My Twin Sister Passed Away in a Car Crash Ten Years Ago
I had rebuilt my life around an absence I believed I understood for ten years.
Then, one impossible phone call made me confront a reality that is far more nuanced than grief: sometimes regaining someone doesn’t equate to regaining the person you lost.
A dentist’s office called ten years after my twin sister passed away and requested me to come get her.
Clara was then placed on the phone.
“Sarah? Please come get me.”
Even before she said my name, I recognized that voice.
I was thirty years old, sitting at my kitchen island with a half-drunk cup of coffee next to me and my laptop
open.
“Sarah? Please come get me.”
I was now holding onto the counter with such force that my fingers were hurting.
When the receptionist returned to the line, I said, “I’m sorry.” “Who exactly is sitting there?”
“Your sister, Clara. She had a filling done this morning, and she’s still a little groggy from the medication. Her phone died, but she knew your number.”
“My sister died ten years ago.”
“Who exactly is sitting there?”
The woman became silent.
“I… I’m very sorry. Would you like to speak to… Would you like to speak to her?”
“Yes.”
Then there was a rustle.
Then Clara’s voice came back.
“Sarah?”
“Would you like to speak to her?”
My chest constricted.
“Where are you?”
I got the address from her.
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t,” she muttered.
I reached for my keys.
“Where are you?”
Clara’s car slid off a dark roadway and down an embankment when we were both twenty years old. Before anyone could get to it, it caught fire. Nearly nothing could be recovered, according to the authorities.
We interred a closed coffin.
I was able to rebuild with therapy. I bought a little house, found a peaceful job, relocated 20 minutes away from my parents, and learned how to make plans without Clara.
Sometimes, without realizing it, I still purchased two pastries.
We interred a closed coffin.
In my kitchen, I still kept two blue coffee mugs.
When I got to the dentist office, I pushed through the door to the waiting area.
There was a woman standing in the corner.
I came to a halt.
She was older. Both of us were.
A light scar went around her jaw, and her hair was shorter.
There was a woman standing in the corner.
However, she was encircling her right finger with a silver band.
When we were younger, Clara had done the same thing with bracelets.
“Hi,” she said.
“Don’t just say hi.”
Her tiny smile vanished.
“Okay.”
“Don’t just say hi.”
I was unable to bring myself to touch her.
“What did we call the dent in my bedroom wall?”
Her eyes instantly flooded.
“The moon.”
“Who broke Mom’s vase during the blizzard?”
“I did. You took the blame so Dad wouldn’t ground me before Maisie’s birthday.”
I was unable to bring myself to touch her.
Clara moved in my direction.
I took a step back.
“It’s really you.”
“You don’t have to believe everything right now,” she replied.
“You don’t get to tell me what I have to do.”
“It’s really you.”
She came to a halt.
“You’re right.”
identical eyes. When she felt afraid, the same tiny line appeared between her eyebrows.
“How are you alive?”
“Can we leave first?”
“No.”
“How are you alive?”
Clara spoke more softly.
“I survived the crash.”
“We buried you.”
“It was an empty casket, Sarah.”
“Mom still puts flowers at your grave.”
Clara shut her eyes.
“I survived the crash.”
“Dad wouldn’t drive that highway for five years.”
“I know.”
My stomach fell.
“How do you know?”
Her eyes opened.
“I know.”
And her expression shifted in some way.
I came to the realization that seeing Clara alive might not be the worst thing that could happen to me.
She requested me to take her home when we were outside.
I mistakenly believed she was referring to Mom and Dad’s house for a brief moment.
I said, “I’ll call them,” and took out my phone.
I was requested to take her home by her.
“No.”
I gave her a look.
“What?”
“Please take me to my apartment first.”
“Your apartment.”
“Sarah…”
“What?”
“You supposedly died ten years ago, Clara. I’m trying to keep up.”
I got an address from her.
“That’s two towns away.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you at a dentist here?”
“You supposedly died ten years ago, Clara.”
“I cracked a filling. This was the only place that could see me today.”
“So you don’t live here.”
“No. I haven’t lived anywhere near you.”
“How long have you lived two towns away?”
“A few years.”
I moved away from the curb.
“So you don’t live here.”
We didn’t talk to each other for the first few minutes.
I made lists when I was afraid.
There were only questions in mine that morning.
The stillness was first broken by Clara.
“I need to tell you something about the call.”
I gave her a quick look.
The stillness was first broken by Clara.
“What about it?”
“I didn’t know I’d given them your number.”
“What?”
“I was groggy. They asked who they could call, and apparently I gave them yours.”
“Clara, that number is more than ten years old.”
“What about it?”
“I know.”
“You remembered it?”
“Apparently.”
My number had been sitting somewhere inside her, hidden beneath ten years of a different life.
“Why mine?”
“I don’t know.”
“You remembered it?”
“Are Mom and Dad okay?” Clara inquired after a brief pause.
“They’re alive.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“I know.”
Dad, Jack, was quieter; after the crash, he had only sat next to me when words failed. Mom, Alita, called
every Sunday without asking if I was “better.”
