from the glowing sand blinded me like snow. I felt the music of the seagrass, birds, waves crashing: the ocean performing in the orchestra of dawn. 

People with their dogs began to dot the beach so I headed up the road. When a car picked me up, I was hoping I would be coherent or, be able to point. I had to be at work for the dinner shift at Denny’s. I hoped I would be able to fall asleep for a few hours after a couple of bong hits. At least this windowpane was pure. Last week, we had gotten ahold of some blotter acids that made us cramp up for two hours. We drank so much pink crap on top of a fucked up trip.  

  There weren’t many cars on the road. The third car stopped. A nice Lincoln Continental with beige leather seats. Kirby would’ve loved it, I thought. A gray haired guy in some officer’s uniform picked me up. I checked to make sure he had on pants. Sometimes, they didn’t. 

  “Hey, thanks for stopping.” (Did the right words come out?) “I’m just going a few miles up.”  

  “No problem. Just getting off work myself. I guess a walk like that could be painful barefoot on this cement, no?”  

  How was I barefoot? What happened to my shoes?  

  “Yeh, I guess. Do you work at the base?”  

  “Yup” replied this colonel/captain/lieutenant.

  

  “Hey, my dad was in ‘Nam. Were you ever in Vietnam?” I felt talkative.  

  “Yes, I was. I did two tours in country.”  

  “My dad and step-dad were both in Vietnam. My step-dad was a captain in the army.” At least I knew Kirby’s rank. The army guy asked me his name and unit. I didn’t know his unit. He asked the years they served. I kinda knew that.  

  “Your father must have participated in the first official battle in ‘Nam.  Brutal. That’s when my tour began. Kids getting blown up. No one knew what was happening to them. A kid next to me blew his head right off. Right off. His own head. He was that terrified. I was happy to have the extra weapon.” The tone of his voice never changed. He had the thousand-yard stare.  

  Kirby never talked about what it was like “over there.” I just knew you didn’t come back or you came back differently. I knew people were still angry about all of it. Even the soldiers were just doing their job. All of a sudden, I felt badly I wasn’t closer with Kirby. Things changed after that time in the sumps with Sal, after Kirby supposedly revealed all he knew about me. After Julie left us, Kirby was downright ornery. Kirby survived a fucked up childhood, Vietnam, a dead girlfriend and an ungrateful kid.  

“You really shouldn’t be hitchhiking by yourself. You know that, right?”  My attention was brought back to the ride. I think I was just grunting “wow” as the  stranger spoke. 

  “I don’t do it often. Lost my bike. Got stolen.” I lied. I didn’t have a bike. If  only he knew the number of perverts who picked me up or tried to pick me up. This guy didn’t have the pervy vibe. I was getting good at detecting “child  diddlers” – that’s what we called them.  

  “Back then, we kept doing the same things. Try to find the gooks. Kill ‘em.  

Burn down their villages. Move on. We found ways to kill more people at once.  What a waste. Funny to hear that from a military man, huh? We are getting better  at killing the enemy. More ways now to fuck up, pardon my French.” He took a  long pause. “To quote Aeschylus ‘In war, truth is the first casualty.’”  I decided this soldier was a General.   

“And, son? If you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing? You are going to  get hurt too. And fuck up.”  

  “You can let me off right up here.” I pointed.  

  “Do me a favor?” he said before letting me off. “Call your dad when you get  home.”  

  “Thanks for the ride” and I walked the few blocks home from where he  dropped me off.  

  Our front door was open. There was a stranger asleep on the maroon chair and the house smelled like cat piss. Cat was purring at my ankles. I gave him/her fresh water and shared a can of tuna. I ate mine out of the can. Cat had its’ own bowl.  

  I had a hit off the bong without waking up the only other person in the house. The cat came with me into the back room. I tried to jerk off, but I was too wired. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the room was dark. The clock said 7:30 – I had slept passed work. Shit. Sal was just returning in the bus. Someone turned on the house lights. Sal and another friend were getting ready to go back out.  

This time, they were going to a club in Norfolk to help with Tony’s band. As a crew member (we declared ourselves), there would be no problem getting in for free and without i.ds. I showered, didn’t bother calling work, and headed out. The plan was to go to Tony’s first, get high, then head in the bus with the equipment. I drove with the guy in our van, while Sal and his buddy went to retrieve amps at a storage unit.  

  There was a party going on at Tony’s nicely decorated townhouse. Tony had just gotten in some “grade A pharmaceuticals” and was willing to share. He gave me a couple of seconals, one I downed with a beer, the other I wrapped up and placed in my jean pocket. Sitting on his giant, leather couch, Steely Dan blasting in the back, the high felt good. Seconal was like a mellow heroin without the need to fall down or lose your voice. There must have been 20 people in the townhome. Everyone was dressed nicely for the club – everyone getting high by some means.  

  When there was a knock on the door and the person answering said “who?”

I instinctively said, “don’t answer it.” My sister would say that was my old soul talking. No one heard me or listened. Before I could lift my head off the couch, a group of armed men came crashing in. Loud, screaming “DON’T MOVE”, intimidating, tossing people towards the wall, throwing others down on chairs and the floor. The back of their jackets read “DEA” and “Virginia Beach PD”. The three of us on the couch were told not “to move a muscle.” They were screaming and smashing things. Tony was fucked. I whispered to the shaking girl next to me “don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” I believed that.  

  These cops/agents looked like they were from central casting: The short, crew cut hair but one with a long ponytail – the undercover cop I imagined. One by one, two of the taller (and smiling) cops took us into a separate bedroom. Tony was already handcuffed, as an officer had located a full bag of pills behind a chair cushion. I heard them discussing a theft at a drugstore. Even though the pills were found easily, the agents still managed to knock in the kitchen cabinets, take out ceiling tiles and tear up carpet. There was confusion then an eerie silence. Some whimpered. My stomach was knotting up.  

  I saw a hand gesture. It was my time to be questioned. 

“Your turn, golden boy.” Before I entered the bedroom, the smiliest cop asked me to empty my pockets. I did, producing one lone pill inside a sandwich bag. The taunting began.  

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here, Ricky?”  

  I realized too late I should have taken it out and swallowed it.  

  “So, how does it feel being a junkie, eh, golden boy?” The two looked at each other and snickered. “Let’s see the arm.” Smiley cop grabbed my arm, pushed up my sleeve. “Let’s have a looky-see.”  

  There were no tracks on my arms. They looked disappointed. One of them twirled the little baggy with the one pill around his finger.  

