Pink L.L. Bean Jacket

I remember when we were young,
and you used to chase me at recess
in your pink L.L. Bean jacket.
You thought I was cool because I was a tomboy
and played with the boys.
But, you were never fast enough
when you came to play with me,
and I always ran ahead,
leaving you behind.

It seemed ok then—
we had different friends.
But, at the same time,
we were best friends.
We had to be.
We were twins,
and had spent our entire lives together.

I always say that I can’t wait until I’m grown up.
I won’t have to live in the Jack-and-Jill room
connected to yours.
You won’t always come in my room
to take my clothes
that you want to wear.
You won’t always yell at me
for brushing my teeth with my
electric toothbrush when you are trying to sleep at night.
You won’t always tell me to change my outfit,
to wear something pink or that looks more girly,
or that I look terrible in the morning
and need to do something to my hair
other than putting it in a pony tail.

But now, the time has come
to actually go our separate ways—
to leave the comfort of our Jack-and-Jill rooms
and venture out into the real world.
You, wanting to live in a J.Crew world,
teaching elementary school kids
and opening a bakery,
and me, ready to travel the world.

I have always said that I couldn’t wait until we could live our
separate lives,
and you have always disagreed,
following me in your pink L.L Bean jacket.

But, not any more.

I never cared before.
But then something deep inside me clicked.
At my college interview,
when James was so interested in you and me,
saying how his adopted son was a twin,
whose always had a piece of him missing,
because his brother died at birth.

Will a piece of me be missing next year
when we are apart?
I might actually want you and
your Pink L.L Bean jacket back,
close by,
trailing behind me.