“Are Mom and Dad okay?”
While Clara was still alive, they had assisted me in surviving her death.
“You knew my number,” I said.
“Apparently my brain did.”
“But you don’t know whether Mom and Dad are okay.”
She pivoted to face the window.
“That’s harder to explain.”
“But you don’t know whether Mom and Dad are okay.”
“Then you’d better start soon.”
I realized how totally she had created a life separate from ours when we arrived at her place.
There were framed pictures, plants in the windows, and a yellow mug next to the sink.
Clara had a cup that she loved.
I picked up a book about gardening.
“You hate dirt.”
Clara had a cup that she loved.
“I did. Before.”
“You killed a cactus.”
Her lips quivered.
I then looked at the pictures.
During dinner, Clara laughed.
Clara was on her knees next to a garden plot.
Clara was standing with strangers.
There was not a single photo of myself.
Clara was standing with strangers.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Three years.”
“And before that?”
“Farther away.”
“Okay. Start from the crash.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“I was thrown clear before the car burned. I must have wandered after the crash because a driver found me
miles away near another road. I had a head injury and nothing on me that identified me.”
“And your memory?”
“Bad. I knew how to use a spoon before I knew my own last name.”
Clara massaged her ring.
“My first name came back before the rest did. Knowing I was Clara wasn’t the same as knowing where Clara belonged.”
“And your memory?”
“Like what?”
“Mom’s yellow kitchen. You singing badly in the shower.”
“That was you.”
“Absolutely not.”
I nearly grinned.
“When did you remember me?”
“That was you.”
“Sarah.”
“How long?”
“Please.”
“How long, Clara?”
Her eyes brightened.
“Six years.”
“How long, Clara?”
“Six?”
She gave a nod.
“You knew I was alive for six years?”
“Yes.”
“You knew I thought you were dead?”
“Yes.”
I took her mug.
“You knew I was alive for six years?”
After that, carefully replace it.
“Did you call?”
“I tried once.”
“Once?”
“I found Mom and Dad’s old number. It had been disconnected.”
“So that was it?”
“Did you call?”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
“I wrote letters.”
“Did you send them?”
She cast a downward glance.
“No.”
“I wrote letters.”
“Then you wrote them for yourself, Clara. Not for any of us.”
She winced.
I reached for my handbag.
“Sarah, wait.”
I arrived at the door.
“I can explain.”
“Then you wrote them for yourself, Clara.”
I turned to face her again.
“You had six years.”
After that, I departed.
That evening, I didn’t give my parents a call.
I made that choice. Clara’s hold over the truth was sufficient.
I discovered my two blue mugs when I opened a drawer at home.
That evening, I didn’t give my parents a call.
I’ll have one “spare.”
For several years, I had been purchasing spare parts.
I gave Mom a call the following morning.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Sarah, I hate when you start like that.”
“Please.”
I’ll have one “spare.”
Her tone shifted.
“Okay.”
“Clara’s alive.”
Quiet.
Then, with caution, “Sweetheart…”
“I saw her.”
One more quiet moment.
“Sweetheart…”
“She knew about the moon. She knew about the broken vase. It’s her.”
Dad joined the call.
“What do you need from us?”
What do you need, not where or how?
“I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll start there, sweetheart,” he replied.
“She knew about the broken vase. It’s her.”
I brought them to Clara two days later.
Mom came to a stop within the apartment.
Clara was standing close to the window.
Mom then went across the room.
“My baby.”
Clara tensed up, then fell into her.
I brought them over to Clara.
Dad stayed behind and wiped his tears.
“Hey, kiddo.”
I turned my head away.
I cherished her.
I was enraged with her.
Both items fit.
Mom eventually became overly talkative.
I was enraged with her.
“I still make the cherry pie you loved. Your room isn’t blue anymore, but we could change it back. And remember that song you girls used to sing?”
Clara’s hand slipped.
When the mug she was holding struck the counter, it rolled onto its side.
“Stop.”
Mom froze.
“And remember that song you girls used to sing?”
Clara covered her face with both hands.
“Please, just stop.”
Mom whispered, “Clara?”
“I can’t do this anymore!”
There was silence in the room.
I remained where I was, but Dad went over to Mom.
“I can’t do this anymore!”
Clara was breathing heavily as she gazed at the three of us.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back.”
Mom’s face twisted. “Because I mentioned pie?”
“No, Mom. Because five minutes after seeing me, you’re already rebuilding the person I used to be.”
“I thought you’d want something familiar.”
“I don’t even like cherry pie anymore.”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back.”
Mom gazed at her.
Then she gave me a quick look.
“But Sarah always loved it too. You girls liked all the same things.”
Clara gave a harsh laugh once.
“There. That.”
Something chilly passed through me.
“You girls liked all the same things.”
“What are you saying?”
Clara turned to face me.
“Growing up, everything was Sarah and Clara. You got the better grade, made the team, won something,
and people looked at me like I was the version that hadn’t.”