  “We’ve seen you around.” It wasn’t a question. I felt my heart pounding in my throat. I have to make this go away, this very bad movie. “What do you know about these pills?”  

  “I don’t even know these guys. We play together. In a band. Not with this guy, but with friends. Other friends.” I wished I had gone in the bus with Sal.  

  “Uh huh. Where’s the rest of your stash, rock star?”  

  “I don’t have a stash…they gave this to me when I got here. I am just going to help set up. I wasn’t even going to take it, I swear!” I stammered.  

  “What do you think, there Ricky? This guy know anything?”  Ricky smiled.

  

Not a pleasant smile. “That’s what I thought, Ricky. Sorry cowboy, you’re coming with us. You know too many people.”  

  I was handcuffed behind my back. It hurt. I was being led out of the house by my shoulders by the tallest cop. I didn’t see anyone else handcuffed. Just frightened looking party goers. The girl I had tried to comfort, caught my gaze. She looked terrified. I managed to nod my head before being taken out. I was placed in the back of a police car with Tony. He said “hey.” He was nodding from the heroin he had shot up earlier. “Hey” I said back and turned my face towards the window. 

  Ten cops and two people arrested, some pills recovered. I didn’t think this was the big bust the authorities were looking for. I still felt like I could somehow, talk my way out of this. No one read me my rights or offered a phone call – all the things I had seen in movies. I began shivering and couldn’t stop. I had to pee. I think I was glad I had a pill in me or else I would be really freaking out. I hoped we got out soon.  

  I had not seen Tony since we were taken from the cruiser. The smiley cop had me sit next to his desk. The fluorescent lights made him less scary even in the harsh green shadows. He took off the handcuffs.  

  “Look, I am going to have to book you and take you down to county. You can stay here until my shift ends.” Why was he being nice? 

  “Thanks?” I managed to say through my clenched teeth and unrelenting thirst. I wanted to go into a corner and drink my own piss. I wanted a blanket. I wanted to talk to Kirby and my sister. I did not believe this was happening.   It must have been at least 3 in the morning when I was taken downstairs to get fingerprinted and photographed. I was chained to a group of men via our ankles and led into a van. I guessed we were on our way “to county.” I was the blondest and youngest in our group.  

  Metallic echoes vibrated down a long hallway: the smallest sound of an opening door, the shuffling of feet, heavy breathing, distant screams added to the wretched cacophony. I had to take many short steps to keep up with my group.  My wrists were tied in front with a plastic bracelet. We were unchained and placed in individual cells. My cell was occupied; a snoring lump on the lower bunk bed. There was a steel toilet without a seat and a steel sink. No toilet paper. No mirrors.  A bare mattress on the top bunk. No blanket. No pillow.  

  I regretted having to piss in the toilet, having to expose any part of my body to this hell hole. I continued to shake even after relieving myself. I tried to hum songs in my head. I crouched on the floor, just a foot from my roommate. Various scrawls and scratches of former inmate’s graffiti decorated the ashen brick walls. “I Wuz Here” and “pigs sux ass” were the general sentiment. 

  I saw a pack of Marlboros by my roomies shoes with a book of matches stuck in the cellophane. One match. I took out a cigarette and lit it with his last match. The smoke tasted so good.  

  Before I took my second drag, the lump on the bottom bunk leapt up and began smashing my head against the concrete wall. He was on me as fast as a lizard catching a fly. He pounded my skull over and over. My arms and hands were flailing, my ears ringing as blood streaked down my face. It felt warm. My jeans were wet from fresh urine. I felt like a pack of people were beating me up or one giant snarling wild animal.  

  “You fucking fuck, thinking you can come here and take my smokes? You fucking fuck – you gonna die,” he was saying. I tried to protect myself. His stench was awful. I wasn’t sure if the grunting sounds were coming from me or him or both. I heard rattling of keys and others began storming into our cell. My head no longer felt like it was attached to my body. The smell of vomit, piss and blood was what I remembered before I passed out.  

 

  I dream I am riding in a Greyhound bus through a desolate desert with my great-uncle. I am holding Janny’s bag. It is stuffed with greeting cards. I cut my hand on the strap and drop it on the floor. There are tumbleweeds rolling down the bus aisle. I see the backs of Julie and Kirby and my mom sitting in the front. They are staring straight ahead. I call out to them, but nothing comes out. Uncle Daniel pats my knee. The bus is in the middle of the desert. It is snowing. The general who picked me up hitchhiking is at the wheel. Everywhere, there are snow-covered plateaus, snow-covered cactus. A snow drift prevents the bus from driving further so we all get out. Everyone else is gone but Janny and Sal are there talking. They begin to laugh hysterically, and start to run away. My feet are stuck in the snow and I can’t move or speak.  

  I look straight up at the sky, which is bright and cloudless. I can see stars in the daytime. The bus is gone and I’m waking through the desert. The snow is gone, and it is hot. I see a gypsy camp in a shimmering mirage-like oasis. Flute music and violins draws me to them. Kirby and Julie are sitting around the campfire with the gypsies. It is dark now. The only light comes from the fire. A young, brown- skinned girl approaches me. Her hair is straight and shiny. We start to kiss. I want to make love to her but when we pull apart for a moment, a tooth comes out of my mouth. My mother is dancing around the fire. I walk up to her. Her face is pale white, and she is crying. I ask her what’s wrong and she says I need to go with her.  Janny grabs my hand and I turn to see we are asleep in our tiny Arizona bedroom, except there is no roof. I hear my mother singing in the kitchen. I feel safe and warm. I stare up at the sky from my bed.  

 

I awoke with the ceiling only a few feet from my nose. My sore nose.  My sore face. Where was I and why was my head spinning? I tried to turn my head  to the side but was unable. I reached up and felt a stiff collar around my neck. I  was on the bottom of a bunk bed. I was in a hospital gown, my clothes gone. Two  thin blankets were covering me but I was cold. I tried to talk but my mouth stuck  together. I had no spit. My one eye wouldn’t open all the way so things were  blurry. I heard paper rustling. I think there was someone above me. A light flickered causing shadows to appear and disappear.  

  I feel so thirsty. I try again to ask for water from nobody. I am in jail. I got  beat up. I remember. I hope someone feeds Cat.   

 

 

    

 

   

 

CHAPTER 25 

   

Kirby’s Story 

 

Kirby got the call from the Virginia Beach Police Department the day after  

Jimmy’s arrest. It was from a social worker, describing the arrest for possession and subsequent beating by another inmate. She explained Jimmy was fine, required a few stitches to the back of his head but needed to be released to a responsible party. The jail was trying to figure how to get Jimmy to an arraignment, so he could be bonded out. The social worker asked how soon Kirby could get to Virginia. His son James, had filled out the wrong phone number under “next of kin” when he was booked, and it took some time locating Kirby, the social worker said. She was apologetic and sympathetic.  

