FROM THE DORM WINDOW, she watched the orange taxi pull up in front of the administration building. Her mother and father got out. The Dean of Students walked swiftly down his wide stone steps, hand extended to shake theirs, as if congratulating them on the death of a twin. Everybody nodded heads up and down and then shook heads back and forth: a strange head-dance upon the mysteries of death.
Her parents were frail black outlines against the harsh glitter of snowbanks. Clinging to each other, they followed the Dean into his office. From the Dean, they would learn the details of the accident, be told exactly how their daughter died, exactly what arrangements had been made.
“Now, Madrigal,” said Bianca, “be brave for your parents. They’re going to need you.”
“At least they have you,” said Mindy. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a daughter, but then again, Mary Lee must have been the daughter they didn’t much — ”
“Mindy!” said Bianca. “Ssssshhh.”
“I just meant that when you send one twin to boarding school and keep the other one at home with you, it could mean that — ”
“Mindy!” said Bianca. “Shut up.”
But it’s true, thought Mary Lee. It was Mary Lee they disposed of. Now they just have to dispose of her again.
She began shivering, waves of cold passing through her and over her, as if she were sea water, going through a tide. Bianca yanked a blanket off her bed and wrapped her in it. “Poor Maddy,” whispered Bianca. “Be brave.”
I could have been friends with this nice girl, thought Mary Lee, and I didn’t try. I wanted to be an Event without trying.
MreeLee, you be Madrigal.
What did that mean?
She knew, because her sister had been sane, that Madrigal had not meant to die; had not meant that her twin should actually step into her life. But the opportunity was here. Perhaps the need was here. What if her parents really did need Madrigal … and did not need, and did not want, Mary Lee?
For one terrible sick moment, Mary Lee actually considered going on with the pretense that she was Madrigal.
For one terrible sick moment, Mary Lee saw herself in Madrigal’s life: at home, popular, dating Jon Pear, the only daughter, the light of her parents’ world.
How much better that life would be than the one she had now! How much more fun and exciting! How much more —
Mary Lee buried her face in the blanket. She had learned a great deal during this hard year. She knew more about who she was, and who she wanted to be. Throw that away? Be somebody else?
But of course, it was only halfway somebody else. Mary Lee was, even with death between them, an overlapping fraction with her identical twin.
She dropped the blanket and looked into the large three-way mirror that stood on top of Mindy’s desk. Mindy never studied at her desk. She studied lying on her bed. The desk was for makeup.
The girl who looked back at Mary Lee, eyes swollen from weeping, looked — of course — exactly like Madrigal. Nobody would ever know if …
Nonsense. Mother gave birth to me. She will know! I’m her baby, her daughter, her firstborn, in fact, because I came twenty-four minutes before Madrigal.
Across the campus, the door to the administration building opened, and Mother, Father, and the Dean emerged. Slowly, tiredly, whipped by grief and shock, her parents made their way after the Dean toward the dormitory and their remaining daughter.
But what do I do, if she doesn’t know? What if my own mother comes to hug me and cannot tell which twin I am? What if I have to introduce myself? Hi, Mother, I’m Mary Lee.
MreeLee, you be Madrigal.
She tried to think of the essential morality of it. Was it amoral to shift into another person’s life and clothes, name and world? Was it what Madrigal would have wanted? Was it what Mother and Father would want?
She tried to imagine taking on Madrigal’s life.
Another loophole came to mind. The boyfriend!
Of course, Jon Pear would know. Whereas she wouldn’t even recognize Jon Pear! In a heartbeat, he’d be able to tell that she had no memories of their dates; that those lips might look the same as the ones he had kissed, but these lips had never kissed a boy ever, let alone him.
She tried to visualize Jon Pear, but could think only of Scarlett’s brother, Van. Immediately, she missed Van. He was the boy next door; he was the birthday cake and the soft icing; he was the summer wind and the new leaf.
