Love Stories
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The Twins

Prologue:


We had rented nine movies. That's right: nine movies -- and we were prepared. Eight teenage girls, three dogs, endless chocolate, popcorn, sodas. My sister and I had been inviting people for a week, bouncing the phone over to our mother to grant parental assurances to the uninitiated. When you're twins, of course your parties have to be twice as good.
Bliss and I were fifteen, and we were the cream of the crop. Not as pretty as the others, never rich, but crazy with intelligence. We guarded the privilege of hurting one another jealously. Together we were formidable, unstoppable.

We watched everything. We ate like pigs, and fell into giggle fits. We cranked the air conditioning to money-burning-cold. By three in the morning, it was, as usual, just me and Bliss. Teenage bodies were tumbled like vegetables in a bin, draped on furniture and on the floor. The dog picked his way through the slack limbs and the snores. I groggily ceded control of the clicker. Bliss and I both knew I would be the one to fall next.

And I did fall.

The next morning, Stephanie's younger sister was tossing her hair and talking about some boy named Ian. Ian who had never had a girlfriend. Ian who wanted her. She smiled a studious smile as she tied her shoe, her hair falling over her face. Everyone else smirked over her -- this girl was an airhead.

Leaping, Falling:
Little Rock is filled with the crisp air that promises fall. It's Charlotte's Web at the Children's Theatre, and Bliss and I are ushers. We're pets, allowed to wander in and out of the backstage cloister. We had the choice usher roles.

It's opening night, so there were three people per entry. Two for tickets, and one to search for empty seats. We worked with a boy named Ian.

Ian had a pretty face. He giggled. He reminds me, even now, of fun with a big, wide ribbon on top.

Bliss and I were old hands at the drill of opening night. We bantered with the patrons who paid, and with the parents whose tickets we knew were comped. We didn't fight each other over strange, petty things.

Quite the contrary: Ian, Bliss, and I were a team. He was the first person we had let into our wary alliance with one another. The three of us during the lulls developed an involved piece of slapstick involving mimes. We were testing the waters of a shared friendship.

Everyone seated, Bliss, Ian, and I huddled conspiratorially against the wall of the house. There were no seats, but sitting on the floor made us that much more special. Ian was in the middle. We whispered under the dialog, leaning in.

After Charlotte abandoned the pig to his wisdom, we cleared and cleaned the house. Everyone was in the lobby. We were free to be silly and loud, and we called back and forth to one another as we went through the systematic drudgery of rescuing the programs from under the seats.

Duties done, we raced about the lobby and into the courtyards. This was the closest we came to unsupervised freedom then, the absentminded license of theatre-brats. Ian, Bliss, and I, having perfected our jokes pranced about demonstrating them.

"Everything was quiet in the park, but"

"when the guy went through"

"he almost went crazy. He was"

"in a MIME FIELD."

This last all together. We didn't even notice how smoothly we shared the joke. We all held hands, with Ian again in the middle. When we ran out of mime jokes, we settled on a simple Leap of Joy.

Bliss had wandered off in search of a bathroom without a line. Ian was talking to a mutual friend. I didn't realize we were still holding hands until I leaned over to tie my shoe. Another friend whispered into my temple, "So, what's the deal?"

My hair fell over my face. I smiled behind it. My skin felt strange. I stood up again suddenly, and felt my blood cannonball through my gut. "There's no deal."

Bliss and Ian appeared. We pressed a group of people into a single, discombobulated Leap of Joy and dissolved into fits.

The next day there was a festival downtown. It was Bliss' idea that we go. It was her idea that we invite Ian.

Autumn or no, without the benefit of starlight, Little Rock was hot. Downtown was still boring. We still held hands, all three of us, but the air tasted wrong in my mouth. When Bliss came back from getting a tee shirt, Ian and I were giggling over something. His hand remained in mine, and she held her shirt.

We tried a Leap of Joy, but it fizzled.

My twin and I, we are of a pragmatic stock. We could be earthbound. It was hot out, but we were free of our parents. We continued our wandering from stall to stall.

When Bliss returned from her next errand, Ian and I were fizzy and silly again. We had just kissed, and we were again oblivious to the sheer ordinariness of being teenagers. Ian did a little Hop of Joy and put his arm around me. I got a small lesson in the pleasantness of animal warmth.

Bliss left to call for a ride home.

I didn't find out until long after Ian and I were no longer an item, boyfriends later, after Bliss and Ian had dated one another and broken up and done it again, until I had finished most of college.

That first weekend of shared friendship, Ian and I leaped, but Bliss fell too.

 

 

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Caught by His Dad
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I was very young
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