  Kirby raised his voice, asking how an 18-year-old was placed in a cell with a grown man? “He’s a legal adult, Mr. Devlin” which Kirby intellectually knew.  Angry he was already released from the ER, Kirby began insisting his child continue to receive non-jail healthcare. His son was hurt, and it was hard to wrap his head around that. Mrs. Bentsworth assured Kirby his son was given the proper medical clearance, was x-rayed but he wasn’t admitted to the hospital.  

The words “standard operating procedure” gave Kirby a chill.  

He immediately got on the phone to a travel agent and arranged for a flight that afternoon. He wasn’t mad at Jimmy, just focused on “let’s take care of this.”  He still needed to tell Janny who was at her summer job at a Center for Autistic Children where she worked as an aid, planning to attend college in September and commute from home. Kirby called Julienne to see if she would come by to help out. He didn’t want to leave Janny alone. “Yes, of course I’ll be there” Julienne had told him on the phone without hesitation. Kirby hated to disturb Janny at work but had no other choice. He had to get to the bank and airport. Janny was called out of her classroom, insisting on going with Kirby. He convinced her to stay, plying her with the promise of Julienne’s company. Janny eventually, relented.  

  Mrs. Laura Bentsworth, MSW, met Kirby at the jail. It was late and usually, prisoners were not released after 5 or allowed to be seen, but she made an exception. Kirby was surprised how young and pretty Mrs. Laura Bentsworth was. On the phone, she sounded in her 70’s. Kirby followed her to her office, filled out release papers, and waited for James. The arraignment took place on a closed circuit television. Bail was set at $500.  

  Although they had feared the worse when they pulled James’ jail mate off of him, the C.O.s were convinced he was not badly hurt. The ER had confirmed this.  Mrs. Bentsworth was honest with Kirby, explaining the state did not want to pay for an armed officer to watch his son in the hospital. The jail infirmary had to suffice. His drug case was still pending but she suspected, charges would be dropped. She suggested an attorney in town. “Mention me and they’ll charge you practically nothing.” Kirby was certain Mrs. Bentsworth had winked.  

Kirby was already planning for the coming months in his head, including having to bring James back down for the court hearing. Perhaps, that’s why he missed the flirtatious signals, sympathetic gestures and general interest from Mrs.  Bentsworth? She allowed Kirby some privacy while he waited and the use of her phone. He called home. Kirby posted bail and waited for James in the depressing reception area.  

  Kirby was prepared for the worst when he finally saw his son being wheeled down the hallway. (Kirby later learned from Jimmy they had only put him in a wheelchair once they were close to the main desk area.) Jimmy’s shirt was blood stained around the collar. His eye was swollen halfway shut and there was a bandage across his nose. Jimmy managed to give Kirby that winning smile. They shook hands, but Kirby drew Jimmy in for a hug. Jimmy said “ow” and mumbled  

“I’m really sorry.” A small spot of hair in the back of Jimmy’s head was replaced by stitches. The nose wasn’t broken but badly cut.  

  Instead of driving him to his rental house, Kirby took Jimmy to a hotel. He hoped Jimmy would stay there for a few days to heal (go by the house to check on friends and Cat) then accompany him home to Ohio. He wanted to rent a car to drive back.  

  Jimmy began to remember more about the ER visit, as Kirby filled him in with the details he had received from Mrs. Bentsworth. Jimmy remembered being shot up with pain killers, then nodding out. Jimmy told Kirby what he remembered about waking up in the jail infirmary: The nice nurse who wiped his mouth, got him water, helped him get dressed before the correction officer took him to the  arraignment room. Jimmy was limping and sore. He was handcuffed again.  

“Where was I gonna go and what was I gonna do?” laughed Jimmy and Kirby.  

Kirby threw him a clean white t-shirt, a package of new underwear and socks and let Jimmy use the shower.  

“Put a shower cap on so you don’t get your stitches wet.”

 

It was dawn when they drove to breakfast.  

  “I don’t know what I was thinking” Jimmy volunteered when they finally sat  down at IHOP. Jimmy practically drank the entire pot of coffee. Absentmindedly,  he touched his cut lip, forehead, nose, making Kirby wince.   

  Kirby waved his hand away and said “we all make mistakes. We have to get  those stitches taken out in 10 days, ya’ know?”  

  “I hope Janny doesn’t make the same mistake and steal someone’s cigarettes  in college.” said Jimmy, always the entertainer.   

  For now, this was all they mentioned about the detention. Kirby could learn  the rest at the lawyer’s office. Instead, Jimmy told Kirby about the birth certificate  and the two letters he read at Uncle Daniel’s last year. He wanted to open up and  share something personal with his step-dad. He wasn’t sure how much Janny had  shared with Kirby over the past year.  

Jimmy wanted to stop being angry. He was grateful he wasn’t being  questioned about the arrest nor work or living situation or drug use. He learned that  morning how similar he and Kirby were – both abandoned by ill-equipped, drug- addicted/alcoholic mothers and both abandoned by the same woman, Claire. Both  of them had witnessed traumatic loss and neither ever escaped the flashbacks.  Kirby wished he had an answer to the nightmares, anxiety and dissociation, but  he battled the same things. The powerlessness was the worst thing Kirby felt,  however – not having all the answers for your child and being unable to spare them  from pain or from life’s constant barrage of crap. At least Julienne had provided  them all with a respite of sunshine.   

  “Kirby,” Jimmy finally asked after the stack of pancakes were gone “Why  did YOU never tell me about my real parents?” Jimmy started to choke up. The  pain pills were wearing off too.  

  “I…I…I love you. You are my son. I would do anything for you. You know  that by now.” Kirby answered quickly. 

  “But, you never told me the whole story. You knew about my birth mother  and the adoption. Why? You had a chance to tell me everything!” Jimmy was  feeling guilty about why Kirby was in Virginia Beach, was eager to move on, but felt stuck, like trying to wade out of thick mud. He surprised himself by asking why this was a secret. He convinced  himself the trip to Arizona and Missouri last year gave him all the answers. 

