iCry For Two
By the time Carly finished with classes that night, it was late. Carly Shay returned to a quiet, albeit crowded house. The minute she stepped inside the door, she knew something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. She was getting tired of coming home to tears. It was emotionally taxing. That said, she did live with the Puckett sisters, who, admittedly, came with their own baggage. She immediately rushed to the tearful blonde to see what was the matter.
"Sam?"
A shaky, feeble arm rose, pointing in the direction of the sofa. Sam had passed out over two hours ago, watching TV with Freddie Benson.
Sam was watching TV with Freddie? Something was definitely not right.
"Mel? What's the matter, Sweety? Talk to Carly…"
This was the life of a Communications major. It was her job to get people talking.
The kitchen table was a flat-out, unadulterated mess. Melanie's computer was there, seemingly to play music. There were tear-soaked tissues littering the table. Most telling of all, however, was the black hardbound notebook Melanie kept trying to hide. It too was tear-stained.
"Mel, what's going on here? When we talked at lunch, Sam said you guys had really worked out a lot of your…" Carly paused. She wanted to find the right words. She wanted to tread lightly. "your… stuff…"
Melanie let out a weak laugh.
"Carly, it's okay. You're practically family anyway. You can say it. We have issues."
Carly smiled.
"Okay… so what gives, Mel? What's going on?"
For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Melanie Puckett stifled a sob.
"I don't get it, Carls. She should hate me, after everything I've done to her… I've hurt her so badly over the years, and she still…in her own way… she still loves me, but I don't deserve it…"
Carly Shay was speechless. This simply didn't make any sense. Melanie Puckett was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle person she'd ever known. How on Earth could Melanie ever have hurt Sam? It simply didn't make any sense.
"Mel, I… you could never have… what are you talking about?"
Like Sam, Melanie wasn't good with her feelings. Where Sam simply shut down, denying that her feelings or emotions ever existed, Melanie used them the only way she knew how. She channeled them into something that didn't hurt, something that was the balm for her soul. For Melanie Puckett, this manna from heaven would always be the same. She would always have music.
She didn't want to speak. She wanted someone else to do the talking for her right now. Reaching for her computer, she pulled up PearTunes and selected the song she always blasted when she felt this way. Whenever she was weak and weepy, this always grounded her. She pressed 'PLAY' and Carly immediately read between the lines.
"…Guess there are times when we all need to share a little pain…"
"…and ironing out the rough spots…"
"is the hardest part when memories remain…"
"and it's times like these when we all need to hear the radio…"
Carly tried to analyze this. She wanted to find the solace Melanie saw. She zoned out momentarily before getting taken in again.
"…Turn them on, turn them on…"
"…just feel their gentle touch…"
"…when all hope is gone…"
"…Sad songs say so much…"
Carly thought she got it; she thought she understood, but she needed to know for sure.
"Mel, Sweety… Please, God, don't cry. What on Earth could you have done to hurt Sam the way you think? You were only kids… and then you were away at school… and believe me, she was all talk. She was more proud of you than you know…"
Melanie felt her entire body begin to shake. She felt herself being crushed under the weight of years of fear, guilt, self-loathing, and shame.
"Carly…" Melanie choked. She collapsed into Carly. She needed to be held.
Carly's heart felt so heavy that she was afraid it would burst wide open. She wanted to help Melanie. This woman was created in the divine image of everything Carly ever held dear. What's more, this woman would, one day, Carly prayed, be her sister. Melanie Puckett meant more to Carly than she would ever realize. She meant more than the wannabe-writer could ever possibly articulate and do justice. Carly knew that, in the life she wanted to live – and share with Sam – she would have to ask the hard questions. She knew that whatever Melanie's secret was, it couldn't stay buried anymore. If it did, it would tear her – and everyone who loved her – apart at the seams.
Carly sat there and held her. She held Melanie just as tenderly as she would ever hold her sister. It no longer mattered who was who. They were the same. They had both been born on the same day – sixty one seconds apart – in the back of a city bus.
The tears stopped. The talking started. Carly could feel the room spinning.
If Melanie were to be believed, she was to be blamed for Sam's lot in life. She was the older of the two –if only by a minute – but she felt she bore all the blame. The petite blonde bore the weight of the world on her back and was begging for absolution of her past sins.
Carly knew this was absolutely nonsensical. What Melanie was feeling, Carly felt, was what Freud – a quack and a nymphomaniac as far as Carly was concerned – would call 'transference'. Melanie was internalizing all of the pain she and Sam had endured as kids. She was internalizing feelings for her own mother and magnifying them. She was taking on Sam's pain as well as her own. Carly had learned enough growing up to know that Pam Puckett was never a finalist for Mother of the Year. She simply never knew the breadth and the scope of what had occurred inside those four walls that Sam and Melanie had once called 'home'.
Carly knew Pam Puckett drank. She knew food was usually in short supply. She knew Sam had been unintended. Melanie's unintended twin sister was now Carly Shay's Happy Accident, the very center of her entire world. Carly was used to asking questions, rather than answering them. The question that Melanie asked her quite nearly stopped her heart.
"Carly, have you noticed…" she stopped. She didn't want to continue. What she had to ask was personal. It was delicate. It ventured into the realms of Carly and Sam's sexual life, which she had already established, was none of her business. She knew she needed to ask.
"Carls, have you ever noticed… Sam has this scar…"
The blood froze in Carly Shay's veins. She knew exactly what Melanie was referring to. It was the one place on her body she never wanted Carly to touch. It was a strange twisted barrel shape branded into the flesh of her shoulder, extending in a strange scoop across her back, terminating beneath her breast.
Sam had never told her the origins of the scar and Carly, knowing it was painful, would never press. She would, however, disobey Sam, kissing her scarred back in her sleep, hoping that she could love the mark out of existence. Hearing the truth from Melanie was chilling. It wounded the very depths of Carly's soul to learn what had happened and when – as well as why sweet, beautiful, vivacious Melanie Puckett felt personally responsible.
Carly had learned from Melanie that the mark stemmed from a drunken beating when they were only small children – maybe four at the oldest. The offending instrument was a simple weapon of opportunity – a wire hanger. All that Melanie remembered for certain was that her sister had taken the beating and endured the pain to protect her. From that moment on, Melanie could never find the words to tell her sister how much she loved her. They fought like cats and dogs because it was simply all they knew. They only knew dysfunction, although they had a bond no amount of torment could sever. They were twins. They lived inside each others' heads, whether intentionally or not.
By the end of the hour, it was Melanie who was consoling her sister's partner. She held the brunette close to her heart, as she had done for Sam that morning. She let the music play.
"…What do I do to make you love me…"
"…What have I got to do to be heard…"
"…What do I do when lightning strikes me…"
"…what have I got to do…"
"…what have I got to do…"
"…When Sorry seems to be the hardest word…"
Carly was emotionally exhausted. In her final good deed for the day, Melanie Puckett – the 'good twin' – took the slight brunette by the hand, leading her from the kitchen through the ground floor to the bedroom, where her twin slept. Carly was nearly comatose when Melanie helped her into bed, still fully clothed. Melanie tucked the brunette safely under the covers, turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her. There had been enough pain for one day. Now, she hoped, there would be only peace.