My Name Is Shirley

    Hi. My name is Shirley. I’m five months old…well, in my time at least. Tommy, my twin brother, says we won’t even remember this time in…four months! Four months, and we’ll be babies! I can’t wait…I’m almost ready. I’ve got toes! Look, ten of them, just count! I think I have eyelashes, nails, and even a crooked pinkie, just like my mom.

    My mom is worried, I think. I like her voice, when she’s talking. It’s quiet, but…sad, sometimes. I don’t think she put us in here. I try to tell her not to worry. I’ll be good, and I’ll help her! We’ll do it. I know she loves us.

    Just three more months. I look so…big! Tommy does, too. He says that kids are supposed to get messy and run and laugh. I hope we don’t worry Mom. She sounds scared. Last night, when Tommy was asleep, I heard her crying. “Two,” she kept saying. “I don’t want two…” I tried to sing her to sleep, to comfort her. It works on me.

    Something’s wrong with Tommy. I think he’s sick. I don’t know how to fix him…maybe the doctor can help. Mom goes to the doctor sometimes. I think the doctor has already told mom that there’s two of us in here, and even that we’re a boy and a girl! But Mom didn’t seem happy. I think she’s scared. I’m scared sometimes, too. I hope that’s not why Tommy’s sick.

    I woke up one day…and I was alone. I looked around. Tommy wasn’t there. I was scared…where was my brother? I called for him. “Tommy? Tommy, where did you go?” I tried to think of everything that I had heard in the last eight months. “Oh,” I said. “He must have been born already! Sometimes babies go early!” I was happy with this explanation…sort of. “Why wasn’t I born, too? Aren’t we supposed to go together? We’re twins…” I had heard something else. Sometimes…mommies got scared, and... But I knew that couldn’t happen. Mom loved us.

    It hurt…being born, I mean. I’m here, now. I have a pretty, pink room. Pink…but no Tommy. Tommy was supposed to be here. Mom said that Tommy was sick, and she couldn’t have two kids, much less one sick one! “But,” I tried to explain, “Tommy was fine! He talked to me! He would have been good...he would have been good.” He would have been good.

      Tommy used to say that we would never remember this time. I hope he’s wrong. I never want to forget my brother. I want to be alive…and I want him here! Where’s Tommy? Where is my brother? Didn’t anyone else love him? Didn’t anyone else talk with him, or sleep beside him? Didn’t anyone else know him? I’m the only one who ever knew Tommy. And I will never remember him.