  “I know it doesn’t matter” continued Jimmy. “I’m sure Janny told you all the  details about the Kapinsky and Latchett visit. But that night after the sumps and  hospital, all you said was I was ‘taken in and loved.’  You knew more though. That’s why you didn’t seem shocked when I told Janny. Well, I knew then you had  known the truth about my…beginnings? But that night we talked. Why didn’t you  just tell me everything you knew…then? All you told me that night was that I was  right. Claire and James weren’t my first parents. Why not just goddamn confirm  my birthday or something?” Now Jimmy was crying.  

  Kirby reached across the table, knocking over his coffee. He had to  withdraw his hand to get napkins. Kirby had comforted this little boy one other  time, many years ago after he found his mother dead. His one job to protect those  kids from horror, failed. Horror followed him like a rabid dog.  

  Kirby remembered holding his breath that night years ago, when Janny and  

Jimmy were having a (very rare) fight and talking about their parents. Hearing  

Jimmy admit he wasn’t Janny’s “true” twin, floored him. Kirby never felt he had lied to the twins; just the opposite. Holding on to the truth that they were always  together, from the beginning, loved by the same people, was the one thing he  could do to keep them comforted. He was desperate to keep things…the same?  After all, suicide seemed like the most odious of secrets as the truth gets taken to  the grave, leaving behind only the shame.   

  Kirby reviewed that crazy day – rushing to the sumps, rescuing Sal,  hospitals, Rachel returning, secrets being told – and felt anything asked about  Jimmy’s parents can be shelved until everyone is okay, let the shock of the day  pass. Jimmy simply hadn’t asked the “right” questions that night. Kirby wished  every major decision in life came in the form of blinking railroad crossing signs. 

 > “WARNING: DO AND SAY THE RIGHT THING IN THIS SITUATION

 OR YOU WILL REGRET IT LATER” <  

  “Jim, listen to me. Your mother told me, of course. It never mattered. To me.  To her. To your father. I’m sorry I never went into details. You and your sister  were…just always you and your sister. The twins. Your parents were your parents.  The mother who gave birth to you? No matter how messed up she was, she still  loved you enough to want you to have a good mother.” 

  Jimmy was not crying anymore, but he wasn’t noticeably breathing either.  

He watched Kirby without moving a muscle.  

  “Your mother, Claire, said she held you just a few hours after she held your  sister. Your parents were thrilled to have you both. I even think…I even think, Jim,  your mom loved you the most.” Kirby and Jimmy smiled at one another.  

  “She sure has a funny way of showing it.” Jimmy said, not meaning for it to  be cruel.  

  “When you told your sister, I waited for you to ask me more questions.  Since you never did – that’s when Rachel came back, right? And Janny was just  finding out about that?” Jimmy nodded. “Yeh, so, you never asked then. Time  passes, son. People move on. I guess I thought…or hoped you were cool with the  answers you did have. I’m sorry, Jim. I should have told you our first year in Ohio. You would have handled it fine.”  

  Jimmy felt a relief but a deep sadness. Wishing he knew how to ask Kirby  for help to get off his destructive trajectory, perhaps it was time to “move on.”   Jimmy never went back to Ohio. To come home from a beating and arrest  made no sense. Even though their connection deepened the few days Kirby stayed  in Virginia Beach, Jimmy felt he was raised to find things out for himself.  

Jimmy lied and told Kirby what he wanted to hear: yes, I’ll come back in a  few months to live and go to school. Janny was mad at Jimmy for not returning with Kirby right away and told him so on the phone several times over the week. Learning Jimmy was coming back for school calmed her down. Jimmy knew everyone would be disappointed by his eventual decision, but he needed to deal  with that another time, after court. Jimmy continued to run – this time to escape the  anger he still felt by his mother’s suicide. Janny and Kirby were the constant  reminders of the day he found her and he couldn’t handle that.  

  Kirby felt their discussion at the restaurant had cleared the air completely.

Music scholarships for college were discussed, as well as fixing up the basement  

for Jimmy. Kirby had kept his family together. Kirby would fly home later in the  

week, but return in a month with a truck to take Jimmy back home. When Jimmy 

disappeared from everyone’s life for two years, Kirby was as shocked as anyone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 26 

 

Janny 

 

Ohio – 1982 

 

  When Kirby returned from Virginia, he managed to get the three of us in the  same room. I had not seen him with julienne in over two years. She left us before  our 16th birthday, before our trip to Missouri. Prior to her leaving, I noticed she and Kirby had not been spending much time together, as she was involved with food co-ops, her job at the library, her weaving and artwork but managed to cook for us. She was physically there for us. I just didn’t know she was unhappy too. Once she  moved out, I felt no obligation to tell her about my pregnancy nor the miscarriage.   

The night she and Kirby told us about their break up came as a shock to us, but since there wasn’t much discussion, we took her moving out in stride. Jimmy had predicted this years ago. Julienne promised she would stay part of our lives.  

Kirby didn’t not add much to the conversation, other than “it’s for the 

best” which, in grown-up speak means “we haven’t a clue why this is happening.” I later told Jimmy I didn’t think she liked living with a human stone. I wasn’t sure how anyone stayed with Kirby – his existence seemed to be work and cars.  

Even after the night of Jimmy’s confession about Rachel’s illness and his  questionable conception, Kirby did not provide any sort of closure or answers. I  peppered him with a few questions the following weeks: was it true, were Jimmy’s parents alive, were we born on the same day, did my daddy know and why didn’t anyone tell us? – but I got short, non-committal responses. He shrugged me off,  saying “what difference does it make now?” I imagined he was protecting himself from further hurt and rejection, but my brother had a right to know the truth. Thank  goodness for Uncle Daniel. Kirby did say “it’s the way it always was” which  grown-ups liked to say; as if, the way things were done in the past is the new status  quo. I thought we grew out of this to be able to look forward to change. But, everyone seemed afraid of change. Maybe that’s why Jimmy was never told.  

When Kirby had julienne and I together at the house, Jimmy’s arrest and  

“slight accident resulting in stitches” was the topic. We were getting details, which  was unlike Kirby to offer.  

  “I will take the truck down to pick him up, with his stuff and his cat. He will  go to school with Janny in the fall.” Kirby said in his halting manner. I was  grateful Kirby was taking care of business.  

  Two weeks later, after Kirby had made the morning coffee, he knocked on  my bedroom door to take me to work. In the truck, he told me “there have been  some changes.” 

  “Jimmy has decided to stay in Virginia until his court date in August.  

He said he may want to continue traveling though.” Kirby trailed off, mumbling  “I don’t know where he plans to get traveling money, but he isn’t returning  anytime soon.” 

  “I just talked to him last week. He didn’t tell me that! I want to be with  him.” I stated.  

