50 / 50

I got my haircut this morning. I’m at work and my sister texts me saying me she just cut bangs! I was thinking how funny, we’re twins. As a precursor, we’re actually not twins. In fact, we’re 22 months apart. Brittany is nearly 2 years older than me (but nearly 2 inches shorter than me).

Us being [nearly] twins reminded me of our last night in Alaska. Brittany and I didn’t want to wait for the midnight firework show in celebration of 4th of July. You know, summer in Alaska, the sun rises at 3 am and sets at 11:30 pm, which means it’s too light out to see fireworks until much later. What did we do instead? Do what we do best & mosey on over to a local watering hole to P-A-R-T-WHY? ‘Cause we gotta.

There we were at Bernie’s Bungalow, sippin’ whiskey sodas at the end of a large patio table. As the bar filled up, a few friendly locals found a seat next to us. Mike is a short, tan Asian man that works for the army. He was based in Alaska for some time and, when he was finished with his tour, came back to live in Anchorage. As for the young ladies he was with, they were all nurses: one graduated from a college in Michigan, the other from Wisconsin, and the last was visiting both of them. We talked about their time in Anchorage, how they decided to settle down here, and that’s how we discovered their relation to each other.

Mike turns to me and asks “so, how do you two know each other?” He was obviously referring to my sister, who couldn’t answer, as she had just left to take a piss. I get this question more often than you’d think.

“Believe it or not, we’re sisters,” I replied. Like clockwork, he fires off the next question –

“Who’s older?” In which I reply with my favorite come back –

“Take a guess.” It’s a tricky question. Whenever I ask people to guess, they always think I’m older (because I’m taller). WRONG.

Mike guessed wrong. Then he went on to say that he didn’t think we looked related, but now that I’ve pointed it out, he can see the resemblance. I assured him he wasn’t alone. The only response Brittany and I repeatedly get about our relation is that 1) we look nothing alike or 2) we could be twins. It’s either-or, there’s never a stance in the middle. For anyone. Brittany returns to the table and I explain to her that Mike and I were just chatting about how he didn’t believe we were sisters.

“Oh, 50/50,” Brittany says, “people either think we’re twins or not related at all”

I rested my case.

The sun dipped below the horizon and dusk was getting a shade darker. Fireworks exploded in the distance and we could see the sparks from where we sat on the patio outdoors. The locals finished their drinks and invited us to hop to another bar; so, we oblige, of course. The rest of the night turns into somewhat of a blur, but I remember Mike walking Brittany and I back to our vacation rental. He wanted some alone time with my sister but I could tell she didn’t want to be left with some local and I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her. I couldn’t find any nice words to let him off easy; frankly, I didn’t really care.

I picked Brittany up by the waist and started running across the street, screaming “see you later!” (With the most obvious fact that he would never see us again slapping him across the face behind me). As soon as I crossed the empty street, I accidentally dropped Brittany in the gravel shoulder before I fell on top of her. When we got up to brush ourselves off, Mike had already disappeared. We silently crept into our temporary home and forgot to hydrate before we passed out.

I woke up with a dry mouth and tongue, parched af. I looked down at the pile of clothes next to my bedside and picked up my shirt, reaching into the front pocket for my ID, debit card and Brittany’s credit card. The pocket was empty. I frantically fell out of bed, propped the door open on my way out of the house and into the street. As suspected, all three plastic cards were in the dirt next to the road where we both ate shit the night before.

We’re [nearly] twins, but being sisters is just as swell. Whether we look alike or not, Brittany and I appreciate the same vacation spots and have the same taste in beer. We socialize in similar ways, we have identical mannerisms. We both get into shit with locals and find unconventional ways out. We even unknowingly cut our hair around the same time.

Author: jfaull.in.progress

Bay Area, California. Food, music, yoga, books, home-grown garden, bike, hike, skate, work, drink, dance, sleep...that's me & I write about my life - let's explore what makes us whole!

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