five

Charlie drove us home from the hospital that afternoon. The car ride was dreadfully silent, and I was lost in wondering how the rest of the world was about to perceive me. Selfish, perhaps, but I was still feeling pretty low after hours of sickness. Within a day, I’d be surrounded by hundreds of mourners bowing to the awe of money and influence. There would be gawkers and curiosity seekers, opportunists and press hogs. I’m sure I would satisfy the paparazzi in my role as the underachieving, crackpot sister with an inheritance big enough to support a small nation. As word got out about the attempt on my lifestyle, there would be talk of self-involvement, as if I had somehow brought this on myself, a twisted form of Münchausen syndrome. Rejected sister fakes poisoning after the murder of her more popular twin brother.

“Hey,” I said to break the silence. “How bad will the funeral be for me?”

“It’s going to suck for all of us,” Charlie said as he leaned hard into the gas pedal. “I’m going to be an outsider at my best friend’s funeral.”

As if green living is somehow a direct threat to the establishment, I thought. I wondered if my brother’s death and the threat on my life were somehow connected to my lifestyle. Freeganism was alien to most, and I had often been accused of being overly idealistic. What drove me was a sense of logic. Why buy food, clothes, hell, even computers, when you can get them all for free? I’ll admit, the Dumpster diving “ick” factor is high, but the rewards are enormous.

“Maybe I’ve gone too far in the past,” I conceded, now worried that either my link to my brother or my actions had compromised the safety of my housemates.

“The video didn’t help,” Charlie said, referring to my how-to video on Dumpster diving, strategically filmed behind the cafeteria at the Sound View labs. It’s amazing how much steak a medical grant can buy. Doctors, it turns out, eat pretty well.

“God, that was years ago. And you held the camera,” I said, reminding Charlie of his role. “Anyway, that video went viral faster than an outbreak of H1N1. Teddy thought it was hilarious.”

“Yes, but it embarrassed your dad at work,” Trina said. “You’ll forever be positioned as the rebellious sister, despite Teddy covering for you.”

I didn’t feel very rebellious at the moment. My stomach was sore to the touch, and I had to hold the seatbelt about an inch off my waist as Charlie took a tight turn. I grimaced and bit through a pain sharp enough to remind me of my resilience. It was this part of my personality that held back the torrent of tears and allowed me to focus on the horror of the situation without losing my mind.

Like me, both Trina and Charlie were deep in thought. I studied Charlie’s face, a face I’d known since childhood. I had memorized every dip and pucker in his skin, the shape of his hairline as it fell over his ears, and the length of his nose in proportion to the width of his cheekbones. We spent the majority of our high school years in the back seat of his dad’s car in full reproductive glory. We would kiss for so long that I could feel the pressure of his lips on mine hours later. By graduation, we had burnt out, realizing our strongest bond was Teddy. Teddy was Charlie’s best friend and my rock.

Faces had always intrigued me, and I’m convinced the root of my obsession began with the glaring physical differences between me and my twin. Technically, we were merely roommates for nine months. Our conception involved two separate eggs, two separate sperm, and two separate sacs. Our dissimilarities, therefore, were not unusual and in fact quite common among fraternal twins. And as one pediatrician explained it to me, “Try to think of him as a brother who happened to be born on the same day.” Regardless, our differences irked me. I had no attachment to my parents; I’d spent the better part of my life avoiding my father and mixing my mother yet another cocktail. From the day I sensed the presence of a life form next to me, I wanted nothing more than to capture our brother/sister connection through a tangible feature. A hooked pinky, an attached earlobe, a cleft chin, bow legs, knocked knees. Really, I’d take anything.

And yet there was my brother Teddy with his mountain-man physique and thick mane of dark hair. He had more body hair than Bigfoot and hands that could crush a bag of walnuts. His Roman nose led an observer’s eyes straight down to a full set of lips and the warmest smile this side of the East River. I, on the other hand, was five-three on a good day. I often wondered if my growth potential was compromised by sharing space with my larger twin. With my dirty blond hair and Nordic looks, I could pass in a crowd of WASPy North Shore girls. That Charlie dug my tomboy gig in high school was a compliment considering he could have bagged any girl in town. It was my fascination with similarities and differences that led me to paint portraits. I am a self-proclaimed expert in the human body from the neck up. I would let my father and brother analyze DNA under the power of a laser microscope; my interpretation of DNA flowed from the tips of my fingers through the end of my paintbrush, spilling out across a canvas. I knew faces, and at this moment, I could tell from my housemates’ expressions that doubt and fear were overtaking rational thought.

“Hey guys, I think this is getting blown out of proportion.” I shifted in the front seat and addressed Charlie and Trina, although neither seemed to be on the same wavelength.

“I’m going to swing by the electronics store later and see if I can hustle up some used security equipment. I’m rigging the entire house with cameras,” Charlie muttered to himself, eyes glued to the road.

“I’ll guess I’ll have to throw out the entire contents of the kitchen,” Trina added, mentally cleaning out the kitchen cabinets.

“Please, can we focus on the facts?” I pleaded. “At this point, Teddy’s cause of death is undetermined and there was no obvious evidence of a break-in. Am I right?”

Charlie nodded reluctantly.

“The rat poisoning is a little unnerving,” I said, “but it didn’t kill any of us, and we still don’t know that it wasn’t the catering hall that sprinkled the poison. Maybe they had a rat problem?”

“Maybe someone just wanted to scare you,” Charlie offered.

“Okay, let’s run with that.”

“Maybe your father didn’t want you at the funeral,” Trina blurted. As soon as the words left her mouth, her face broadcast the fact that she regretted every syllable. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that. I am so, so sorry.”

Charlie restated the obvious. “The rift with your father is local lore at this point. You have to expect that people will be talking about it.”

“I realize that, but my father and I are trying to mend the past,” I said reflecting on the meeting with him the prior evening and that unexpected show of affection. “Look, he made the effort to come by the house and I’m grateful.”

“So you don’t hate me?” Trina asked.

I reached into the back seat and felt for her hand. “It’s okay, I’m not offended in the least. I expect to go back to being a persona non grata tomorrow.”

“You’re going to be a persona con spectacle in the get-up Becky’s been sewing,” Charlie said as he backed the ancient Gremlin, our only car, into Harbor House’s driveway.

“Can you dial it back, Charlie?” Trina squeezed my hand. “CeCe, how are you not scared? Teddy’s gone and you have no relationship with your family.”

“Remember when we started up Harbor House and my father stopped by unannounced?” I said.

“That was some serious daddy rage,” Charlie replied. “I think he called me a Commie.”

“He called Jonathan a Commie,” Trina corrected. “He called you a punk.”

“Anyway, Teddy came by later that day and said something that gave me the strength to continue with our plans for Harbor House. He encouraged me to create something bigger than us. He wanted me to live it, not just preach it.” I could feel Teddy’s presence in the car. I looked up at Harbor House and the rolling expanse of farmland behind it. Ten years ago, creating a self-sufficient living arrangement had seemed daunting, but with the gardens blooming and the fields sprouting, the improbable had become my reality. And in part, it was thanks to a few words from my brother.

“Charlie, do you remember?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie replied as memories of Teddy flooded his head. “He said, ‘CeCe, you can’t fall off the floor’.”

A genuine smile spread across my face for the first time in two days.