  “You can’t now, J. You have work – these work credits will count towards  your school and your teaching degree. You can’t give that up now. Besides, there  isn’t room for you to stay in his house. The other boys are moving out too soon. I  am not even sure where Jimmy will be.” Kirby choked up a little.  

  I was mad and stared out the truck window. I was sure this was somehow  

Kirby’s fault. He probably said something to Jimmy. I knew the blame Jimmy  carried around, and Kirby probably solidified it.  

  “How do you know this then? I can’t get him on the phone anymore. How  do you know?” I asked in a huff.  

  “He called me, J. He called me at work yesterday.” Yesterday? Kirby had  this information for a whole night and decided to tell me now, on the way to work?  Why? So I wouldn’t run off to Virginia? Did he think he could hold onto me?  

As if he were reading my mind, Kirby said “don’t even think about going down there, J. I mean it. You are needed here. Time for you to focus on yourself.  

Jimmy will figure things out.”  

  How could I get defensive at that? I didn’t realize he was paying attention to my life. Living with just Kirby since January was an adjustment. We both hadn’t realized how often or how much someone else was there to help us to talk to one another. I knew we would eventually adapt, but only because it was temporary – Jimmy was coming back to go to school with me. Now he wasn’t? I was really stuck with Kirby? No julienne or Jimmy to break the tension. Kirby had tried to spend “quality” time with me, over the years. After I found Jimmy and Sal in the sumps (Kirby called me a hero), Kirby was attentive. But so much went on that summer, with Rachel returning and Jimmy finding confirming he wasn’t my biological twin. I think my pregnancy disappointed him. Our time together faded. Kirby used Jimmy as our go-between and my protector. We both counted on him. Jimmy was our road map when we got lost; we went to him for direction. My twin put things in perspective better than anyone. To me, my brother always landed on his feet. I felt I never had to worry about him. Kirby was there too, steady and dependable. I guess I took them both for granted.  

  The arrest upset me. For the first time, I thought my brother was an idiot.  

He was too far from home and allowing himself to be influenced (again!) by Sal.  Did he feel he had to fit in? Did he finally give up on being my brother? Six  months without seeing him felt like a lifetime. Now I wondered if I would ever see him again. Maybe I will disappear as well to parts unknown or, go away for  college. 

It was too late for that. I had already been accepted to the local university,  scholarships were in place (my essay on being orphaned by war and suicide pulled in the big bucks) and besides, I would never do that to Kirby: leave him alone.  

  “How can I get in touch with him?” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. I  did not want to cry again. We were almost at my job.  

  “The phone is shut off. He called me from a pay phone, collect. Why don’t  you write him at his address for now? I wish he told me more, J. I really do.” Kirby seemed sympathetic.  

 

  Dear Jimmy, 

It’s weird not being able to see you or talk to you, my twin! Is that what this  is about? I wish you didn’t have to go to court alone or deal with all this shit without me. It all seems absurd. I wonder if you will ever get this? It feels like you are telling us all to “fuck off”.  

Seriously, please call. School starts soon and I am FREAKING OUT.

I have to get a car! I need you to help me pick one out!  

  I watch t.v. with Kirby at night! Help me, brother! This is my life now! All  my friends went away to college already!  

    Kirby said not to worry too. You will probably just get probation. 

  Love forever and always,   Your twin, JFK.  

  I shall conjure black and white curves 

to cajole my desire oft hid 

A decision to discover or not.

  I sit on the Ivy 

that strengthens me each day. 

Even the weeds shed kindness 

Beneath the Unknown

 

CHAPTER 27 

 

  Janny 

 

Michigan – 1984 

 

  I was in my junior year and student teaching. Kirby had numerous aches and pains and hated going to the V.A. I had to force him to take various medications. Any of my spare time was spent nursing him. He had mellowed. He was actually sweet- still demanding and “right” when he was “right” but we had grown closer. After he saw my “Mondale/Ferraro” bumper sticker, we avoided all political discussions. He had become Reagan-right.  

  After Jimmy’s court date and subsequent sentencing of 6 months probation  

(adjudication withheld), Jimmy convinced Virginia to transfer his probation to  NYC. He wanted to pursue a music career. Once he moved to New York, he fell  off the radar completely: no postcards, calls or letters. I think it was harder on  Kirby than on me. I was busy with school and work and student teaching. It was a  relief though, when the phone rang one night and it was from Jimmy. It was if a  two-year sigh was released from the stagnant energy of the house. Kirby seemed fully alive again. This time, I convinced Kirby to let me see Jimmy. Not fit for  traveling– Kirby’s knees and back were a mess, he “allowed” me (needed me) to be the one to take charge and visit Jimmy in rehab.  

  Kirby and I both suspected Jimmy had most likely “gotten hooked” on drugs in New York but we never shared that with one another. While we both we were on the phone with him, Jimmy explained his addiction was “gradual until it  wasn’t.” When first in NY, he had a downtown sublet, an apartment in a rent- controlled building. He told us he got to play with some big named bands but the lifestyle caught up to him. It was the hours, the people he hung with – “everyone  was partying pretty heavy, just like Virginia Beach. It was just…accepted and normal.” Jimmy said he wanted to celebrate completing probation and began using again. Heroin mostly, then crack. He got sick – lost his apartment, moved to the downtown YMCA then a shelter.  

  He sold his precious guitar. He had hit rock bottom. Everyone he had cared about was out of his life. Everything he held dear was reduced to cravings. He said he had done things he “never would have done.” Kirby, quiet on the other end of the phone, uttered “like in war.”  

  A priest wandered into the shelter Jimmy was staying one night. Even  though he wore a priest’s collar (which alienated Jimmy), he was “real and  relatable.” Surprising to Jimmy, Father Pat spent a great deal of time in India,  fascinated by their culture, religion and belief in reincarnation. Jimmy said this  man reached him in a way that probably saved his life. This man of the cloth  offered Jimmy a piece of himself that was missing.   

  “You feel you’ve been lacking all these years, but perhaps it’s what you’ve  been denying yourself?” suggested the priest.  

  Father Pat offered a perspective that Jimmy’s problems stemmed from  resistance. “Give yourself permission to release the demons of shame – accept the light inside and you will see your only responsibility is to uncover the truth. The  truth is pure, beautiful, whole and freeing. There is an alternative from having to run and hide from the pain and the fear and the loss and the loneliness and the  alienation.” But the first thing Jimmy had to do was get himself cleaned up.   The priest arranged a long term stay at a residential treatment center and  working farm in Michigan. After the priest pulled some strings, they flew Jimmy  out. He had been there 30 days when he was able to call. He sounded happy. The  Farm was about finding a different way.  

