Ellen Hopkins - Identical

Identical Ellen Hopkins Raeanne Mirror, Mirror When I look into a mirror, it is her face I see. Her right is my left, double moles, dimple and all. My right is her left, unblemished. ** We are exact opposites, opposites Kaeleigh and me. Mirror-image identical twins. ** On the outside we are the same. ** On the outside we are the same.

But not inside. I think she is the egg, so much like our mother it makes me want to sere Cold. Controlled. That makes me the sperm, I guess. I take completely after our father. All Daddy, that's me.

Codependent. Cowardly. ** Good, bad. Left, right. Kaeleigh and Raeanne. One egg, one sperm.

One being, split in two. And how many souls? Interesting Question Don't you think? I mean, if the Supreme Being inserts a single soul at the moment of conception, does that essence divide itself? Does each half then strive to become whole again, like a starfish or an earthworm? ** Or might the soul clone itself, create a perfect imitation of something yet to be defined? In this way, can a reflection be altered? ** Or does the Maker, in fact, choose to place two separate souls within a single cell, to spark the skirmish that ultimately causes such an unlikely rift? ** Do twins begin in the womb? Or in a better place? One Soul or Two We live in a smug California valley. Rolling ranch land, surrounded by shrugs of oak-jeweled hills. Green for two brilliant months sometime around spring, burnt-toast brown the rest of the year. ** Just over an unremarkable mountain stretches the endless Pacific. Mornings here come wrapped in droops of gray mist.

Most days it burns off by noon. Other days it just hangs on and on. Smothers like a wet blanket. ** Three towns triangulate the valley, three corners, each with a unique flavor: weathered Old West; antiques and wine tasting; just-off-the-freeway boring. ** Smack in the center is the town where we live, and it is the most unique of all, with its windmills and cobbled sidewalks, designed to carry tourists to Denmark. Denmark, California-style.

The houses line smooth black streets, prim rows of postcard-pretty dwellings, coiffed and manicured from curb to chimney. Like Kaeleigh and me, they're perfect on the outside. But behind the Norman Rockwell facades, each holds its secrets. ** Like Kaeleigh's and mine, some are dark. Untellable. Practically unbelievable.

But Telling Isn't an option. If you tell a secret about someone you don't really know other people might listen, but decide you're making it up. Even if you happen to know for a fact it's true. If you tell a secret about a friend, other people want to hear all of it, prologue to epilogue. But then they think you're totally messed up for telling it in the first place. They think they can't trust you.

And hey, they probably can't. Once a nark, always a nark, you know? Kaeleigh I Wish I Could Tell But to whom could I possibly confess a secret, any secret? Not to my mom, who's never around. A time or two, I've begged her to listen, to give me just a few precious minutes between campaign swings. Of course it's true the wrong secret could take her down, but you'd think she'd want to hear it. I mean, what if she had to defend it? Really, you'd think she'd want to be forewarned, in case the International Inquisitor got hold of it. Does she think this family has no secrets? The clues are everywhere, whether or not she wants to know.

There's Daddy Who comes home every day, dives straight into a tall amber bottle, falls into a stone- walled well of silence, a place where he can tread the suffocating loneliness. On the surface, he's a proud man. But just beneath his not- so-thick skin, is a broken soul. In his courtroom, he's a tough but evenhanded jurist, respected if not particularly well liked. At home, he doesn't try to disguise his bad habits, has no friends, a tattered family. A part of me despises him, what he's done.

What he continues to do. Another part pities him and will always be his little girl, his devoted, copper-haired daughter. His unfolding flower. But enough about Daddy, who most definitely has plenty of secrets. Secrets Mom should want to know about. Secrets I should tell, but instead tuck away.

Because if I tell on him, I'd have to... Tell on Me How I'm a total wreck. Afraid to let anyone near. Afraid they'll see the real me, not Kaeleigh at all. ** I do have friends, but they don't know me, only someone I've created to take my place. ** I keep the melted me bottled up inside. ** I keep the melted me bottled up inside.

Where no one can touch until, unbidden, she comes pouring out. ** She puddles then, upon fear-trodden ground. I am always afraid, and I am vague about why. My life isn't so awful. Is it? We Live in a Fine Home With lots of beautiful stuff-- fine leather sofas and oiled ** teak tables and expensive artwork on walls and shelves. ** Of course, someone used to such things might wonder ** why there are no family photos anywhere.

It's almost ** like we're afraid of ourselves. And maybe we are, and not ** only ourselves, but whatever history created us. There are no ** albums, with pictures of graying grandparents, or pony rides ** (never done one of those) or memorable Gardella family parties. ** (The Gardellas don't do parties, not even on holidays.) ** No first communions or christening gowns. (We don't do church, either.) Of course, no one ever comes over, so no one has ever wondered ** about these things, unless it's our housekeeper, Manuela. Have to have ** one of those, since Mom's never home and Daddy often works late, and even ** if he didn't, he wouldn't clean house or go to the grocery store.

Normal ** parents do those things, right? I'm not sure what normal is or isn't. But it Really Doesn't matter. Normal is what's normal for me. I've got nice clothes, ** nicer than most. Pricey things that other girls would kill for, or shoplift, if they ** could get away with it. I have a room of my own, decorated to my taste ** (okay, with a lot of Daddy's input) and most of the time when I'm home, I hang out in ** there, alone.

Listen to music. Read. Do my homework. What more could a girl ask ** for, right? I mean, my life really isn't so bad. Is it? I Clearly Recall Once upon a time, long ago, when everything was different. Mom ** and Daddy were in love, at least it sure looked that way to Raeanne ** and me.

How we used to giggle at them, kissing and holding hands. ** I remember how they used to joke about their names. Ray[mond] and Kay ** How fate must have been a bad poet and wrote them into a poem together. ** Then Raeanne or I would beg them to tell--just one more time-- the story of how they met. Mom Always Started I was in college. UC Santa Barbara, best university in California.

I had this really awful boyfriend. ** I thought we'd run away and live happily ever after. Thank God he got arrested. ** Then Daddy would humph and haw and take over. So there he was, in my court- ** room, with a despicable public defender failing to come up with an even ** halfway decent excuse for why his client was driving drunk. In one ear, out ** the other.

I'd heard it all before, and anyway, the only thing I could think about was this creep's gorgeous girl, sitting front and center, hoping I'd go easy on him. And Mom would interrupt. Actually, I only hoped that until I took a good, long look ** at your father. Then I kind of hoped he'd lock up my boyfriend for a long time. ** Then we'd laugh and my parents would kiss and all was perfect in our little world. But That Was Before Daddy fractured our world, tilted it off its axis, sent it ** careening out of control.

That was before the day ** his own impairment made him overcorrect, jerk ** the Mercedes onto unpaved shoulder, then back ** across two lanes of traffic, and over the double yellow ** lines, head-on into traffic. That was before the one-ton ** truck sliced the passenger side wide open. That was ** before premature death, battered bodies, and scars no plastic ** surgeon could ever repair. Yes, that was before. Afterward Mom didn't love Daddy anymore, though he stayed by her side until she healed, begging forgiveness, promising to somehow make everything right. ** In fact, since the accident, Mom doesn't love anyone.