I walked into my sister's bedroom the other day and found her laying down, arms wrapped around her upper body, hands tapping against her shoulders. Back and forth, left then right, they tapped out a quiet rhythm. I interrupted what could only have been a meditative state with "What the hell are you doing?" She sat up and flipped her hair back, looking at me as if I'd asked an obvious question. "Connecting my emotional and rational brain," she answered. I nodded, because I understood. I immediately sensed that hugging yourself and giving your moments of panic and fear a back and forth, left and right direction could calm you down. And if sissy said her tapping hands connected parts of her brain, then I wasn't going to argue with her. I sat down on the bed and tapped my fingers against opposite sides of my head, seeking the solace my sister convinced me existed.
Sometimes I do argue with my sister. Sometimes she cannot convince me that what she knows is true. For example, she'll look at me and say, "You know I'm prettier." Dead pan and straight-faced she plays the arrogant, self-absorbed younger sister role so well that I'm usually laughing too hard to respond with an equally biting phrase. Despite my failed comeback, I inform her that I am unconvinced of her argument. And despite our constant joking, at times we find ourselves actually fighting, engaged in vicious word battles.
These battles started when my younger sister started doing things and trying things and thinking things before I did. Even when she liked guacamole before I'd had a chance to warm up to it I told her, completely seriously, "You can't do that." When she asked why, I only had one answer: "Because I'm supposed to do it first." As we've grown up we've had more and more opportunities to be different, to do things differently. I find myself saying "you can't do that," and justifying it with "because I never would."
Which brings me back to that day, sitting on the end of the bed, "tapping it out." I sat there partly because I wanted to see if the stuff your therapist says actually works - it does - and partly because I wanted to connect with my sister. I thought that maybe if we tapped in sync, all those firsts she had could become mine as well. I thought that maybe our differences and our angry words could go left, then right, then disappear forever. I worry of course about myself and about all the things which affect me: my grades, my dirty room, my diet and exercise routine. Mine, mine, mine. But I worry most of all about what can still be ours, as we grow older and more solidly individual.
There's a kind of pressure to reflect in the waning days of a particular year. My sister would tell you that this makes her nervous. She and I cannot watch certain movies or TV shows because they make us nervous. We don't like to grocery shop, enter malls or shop in general for this very reason. We've probably needed serious therapy sessions since the age of 5. We're so similar in our peculiarities. And yet, I'll break away for a second to reflect on that day when we sat on her bed, on that night when we yelled and yelled then curled up together to feel safe, on those moments when no one else knew what we could possibly mean. I'll break away from my sister and do one of the many things on her publicly posted "hate list." And she'll break away from me to do something fun, exhilarating and irresponsible that I would never do.
My sister's sitting next to me right now, telling me that she would like to apologize. "For what?" I ask, complying with what I know will be a joke. "How long and beautiful my hair is," she says as straight-faced as ever, flipping her long strands in my face then twirling her chair around until she's again facing the book in front of her. I would like to apologize, I think, for not sitting on the bed next to my sister as often as I should. I would like to apologize for having a boyfriend when she doesn't, for yelling at her when I shouldn't, for thinking about my future before I think about ours. Instead I kick my shoes off and place them on her notebook and we look at ourselves in the reflexive glass windows and laugh.
"The future!" everyone cries when the ball drops on New Year's Eve, when final grades are submitted, when graduation caps fill the air. It is implied that my future is my sister's. Which is why when she asked me what my final column would be about I decided not to create something new, but to re-write something I knew so well.
A boy we'd never met looked at us this weekend and said: "Identical twins. That's very cool." We didn't get each other's names but his words rang in my ears and I found my own voice echoing them: "A sister. That's very cool." If you're like me, you're probably wondering, "What the hell is an identical twin?" I guess she's someone who, if you complement her motions, will lean left then right, back then forth, balancing your existence. She's worth reflecting on even if looking back and thinking forward makes her close her eyes and plug her ears. I guess she's worthy of a final column in the waning days of a particular year.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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