  Jimmy told us he missed us and told us we “were not responsible”  for his addiction nor disappearance. He apologized for worrying us, but said he  was “taking care of it.” He was allowed visitors now too. 

  Kirby arranged the flight and hotel for me. He did not want me to drive but  rented a car for me once I got there. The treatment center was out in the country.  Kirby paid for everything, although he said it seemed his Army disability checks were getting smaller. With promises of plant and cat care, Kirby gave me his blessing for my trip to the great white north to visit my twin. julienne, as usual,  came through with nightly visits of soup, bread, games of Scrabble and mostly, made sure Kirby was taking his medications.  

  Visitors were allowed on Sunday. I landed at dawn and left the Detroit  airport for the 90-minute drive to the center, expecting a concrete institution in the  middle of a field, surrounded by wires. I knew my twin. He’d have to be forced to stay anywhere that was going to tell him what he could or could not do. I’d imagine our visit would last an hour, through a piece of plexiglass or across a steel table.  

  It was a beautiful spring day. I was filled with excitement and anticipation,  the fresh smell of blossoms filling me with new life. Weed seeds floated through the blue, cloudless sky. A row of tall, regal Cypress trees lined a driveway flanked by long swaths of open land, dotted with small and large barn type structures, old and quaint. Gardens of various sizes were laid out in a quilt-like grid. Animals grazed or lazed in the mud, green fields and piles of straw.  

  At the end of driveway, there was a giant, red mailbox indicating I had  arrived at the address. There was a small table set by the road, with a poster board  saying “fresh eggs”. This really was a farm. Jimmy is working on a farm? Is this  priest a cult leader? A Quaker? A slave laborer? I spotted a huge white house with  a wraparound porch, attached by a breezeway to an equal-in-size red barn. I headed  towards the house, following the sign that read “Visitor Parking”. The parking area was a flat grassy area, each spot delineated by wooden tie beams. A couple of groups of smiling families were getting out of their cars, waving to people in the  distance. Hand-painted signs scattered throughout the lot: “take it easy”, “Let Go. Let God”, “one day at a time”, “turn it over”, “H.A.L.T.” – I held my purse tightly to my body. No cult would get me.  

  I walked across low cut grass to a marble stone path, bordered with tulips,  marigolds, and forsythias. Another amateur sign said “Office. Welcome!” Several  people passed me and smiled. When I turned the corner (the office was in the back of the white house), I noticed scattered rows of picnic tables, small trees, children playing in the huge expanse of yard. Beyond the manicured lawn was a primitive wooden fence with the butted heads of goats and donkeys, vying for attention from the visitors. The office door was just a screen door with a little shop bell above the entry. I was starting to feel less anxious.  

  Then I saw him. He was walking across one of the back fields, talking to a young girl, his hair appearing like it was on fire, a golden arch across his head. The  girl was laughing. He was wearing ratty jeans, tucked into partially, laced work boots coated in mud. He had on a t-shirt which accented his nicely, sculpted chest.  

Even if it was my brother, I noticed. The low morning sun followed them.  

  “May I help you?” a voice from inside the office said.  

  I turned from looking at Jimmy and the screen door gently closed behind  me. I noticed I let in a giant horse fly when I was standing there holding the door  open. A large, older black woman with the most infectious smile I had ever seen,  was retrieving a clipboard as she spoke. I wanted to bolt out the door and run to  Jimmy.  

  “Yes! I am here to see…him” as I pointed out the door. “James Kapinsky? I  am his sister, Janice?”  

  “Of course! James talks about you often.” (He does?) “Here is a brochure, a  map of the area, a schedule of events for the day, and if you can, just sign here. I  will call in James. You may wait outside, if you’d like. As you said, he’s on his  way.” She spoke into the giant microphone on her desk, announcing on the P.A.:  

“James K to visiting area, please.”  

  As I thanked her, she reminded me lunch was in two hours, but I was  welcome to fresh beverages located by the dining room. James could show me.  My heart was pumping fast. My arm pits were damp. I had mistakenly worn a  sweater with a tank top underneath, thinking it would be cooler outside. I needed to  take off the sweater but then my arm flab would show. I remained warm.   Jimmy saw me right away when I stepped down from the office entry. His  face lit up. I am sure, mine matched his. He walked towards me with his long  strides. I started to run towards him. I was sweaty and now, out of breath too.  

  “You came! There you are. Here you are. You look wonderful!” he lied. I  was panting, and my frizzy hair matted to my sweaty forehead. He gave me a huge hug, once again, feeling like the protector. The part of me that had been missing was back.  

  Jimmy introduced me to his friend, a resident who had been at the Farm for 8 months, sober, helping Jimmy with some transitioning.  

  “He’s mostly with male sponsors, don’t worry.” she laughed.  

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it was her way to say she wasn’t his  girlfriend? I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Maybe we were both single now. I  didn’t have time to date anyone. Besides, the boys at my college were idiots.  

  “Have a wonderful day together” and the pretty, wispy, not-Jimmy’s- girlfriend, left.  

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the burden I had taken on: school,

work, Kirby, the house, the constant worry about my brother’s well-being. Jimmy’s hug mended the two years we were apart; two years I felt like an orphan. In the past, we experienced the same things at the same time. His disappearance was part of who I became – easily stepping into the role of sad-loss-girl. It defined my entire life. We had separate lives now. I needed to accept that, learn to validate myself, and let go of wanting to fix him. I wasn’t sure how to be me without being defined by my twin. Is that what Jimmy is being offered here, a different way of life?  

  Jimmy took my hand. We walked to a back building, the community dining room, which was a modern, rectangular aluminum structure with concrete floors. They held fairs, auctions and large meetings here. We each got a pop from one of  the coolers, two root beers. Jimmy seemed to know everyone we passed; greeting them all with a smile and hello. Past the community building was where the fields met at a point. Low scrub then massive pines formed a natural boundary where the fields and meadows ended. We walked into the forest along the fire road.  

  Jimmy explained the program: daily group and individual sessions, daily AA and NA meetings (sometimes off the property), the farm responsibilities which  included cooking, cleaning and other chores, plus animal care, harvesting, planting and weeding. I was curious about any religious aspect to it but he said it was secular. GOD was mentioned at meetings, in the 12 steps, in the Big Book (the AA  bible), but Jimmy said that GOD could be “any higher power.” He told me he believed in God, but not anything that was shoved down anyone’s throat. He didn’t buy the devil or heaven story but felt God had stepped in to his life, in many forms, in many ways, to offer him a better way. He added he was “no holy roller.” If one made it through the first 30 days at the farm, your chances were good  you would stay, Jimmy said. No one was forced to stay. It was voluntary and free.  