Scarlett and Van were not twins, and yet both were seniors. Van had been kept back in first grade because he was hyperactive and the second-grade teachers didn’t want him yet. Nobody would know it now. He had become the preppy type, with friends named Geordie and Kip. He played water polo and wore blue blazers with khaki pants, and his thin blond hair was smooth silk across his high forehead.
How can I be daydreaming about Van, she thought, when my sister is dead?
She wondered if Jon Pear knew. If the news had broken publicly. Was he even now screaming in the agony of loss, asking himself, “Why couldn’t it have been the other one — that twin — that sister we never bothered to talk about?”
But, of course, Jon Pear thought it was the sister. Everybody thought it was the sister.
Her parents had reached the dorm, and the Dean had gotten to the door first and was holding it for them.
Mary Lee faced the door like a captured prisoner facing the judge. She would leave it to fate. To chance. To Mother and Father.
If they opened the door and knew — knew that she was Mary Lee — knew who had lived and who had died — well, then, she would be Mary Lee.
But if they did not …
If Mary Lee was so inconsequential to them that they did not feel, did not see, did not instantly know …
MreeLee, you be Madrigal.
… then she would be Madrigal.
Bianca rushed out to meet them. Perhaps she thought a good roomie had a duty to introduce herself to the bereaved parents. “Maddy is so upset,” cried Bianca. “Thank goodness you’re here. She needs you so.”
Who could this person be, that Bianca called Maddy? Mother and Father wouldn’t even know the nickname!
Madrigal, don’t be mad at me! Whatever happens now, please forgive me. Forgive me for being the one who gets life.
The door opened.
Mother came in first. There was a strange light in her eyes. With a desperate sort of hope, she faced her living child. What do you hope for, Mother? thought Mary Lee. I want to give you what you want! I love you so. You choose here. I will be the daughter you want to have alive.
But Mother did not speak. She held out her arms, instead; her wonderful arms, the arms of comfort and love and assurance. Mary Lee rushed forward, sinking into her mother’s embrace. Inside those arms, the world was safe and good; nobody died, and nobody got hurt. “Oh, Mother,” she whispered. “Oh, Mother.”
Father put his ten fingers into her hair, as he always had, gripping her fiercely like a caveman parent.
“You saw it happen, sweetie?” he said. “Was it terrible? Was it quick? Did she cry out?”
She could not speak. Her throat filled with the horror and she could only weep. Who am I? she thought. Tell me who I am.
Locked between her parents, she waited to hear a name. It was like waiting to be christened; waiting to be graduated.
“We’ve been staying with Madrigal,” said Mindy.
“We didn’t want Madrigal to be alone,” added Bianca.
“We’d be glad to pack up her belongings for you to take back,” said Mindy. “I’m a very good packer. It comes from living abroad so much. And Madrigal shouldn’t have to do it.”
“Or if there’s too much pain involved,” said Bianca, “we could arrange to take them to the Salvation Army.”
Mother said, “We’re thankful for all you did for both our girls. If you’d pack Mary Lee’s things, that would help. Just ship everything home.”
Mary Lee stepped away from Mother and Father. They were in agreement with Mindy and Bianca. It was Mary Lee who had died, and whose things must be packed, must be shipped as easily as once they had shipped the girl herself.
Her mother gave a funny little sigh and her father a strange little shiver. They did not hug her again. When she was able to see past the blur of fear, her parents were looking into the open closet of the daughter they thought dead: the clothes of Mary Lee. The stacked books, the open assignments, the tumbled sweaters, the precious jewelry.
The Dean said, “Madrigal?”
She felt herself within her skin, behind her eyes, under her hair. She felt her soul and her past. Shall I be Mary Lee? she asked herself in the silence of her fright.
The Dean repeated, “Madrigal?”
With eyes so afraid they went blind, she faced a future and a past. I am dead, thought Mary Lee. Madrigal lives. She said to the walls and the witnesses, “Yes.”