Forever the Child
I'm eighteen today, an adult. That sure is a strange thing to say. I, Lillian Deville, am an adult today. I should be excited, but I'm not and it's all your fault. It's always your fault. I can't even have one good birthday without you ruining it. Yet somehow, I always seem to forgive you. How you develop such a skill to always be forgiven, I shall never know, but I guess it's a skill you are either born with or not.
I can still remember last year so clearly when we turned seventeen and we decided to have our party at Tommy's house because his folk had just gotten a pool. I was never a strong swimmer, and wanted to have it at a bowling alley that year, but somehow you convinced me that a pool party was much cooler and so I gave in. In fact, I gave in a lot, you picked the music we were going to be playing, and the type of food we would be eating, and since our birthday landed on a school day, we had the party on a Friday instead of on a Saturday like I wanted. Yeah, I'm not ever sure why I even bothered to show up, because it was, without a doubt, Philip Deville's Party.
I mean, it has to be bad when you feel like a guest at your own so-called party. But then if I didn't feel out of place enough, you went and invited Johnny Riddick, knowing I had a crush on him and how I babbled like an idiot whenever I was around him. Oh how you found me making a fool of myself beyond hilarious.
The last straw came while I was still talking to Johnny, you came up behind me and pushed me into the pool. The top part of my two piece was a lot bigger than I had thought it was because before I knew it, I had flashed about half of the party guest. I could feel my face going completely red as you tried to hand me a towel.
I remember grabbing the towel as quickly as I could and running towards the house with tears in my eyes. I ran to Tommy's room where I cried on the floor. I had never been so embarrassed in my life.
A few minutes later, I could hear your footsteps down the hall as they approached me. You sat down and put your arms around me as you tried to comfort me. I remember pushing you away as you tried to tell me you were sorry, but I was so upset at you that I didn't want to hear it. "This has defiantly been the worst birthday ever." I remember saying or rather sobbing through.
Again you told me you were sorry and that you didn't think I mind about you making all the decisions. "We're twins," you said, "most of the time it's like we have one brain." You then preceded to tell me that next year would be different, that next year the party would be known as the Lillian Deville Party. You told me that you wouldn't make one decision, that whatever I wanted to do, "Even if it's as lame as going to the bowling alley," we would do. You even promised me and I believed you. . . silly me.
Because I'm eighteen today and I should be excited, but I'm not and it's all your fault. Because no one told you to collapse in the middle of the street on the way to school two weeks after our seventeenth birthday. No one told you to fall ill and develop a rare stomach cancer. And no one told you to break your promise to me, because all I wanted everyday while I visited you in the hospital, was to share making it to adulthood with you.
But you, you couldn't even do that, you had to go and die the day before we turned eighteen. No one told you to do that, I sure as hell know I didn't tell you do that. You promised me whatever I wanted. . . I just wanted you to live, that was all, nothing more. I just wanted my twin, the ying to my yang, the light to my dark.
I HATE YOU Philip Deville, because we're still opposites. Because you are forever the child and I the broken twin relearning how to live.
The End