           The Farm subsisted on grants, town and business donations, loyal alumni donations, and sold vegetables, animals, eggs, honey (the hives were further back) and grew hay for other local farms. Jimmy said the Farm saved his life. He knew he had far to go, but wasn’t afraid to face darkness anymore. He laughed, corrected himself and said “no, that’s bull. I am ALWAYS afraid!” I had witnessed this raw honesty and vulnerability from Jimmy just two times: once in the sumps, not  knowing if a friend’s seizure meant he was dying and the other time, when he was having flashbacks to momma’s suicide. This time, the fear was gone and replaced with hope. Hold on. Pain ends.  

  Jimmy said the meetings, the talking, the listening, the writing, the reading,  the meditation, the work in the fields and the fellowship replaced all and any  cravings he had the first 30 days. More privileges would be given to him the longer  he stayed: participated, followed the rules (no fraternization) and went “through  the steps.” The average stay at the Farm was 6-9 months, at which point you  moved to town, into a halfway “transition” house, learning how to live and work  with a small group of people in a normal, sober environment. For some, it was the  first time they budgeted, had relationships, negotiated life, celebrated holidays, mourned death – without drugs and alcohol. It was another way to live. Jimmy’s life depended on it, as I learned during a group family meeting that day. Jimmy  shared his “first step”, which was his powerlessness to drugs and how he got to this point. In another family session with a psychologist and Father Pat, we learned as family members when and how to separate; how our loved one’s addiction was our disease too. We were taught how we participated in their illness (codependence) and how to participate in their recovery (healing). I wasn’t sure how this would fly with Kirby, but I found it comforting.  

  Father Pat told me that “blame and shame game” had effected  

Jimmy (they called him James here) in unimaginable ways. Once this was thrust on him as a child, no other options were available. The negative emotions become the comfort zone. The pain, then running from the pain is S.O.P.- standard operating procedure. Kirby and my mother unknowingly, passed this to us. Their secrets became our shame. Jimmy feared if he allowed himself to stop blaming himself, he would have nothing left of our mother. He told me it was not our burden to carry any longer. We had to let it go. “We’re only as sick as our secrets.”  

  The day was magical. I went back to Detroit then flew home to Ohio  renewed and revived. When Jimmy flew home to spend Christmas with us, it got  even better. He took us (including Kirby) to open meetings and we listened to his  plans to go to Africa next year, helping Father Pat, his savior, to build homes and  deliver vaccinations to children. It would be a long nine years before we saw Jimmy after that, but I knew in my twin heart, I never had to worry about him again.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  CHAPTER 28 

 

  Janny 

 

Ohio – 1993 

 

  I actually gasp when I see my brother walk into the hotel restaurant. I am  seated in the back, on a round cushioned bench, facing the front. He takes my  breath away. My stunning twin, his long blonde hair contrasting my (now short) jet black hair, still untamable, pouring out from under a knit cap julienne had made. He was still Yin to my Yang. He sees me and grins. He sits across from me and hands me a box.  

  “Happy Birthday, Sis,” he says as he reaches over to kiss my cheek. I clumsily move around the table to stand up and give him a hug. I did not want to let go.  

  “It’s so good to finally see you.” I say.  

  He holds me tightly. I am the first one to let go. A chill goes up my spine  and all the hairs on my arm become stiff. He is home and familiar and years of not having him in my life wash over me. A wave of anger submerges the happiness of  seeing him. It shocks me – what was I angry about? A fierce blow, remembering what it felt like as a kid, when you realize not everyone was your friend?  

  “It’s been…awhile,” he says to break the silence as we both sit down.  

“Aren’t you going to open your present?”  

  “Why has it been so long?” I try to make the question seem light. I was not expecting to get an answer, at least one I could accept. 

  He looks at me in a quizzical manner, like a dog tilting its head to better hear a sound.  

“We talk, sis. You know I had some things to get through, on my  own…travelling, then I met Beth? The rest, as they say, is history.” His eyes still  shone and his smile floored me. He was humble about his achievements even while  being scolded by his sister.  

  I asked a few obligatory questions about Beth, the wonderful woman he met and married in Africa. Both of them had moved back to the states a year ago and were now running a music center for impoverished and homeless kids in NYC. with funds Father Pat was able to procure. Kirby and I had never met Beth, but we received many pictures, holiday cards and small gifts over the past 6 or so years. I nodded with approval, then went in for the kill. 

  “Why weren’t you here for Kirby, I mean?”  How quickly my anger comes out.  

  “I know. I failed him.” Jimmy isn’t shocked or hurt by my question. “Too  many times, I suppose.” Jimmy learned platitudes in recovery, I thought.  

  The tension built rapidly.  

  “Is this always about you blaming yourself for something?” I ask. 

  “You just accused me of abandoning our step-father! Not being there for you! How should I respond?” His voice raised.  

  “I didn’t say you weren’t there for me. But you’re right. You weren’t.”  I could be just as stubborn as my brother.  

“Well, anyway, Happy Birthday to you too.”  

  The waiter came by and we ordered salads and sparkling water. Both our  jaws were locked. We both had the same twin habit of gritting our teeth during  confrontations.  

  “Okay. Can we start again?” said my brother, the peacemaker.  

  I am sorry this time. I open the package Jimmy had given me. I am flooded with forgiveness as the quiet snow falls inside this glass dome. The tip of the greenish cactus now dissolves beneath a glittery fake blizzard, the miniature truck and cabin lost in a wintry desert scene.  

  I don’t have a present for Jimmy. It didn’t occur to me. Who had time for  birthday celebrations, even if this was our “big 3.0.”? I knew, realistically and  intellectually, Jimmy was out of the country when Kirby had his stroke. I know he talked to julienne and the VA staff on a regular basis. I know he sent money for Kirby’s rehab. I know he had a solid sobriety and recovery. I know he had shared his gift of compassion with the world. I know he had helped many lost souls. I knew the difference between the finality of death versus being just separated by space from a loved one. I wasn’t abandoned by him. He was here for me. For us. Now. I will breathe and accept this gift from him. Julienne would’ve been proud of me – momma too.  

  Jimmy and I shared a lifetime together, then it ended. We were separate  now: by distance, by relationships, by happenstance. We shared a childhood, both on the same path, both affected by the same events, yet both on a unique journey with different dreams and demons. Jimmy’s life began with a lie, but so had mine. I was told I had a twin. I was lied to as well. No one ever acknowledged that.   

