Category: #Forgiveness

Chapter 3 – The Lost Sister

I realized with horror that

I was going to cry.

Seemed I’d never expected

To actually see her

She was a scam  – a myth –

Like so many ones

She pleasured to perpetrate

 On our poor parents.

“Darling!” Threw her skinny arms out

And kissed the air.

“You escaped!

You’re all grown up!”

She was shorter than me now –

A tiny person-

How I laughed.

Laughed with relief – 

Suddenly I was initiated into

Her exclusive club

Two of us against the world

Superiority & sisterhood.

She’d always known – none better

How difficult parents are.

They didn’t need me to protect them

Running my own modest scams

To engineer breathing room

Took all the help I could get.

Could it be time for Mirabel and me 

To grow up together?

I’d have a New York City sister –

Married to a lord 

Providing escape anytime.

Mirabel tossed Verne a burning look –

“Get us drinks?”

And dragged me –

Literally DRAGGED me –

Into a double-doored bedroom where she

Swept me down upon the white flokati rug

And gazed deeply in my eyes.

I felt a bit of a hostage at that point

To tell you the truth.

She seemed more desperate for ME –

A nobody fourteen year old –

Than I was for her.

How could this be Mirabel?

 So much smaller than my memory –

Disappearing before my eyes in fact,

Running away

As she had seemed to do 

The whole of my existence –

Shoulders folding together

Over her knees –

Dress size diminishing

Smaller, ever smaller.

How could this tiny thing

Ever strut a catwalk?

Blondness was history

She was a redhead now.

She caught me staring at her scarred

Upper lip and covered it

With a gesture I recalled

As if moving her hand fast enough

I wouldn’t see it. “Too many

Piercings gone haywire,” she explained.

Apologizing to me

For the ruin

Of her beauty.

Something rattled at our door – Mirabel called –

“We’re naked!”

Pulled me into giggles –

“Leave it outside!”

She covered my mouth and signaled with 

Humongous eyes –

Crawling to the door she –

Peeked out low –

Pulled in a

Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.

My face must have showed

Surprise at his exclusion; but

She said: “Grooms get in the WAY 

Of weddings! No one wants them!”

She lifted an unsteady

Rock-wearing hand to toast –

“Men! You know! They want to

Decide everything but weddings are the

Bride’s-” She gasped and gagged 

As if from desert thirst – as if

She’d never had such wine.

“You can’t think what pleasure it is

Finally getting rid of him – too much

Togetherness destroys

The hardiest relationship.”

I sipped sedately, even though

The brew frothed my sinus

Parked burning foam

Behind my eyes.

How COULD this be Mirabel?

The way she looked at me –

Something stank of 

Imposture and deceit.

I just can’t say –

I’m far too new –

It’s just too weird.

She was my sister and yet not.

She leaned too close to

 Touch my hair.

“They should have named you

Maribel so we’d be twins.”

The door opened and Verne stood over us

Looked reproving as

Mirabel fell away.

But he was mild enough 

Laying dress bags on the bed.

He winked and

Then was gone

Door slightly left ajar –

Pointedly, I thought –

Mirabel closed it with her foot,

Called, “See you at dinner!”

I felt sorry for the poor groom –

Then we heard the outer door slam and

Mirabel unzipped bags briskly after

Topping off her glass with

Vodka from a bottle by the bed.

“Bad champagne,” she excused herself,

“In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”

I studied the bottle –

Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée –

“Brute” champagne 

Sharpened me like

Winter air when you can

See farther, fly further

Or think that you can.

Mirabel offered her bottle.

“No thanks.”

And drained her tulip glass

And spoke my words.

”You’ve changed,” she commented.

Did I drink vodka at eight years old?

I said, “So have you.”

“My hair hated being blonde.”

 “Is he really a lord?”

Mirabel rolled her eyes.

“Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added –

“It’s a cruel trick if

 You can’t do anything you want.”

Shrugged.

“At least the restaurants like it.”

“And you’ll be –“

“Lady Verne.”

Unexcited at the prospect.

Opposite of what

Old Mirabel would have thought

She followed the doings & undoings of

European princelings in 

Vogue magazine.

I probed deeper.

“You just met?”

“God no, we’ve been together FOREVER –

And only now we tie the knot. But you!”

She spun me all around.

“You’re so tall! And thin!”

I found myself apologizing.

“I can’t stop eating –

“I must grow so fast because I eat

Whatever I can find.”

 “After the wedding,”

Mirabel promised

“We’ll do a purge.”

Sounds like a great honeymoon

I thought but didn’t say.

She was not making out a

Great campaign for aristocracy &

Marriage.

“Think you’d fit a four?”

The dress she flourished was pale gold,

A fairytale gown with an endlessly flounced

 Puffy skirt. My gasp 

Relaxed her. And she smiled.

Most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

“Let’s find out!” I

Almost dropped my wineglass in

Excitement. Rapidly

Stripped to totally unsightly sports bra

And cartoon briefs.

I knew we’d try on clothes

But I owned no decent lingerie.

“Can’t wear a bra,” said Mirabel.

“You don’t need one anyway.

I’ll cinch you in.”

She gazed too long at my sad breasts

A man’s gaze I thought –

This dress had ribbons for corset strings 

and Mirabel cinched me tight.

“There!” The mirror exposed a stranger. 

I was a new person.

“A little short, maybe” said Mirabel,

“With the right shoes…”

From the closet she threw out flats.

Disappointing – but –

Bridesmaid shouldn’t tower over bride! 

Maid of honor harnessing

The clashing egos! 

In weird familial telepathy

Mirabel said,

“Princess Richenda

 To the Dark Tower came.

Just like in the

Tarot cards.”

In the mirror

I admired my nude

Beribboned back.

 “How about your dress?”

 “You’ve seen it.”

It was like the breath went out of her.

She tossed it out – they were identical.

How could that be?

Wasn’t that too strange?

I was gobsmacked –

Never heard of bride and bridesmaid

Wearing the same dress –

Think of the confusing pictures – 

People getting entirely

Wrong ideas. 

Sounds like bad luck-

Guaranteeing

The groom will see the gown

Before they’re hitched

If you believe in that sort of thing.

Mirabel’s dress was

Smaller – size “zero” –

Competitive,

Combative Mirabel.

She knocked my phone right out of my hand –

“No pictures till the wedding.”

Her pressured speech rushed on –

“We’ve got to dress for dinner.”

She checked her phone.

“What will you wear?”

I looked embarrassed at my

Corduroy skirt

Discarded like a 

Shriveled carapace along the floor.

Mirabel threw open mirrored

Doors to reveal another bedroom –

This one stocked with girlish stuff.

“This room is yours -”

She told me –

“He’s staying at The Stanhope.”

I blushed – I don’t know why

He’d called it “his” place –

And these closets were packed

With Mirabel clothes so

Where did I fit in?

My sister unbound my dress –

I’m not used to

Clothes that need assistants.

 “You can borrow anything.”

Tossed out a slinky gown green with

Scales that matched my eyes

Still with price tags –

I’d never had a dress this costly.

No bra here either –

I dangerously chose heels that made me

Six feet tall – but Mirabel

Didn’t seem to mind –

She gave me smoky eye, nude mouth and

Emerald glitter.

“Verne hates lipstick.”

But she wore plenty –

Cherry red to match her dress –

I felt lucky anyway

To be transformed.

Now I was an impostor too.

“He’s waiting at the Stanhope Bar.”