Evelyn and I

I never talk to people who look at me like that, this afternoon I struck up a conversation only because things are about to change. — Ok- I said — Evelyn and I are Siamese, joined by the pelvis. See? Here — I pointed out — where you people have your navel.

He rolled his eyes, crushed the umbrella handle, scraped the gravel with his heel like a cat that has just peed in its box. He sat on our bench by chance, he didn’t see us right away and now he doesn’t know where to look anymore. He tries to leave but I grab him by the sleeve of his raincoat. — Hey, mister! Yesterday was our birthday, fifteen! — I inform him.

Evelyn is sleeping on my Will Coyote shirt. She fell asleep as soon as we got to the park. She is tired, it must be the emotion. From her oilskin that shelters us both, only a little hair and an earring with a coral pendant peek out.

- It was a really great party!- I continue just for the sake of seeing him blush — Dad said to me: Rosemary, tomorrow I’ll buy you a moped just for you, what color do you want? Blue, dad, buy me blue. Evelyn asked for a red one.

- Well, ok, congratulations.

- Because, you see, sir, tomorrow they separate us. Look, here, where my sister sleeps, they cut us in half. — I hoisted myself up on my elbow and lift the oilskin to show him the exact spot. I’ve learned to move without waking Evelyn. We always fell asleep like this, face to face, breathing in our mouths. Sometimes she kicks, throws down the sheet, she discovers us. I don’t know what it’s like to get up and go drink in the kitchen and leave Evelyn in bed. If I gotta pee, I hold it, so as not to wake her up. But starting from tomorrow I’ll steal the ice cream without her ratting out and go first to the window when Richie Lawrence comes by, who we both like. I will also drive the moped, by myself. You know that sucks.

Evelyn moves, blows through her lungs, unties her legs from mine. I pull up the oilskin to cover her, since the wind has picked up and it is sweeping the leaves. Meanwhile I think of the scalpel that rummages through our guts and decides for us: this is Evelyn’s and this is Rosemary’s.

- Well — he repeats — then, best wishes.

- Not right! They will pick at random. What do you think?

He is uncomfortable; he looks at the cape with the two heads and then at his shoes. — No — he says — no, I don’t think so, why should they?

- Yes, but.

Something of mine, I think, will remain down there, prisoner and far away. Does he know, does my father know, do the others know, perhaps, that when Richie Lawrence passes by, Evelyn’s belly goes glu glu? I do. I know it, I feel it, every time. Or is it my belly? And is love like this?

I feel Evelyn’s chin moisten my neck, the warm smell of her armpits, the tickle of brown locks, identical to mine, shaken by the wind.

I show him a photo in the newspaper. — Look, sir! Look at that stuff!

Here we are at our awsome party, with two blue fairy hats on our heads and two slices of pink cake.

NEW MIRACLE OF SCIENCE THE TWINS OF THE 22nd DIVIDED ON FRIDAY

What a fucking miracle, the miracle is already there.

They don’t know it’s a blast for me to be like this with Evelyn! We are one and all the others are two, three, four, one thousand, one hundred thousand! Divided, alone in the world. Disgusting. Just the idea terrifies me. I thought it would last forever, the two of us stuck like this! Instead, what a rip off! I’ll even have to die alone one day, and I’ll be terrified.

Evelyn opens her eyes and yawns, I look at the clock. — It’s late — I say -night, sir! Come on, Evelyn.

He gets up. — Good night.

He takes the umbrella and runs away, alone.

The two of us retreat, embracing, sliding on all fours, towards the house, towards our parents who are expecting two daughters, not one.