  My life involved taking care of the man who raised us. Becoming a special education teacher, living in the home we once all shared, I felt I was now being  selfish with my anger. All I ever wanted, I realized, was to have Jimmy never leave my life. My fear was losing him. He owed none of us anything – he was lied to about his biology, yet felt it was his job to take care of momma, keep her alive. He absorbed her depression. I assumed one day, he would be gone too.  

  At one of the farm meetings, Jimmy had said “keeping my mother alive?  

That was for me. I knew losing her would be to lose my only link to my past.”   It didn’t surprise me I wasn’t his link. It hurt a little at first. He explained it  was a “six-year old’s musings” so was not necessarily rational. He assured me, “we are twins in all the ways that matter.”  

  “My biggest regret, Janny, was not contacting you in the hospital when you had your hysterectomy.” I remembered how mad Kirby was, but that was Kirby’s way of dealing with his helplessness. I told Kirby I had felt damaged.  

  “Sis, we had our share of trauma. If you’re meant to be a mom, a child will  present itself. I never cared about the biology part…of me, ya’ know? I mean, I got a mom, and a dad, and I was loved. And, I got stuck with you!” he said tenderly.  

“It killed me to know you felt like damaged goods.” 

  “Even if you had known everything, Jimmy, and I mean everything, would it  have changed anything?” I was giving him permission to let go.  

  Daddy’s death, momma’s suicide then not feeling like you ever belonged,  that’s how Jimmy described his emptiness and why he needed a sabbatical from us. I was his constant reminder of this false reality. It took him this long in his  recovery to recognize what did NOT define him. He had defined himself by his  losses, secrets and blame. External combat always translates to internal wars; one learns to separate parts of the self to survive. He didn’t want to turn into Kirby. It  never mattered to me. He was my brother. Kirby and I were his family. Besides, I  was still battling.   

  We left the restaurant, on our birthday, in great spirits. It was if all the time  and past hurts melted away by the time the salads came. I tried to prepare Jimmy  for Kirby’s condition, but it was still a shock for him when we arrived at the VA  hospital. I felt for him, to see Kirby after all these years; to see this once strapping, strong man who carried Jimmy around like a football whither to this  unrecognizable ghost in a hospital gown. Kirby did not respond to Jimmy’s  presence at all. Jimmy said it’s good he wasn’t aware of the tubes and machines  and beeps and needles. 

The sadness remained in Jimmy’s voice once he got back to New York.  We spoke on the phone nightly. I was the one telling him to remain hopeful. Kirby was making progress, the doctors said. By spring, our hopes were realized.  

 

Jimmy came back to Ohio the following spring with Beth, to help get Kirby set up in the house. We turned the garage into a bedroom/physical therapy space so Kirby wouldn’t have any stairs to climb. Jimmy and Beth paid for a full time nurse. Kirby was speaking again, a few words at a time. Ironically, the stroke made his face seem more animated. Every joy, smile, tear, emotion – registered on that  grizzly, once handsome face.   

  Julienne had made a big deal out of my book of poems being published. She  had a small party for us at her house while Jimmy was still in town, surrounded by her children. She had met a wonderful man at her food co-op many years ago. He even understood she considered Jimmy and I to be her children too. Now, Beth was part of this brood, just as julienne and her family had accepted Rachel and me, once we reconnected after I graduated college and began teaching and writing.  

Rachel was my forever life partner.  

   

  The life we come from is not the life we created. Individuals get broken and some can be healed with self-awareness, change and time. We lose some along the way but they are not ours to hold on to forever. Our lives are intertwined, if only for a brief moment, as fragile and faltering as a butterfly’s wings. We continue to  reach out our arms and hearts to all that wander onto our path. Sometimes, we have  to release them. The love we feel or give is undiminished but tested constantly. Nothing prepares us for the pain of losing someone, as we fight to prevent what we  can: not send young men to war; provide the lost with reasons and means to  continue.  

My mother was abandoned by her young husband, Kirby was abandoned by  his wife and country, and Jimmy and I were abandoned by our parents. The  creation of our new family brought me the courage to see me for who I was – a  stumbling individual who needed love and forgiveness for letting my mother  down. I was the one to let her down. I shook the dome, and everything disappeared for a while. But just for a little while.  

 

  When julienne, Rachel and I flew to New York the next winter, Jimmy and I got to celebrate a miraculous birthday, including skating at Rockefeller plaza and seeing the Christmas Tree. We met the infants: my identical twin nephews, the color of an African sunset – Beth’s face, Jimmy’s eyes (and my hair). Their names were Jabari (fearless/brave) & Jaden (“God has heard”). One of the presents I gave them was a silver baby rattle belonging to our dad, sent by our dear Aunt Esther after Uncle Daniel had passed. The twins now had a connection to their grandfather who died in Vietnam over 30 years ago.  

My present to Jimmy was something Mrs. Latchett had given to me when  we were in Arizona, the day Jimmy had his “breakdown” (I never told anyone  about that, not Rachel, not julienne, not Kirby). It was a poem momma had written when we were four. Mrs. Latchett rescued it from the trash bins, after we moved out. She figured the new renters (or Kirby) were throwing out our old memories. Jimmy treasured it, cried (this was becoming a habit with him) and thanked me for  his life. I didn’t ask how I gave him life. I think I knew. That was good enough for  me.  

 

All of us, this designated clan of happenstance, were at the JFK airport  terminal together on Christmas Eve, to welcome our newly adopted 8-month-old daughter from Cambodia. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Beth had a niece, the new twins had a cousin, Kirby and julienne were once again, grandparents, and Rachel and I were mommas. We created a family from love.

 

I knew what mattered after all. 

 

 

 

 

“Shed tears for me while I am growing old Cry tears over me while my body grows cold 

 

Shed your tears if you need, if you must But to grieve over me will cause your heart unjust 

 

Life is a breath 

Death is no more 

Carry on my Love Like I was before. 

 

When I loved, I gave you Joy 

This you remember,  My dear sweet boy. the time has come for me to go if you are sullen the light will never show. 

 

Hold tight to our memories 

Moments of the past 

This is what continues 

Is truly, what will last 

 

The life of two hearts intertwined as one 

Yours is alone now 

But the story is never done. 

 

Don’t let my death stain you 

Keep you in your tracks 

Once the moment passes 

You can never step back. “ 

 

– Claire Kapinsky, 1967  

 

51,948  8.27.16 

52,177 9.13.16 draft #3  

 

52168 words 235 pages

DRAFT 7- complete 4/5/18