“I never asked them to do that.”
“I know.”
“Growing up, everything was Sarah and Clara.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I caused it?”
“Because you never had to think about it.”
Her voice broke.
“You got to walk into a room and just be Sarah. I walked in and became the other one.”
Mom broke down in tears.
“I never knew you felt that way.”
“I walked in and became the other one.”
“Neither did I, not fully. Not until after the crash.”
Clara held onto the counter.
“At first, when nobody knew who I was, it was terrifying. But later, when I started remembering pieces,
something else happened.”
“What?” I questioned.
“Not until after the crash.”
“For the first time in my life, nobody compared me to you.”
Clara gave me a tearful look.
“I found things I liked because I liked them. People met me without asking where my sister was.”
“So when you remembered us, you stayed gone.”
“At first, I was scared.”
“And after that?”
“I found things I liked because I liked them.”
Her lips quivered.
“After that, I chose myself.”
I took a step back.
“You chose yourself by letting us bury you? Mourn you?”
“I know how awful that sounds.”
“It sounds awful because it was.”
“After that, I chose myself.”
She gave a nod.
“I know.”
Mom grabbed her.
Clara withdrew.
“I loved all of you. I did. But I was terrified that if I came back, I’d stop being Clara again.”
I gave her a look.
“I loved all of you.”
“And you thought the only way to be yourself was to make sure I spent ten years grieving you?”
Clara dabbed at her face.
“I looked you up four years ago.”
“You found me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you see?”
“You found me?”
“Your house. Your job. Friends. You’d built a life.”
“And that made you stay away?”
“I was curious about you.”
“Curious enough to search, but not call.”
She cast a downward glance.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was curious about you.”
Clara took a seat on the couch’s edge.
“Once I was stable enough to make my own decisions, nobody could force me to contact my family.”
“But you didn’t even know who you were.”
“Not at first. Rehabilitation gave me routines before it gave me memories. By the time I remembered
enough to piece together my old life, I’d already started building a new one.”
“And eventually you remembered us.”
“But you didn’t even know who you were.”
“Yes.”
“So why didn’t you come home?”
Clara gave me a look.
“Because, again, for the first time, I was just Clara.”
“No twin questions, no comparisons, nobody saying, ‘Sarah did this,’ or ‘Sarah was better at that.’ I could
decide what I liked without wondering whether you liked it first.”
“No twin questions.”
“You could’ve told us that.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve come home, looked me in the face, and said, ‘I need my own life.'”
“I know.”
“Instead, you let me grieve a dead sister who was alive.”
Her eyes brightened.
“You could’ve told us that.”
“That’s the part I can’t defend.”
“Good. Don’t.”
She gave a nod.
“I was selfish. I wanted freedom. Then every year I stayed gone made coming back harder. I told myself you were okay. That coming back would only hurt everyone again.”
“And seeing me happy online made that easier.”
“Good. Don’t.”
She wrinkled her face.
“Yes.”
I averted my gaze and turned back to her.
“I can understand wanting to be your own person.”
Clara kept a close eye on me.
“I can understand hating comparisons. I can even understand being afraid you’d lose yourself if you came back.”
I can appreciate your desire to be independent.
She took a swallow.
“But I will never understand why my grief had to pay for your independence.”
Clara broke down in tears.
“I know.”
“No. Pay attention to me.
Yes, she did.
She took a swallow.
“Being my sister is difficult, therefore you can’t just vanish once more. Furthermore, I have no right to force
you to revert to your 20-year-old self.”
She gave a nod.
“So, what comes next?”
“For once, I decide.”
Clara held out.
“So, what comes next?”
I responded, “You don’t vanish. We start small.” What I can handle is not up to you. Additionally, you don’t force me to follow you for clarification.”
She gave a nod.
“Okay.”
“Dad and Mom also have time. I won’t respond on your behalf, and they will be upset.”
Clara gave a nod.
“You don’t disappear.”
“That’s fair.”
“I’m not attempting to be impartial. I’m trying to find out how to have a sister who’s alive after spending ten years believing she wasn’t.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“For now?”
I picked up my purse.
“Lunch. Thursday.”
“I’m not trying to be fair.”
Three weeks later, I stopped at a bakery before meeting Clara.
The cashier reached for a bag.
“Two blueberry scones?”
I had made thoughtless purchases in pairs for a decade.
Two cups.
Two pastries.
I made a visit at a bakery.
Anything that felt lacking on its own needed two.
I peered through the window.
“No. Just one blueberry.
I then gestured to the chocolate croissant that Clara had purchased over lunch the previous week.
“And one of those.”
They were packed separately by the cashier.
I peered through the window.
That seemed appropriate.
I wasn’t continuing where Clara and I had left off.
We didn’t have a previous version of ourselves that needed to be restored.
She had become someone I didn’t know over the course of ten years.
That seemed appropriate.
Without her, I had spent ten years growing as a person.
For the first time, neither of us needed to vanish in order for the other to exist.
I proceeded to see my sister after picking up the two separate suitcases.
