Writing Challenge: May 19, 2017
Prompt: Write about sharing something with someone.
My sister and I are used to sharing things: rooms, cans of soda, toys, large portion sizes at restaurants, clothing, friends- in short, everything. That’s just what happens when you are born less than a year apart: She on Valentine’s Day and myself on December 16th. For as long as I can remember my mother would be asked if we were twins, and she would always respond “10 months and 2 days”; it became the mantra of our sisterhood- 10 months 2 days, 10 months 2 days, 10 months 2 days… Irish Twins, born the same year and lumped together in all things. We could not have been closer if we HAD been twins. We called our connection “10-month telepathy”, modifying the common twin-condition to our own circumstances. We had our own unexplained phenomena, now non-existent in adult years, that made our relationship as sisters unique.
We were four and five years old when we both had a vivid dream on the same night- so vivid and so exact we doubted that it was a dream at all. We dreamt of a bear- a large black bear- peering through the trees of the backyard in northern Texas. We dreamt that our mother had to walk a few blocks to pick up the van from a mechanic and she left us alone for that half hour- playing in the backyard. We were playing in our turtle sandbox- emptied of sand- and hid, pulling the turtle-shell lid over us, when we saw the bear.
It must have been a dream- there are no black bears in Northern Texas, and there is no way our mother would have left us alone- yet we both recall this so vividly it seems as if it must be true.
Bringing Mae Flowers 