"She does not know
her beauty,
she thinks her brown body
has no glory.
If she could dance
naked
under palm trees
and see her image in the river,
she would know.
But there are no palm trees
on the street,
and dish water gives back
no images."
~William Waring Cuney
***
When Juliana was little, she liked watching snails march slowly down her driveway. They felt so tiny compared to her, so fragile; they needed her protection like how her parents protected her. There had been a boy on her street, Matthieu, who liked jumping on the poor critters. Juliana shared her displeasure with Val, and the two hatched a plan to get revenge for the snails.
A few days later, their plan kicked off. Val ran a lemonade stand, selling small plastic cups for fifty cents. She smiled as she charmed the small group of middle-aged women who liked to jog in the morning.
Matthieu and his friends watched Val from his driveway a few houses down.
When the women left, Matthieu hopped onto his scooter; there were no snails that day. The boy grinned, his chubby cheeks bulging as he drew closer, his electric scooter whirring as it sped toward Val's stand. He stretched out his right hand and tipped some already-poured cups onto the ground. Plastic cups hit the floor and tumbled over themselves. Juice seeped into the hot pavement.
Matthieu didn't know that Juliana hid behind the maple tree in their front yard, recording his abusive behaviour with her mother's camera.
He laughed as he went around the cul-de-sac and shot down the other side of the street. Val looked ready to jump over the table and fight him. Juliana went over to her sister and touched her shoulder. "It's alright; we got him." She shared the video of him spilling the lemonade they had made.
Once his mother saw this, she would beat his little bum and the snails, who were unfortunately dead and probably had no living relatives, would get their revenge. She and Val high-fived and began their five-year-long war with Matthieu.
Matthieu moved after he turned twelve. The day Matthieu was supposed to depart, he had knocked on their front door, holding an envelope with a handwritten letter in which he confessed how much he liked Juliana and inserted his email address at the bottom so she could contact him later. Juliana had been surprised; she had simply thought of him as an annoying bug that liked comparing her skin colour to poop. Somehow that bug had fallen in love with her. Maybe the bug would have regained its senses if she had hit it a few times.
Juliana had always been the observer. She had watched her sister fall in love, get her heart broken, and run away from home. Juliana had watched her friends fight and break up over simple things, and, for the most part, she was always objective. Until prom night, Juliana had never entertained any of those feelings for herself, although the fire was quickly snuffed out and only lasted a second. It had been there. A flicker of warmth. Desire. And guilt.
Something hit Juliana's forehead, and she lifted her head. Her blurry vision took a while to clear. A rolled-up piece of foolscap paper rested on top of her exam. She had finished her test, then ran out of energy and must have fallen asleep.
Frowning, Juliana looked around the room. The professor sat behind his desk; he was tall, dark, and handsome. He had been patient when she had asked for extensions for her research papers. White light fell on his brown skin, caught in dark lashes and coily black hair. His tight white shirt did little to hide his muscles underneath.
Most of the girls in their class had taken it to gawk at him. If the whole doctor thing failed, Juliana might try going into Psychology next. There were five or so exam takers left. The clock had run out, but Professor Westley had given them a thirty-minute bonus. On the blackboard, he had drawn a clock that counted down with yellow chalk.
Next to Juliana, a girl with glasses and brown hair captured in a long braid had an array of rolled paper balls on her desk.
Juliana had never really spoken to the girl, but they had shared a few classes throughout the years. Juliana made an internal promise to buy the stranger hot chocolate one day as thanks for waking her up. She stood, stretched her arms, and brought her exam to the front of the class; her teacher accepted it with a smile. "It was a pleasure having you, and I hope to see you again," he said, flashing his brilliant white teeth. If Juliana was straight, the grin might have knocked her over, but she felt nothing except a distant longing to sleep for twenty-four hours.
When Juliana went home after finishing her exam, the first thing she did was put up a 'do not disturb' sign on her door. Then she journeyed into the kitchen and ate a cinnamon roll that had been kept in a container labelled 'Val'. She was sure Val had licked it, but it had been glazed with caramel and, once microwaved, was so soft and delicious she couldn't help loving how it felt against her tongue. Hopefully, Val hadn't gotten a cold or anything lately.
Since she had refuelled, Julianna showered, then changed into her pyjamas, and though it was just after six in the evening, she set her alarm for twenty hours later. She glanced at the warm ivory walls of her room, the pieces of paper scattered on the ground, and textbooks filled with colourful sticky notes.
Juliana checked her phone, responded to her parents' texts that were a few days old, letting them know she was still alive, and then went to sleep.
She dreamed about Sophie; her old friend had also dropped the pretenses she had worn in high school. Sophie wore a plain white shirt and tight black jeans. A black fedora covered her wild orange hair. They sat on a knoll in the middle of a grass field. Sophie leaned back, placing her weight on her hands behind her. There was a little distance between them, but Juliana knew that something would change if Sophie crossed that space and touched her. Something would melt, distort, and never return to its original shape.
Instead of crossing the boundary, Sophie asked about Val and Naomi and said that she was doing well, that her grandmother had opened an inn near their blueberry farm in British Columbia, and that she would be working there in the summer.
Juliana woke with a start; her alarm clock showed it was just after five, but outside was still dark.
Juliana had forgotten about the blueberry farm. She remembered asking Sophie's parents where their daughter went; they had been vague with their responses as if they hadn't wanted to reveal a secret.
What if Sophie had decided to stay in BC rather than face Juliana?
Juliana swung her legs over the side of the bed, slipped her feet into her bedroom slippers, and then went to Val's room, a strange feeling sprouting in her chest.
She pushed the door open, walked into a bag or human-shaped lump and turned on the light. The foreign object was Val's duffel bag; her soccer jersey spilled out of its mouth. Val cursed and pulled the navy-blue comforter over her head. Her room smelled like peppermint. A white mist floated out of the cone-shaped diffuser on her dresser. Unlike the bare walls that formed Juliana's rooms, hers were filled with pictures of the bands she had performed with, photos of her playing soccer, Naomi, and random outfits she planned to buy when she had saved up enough money.
Much to their mother's displeasure, Val had painted her walls dark grey, almost black.
Juliana pulled down the comforter. Val squinted as she adjusted to the light. Juliana hated that her sister looked handsome even when her hair was a tousled mess. If Juliana went out looking like that, people would think she was mentally unstable. A faint, almost non-existant mustache topped Val's upper lip, and she wore it proudly. "I need to talk to you," Juliana said.
"About stealing my cinnamon roll?" Val asked, her voice husky from sleep. "I don't accept your apology, thief."
"I didn't take your stupid cinnamon roll."
"Really? I was saving it for yesterday, but imagine my surprise when I came home, and it wasn't in the fridge. Tell me how a cinnamon roll can be here one day and gone the next."
"I don't know... maybe you ate it and forgot."
Val's eyes widened, and she chuckled low and slow as if she were two seconds away from blowing her fuse. "You ate it, and you know you ate it. You owe me six dollars."
"Fine. Is a wire transfer good?"
"Don't forget the two-dollar delivery fee. Walking it home wasn't easy; there were lots of people, and it was so noisy it made my head hurt."
"I will hit you."
Val's nostrils shivered as she tried to regain control of her temper. "Fine. Six dollars is good."
Juliana sat on the side of her sister's bed. "You remember Sophie?"
"The fierce hot redhead you were friends with in high school?"
Juliana blinked. "What was that?"
"What?"
"Did you call her hot?"
"No. You did."
"My voice can come out of your mouth?"
"That's how twins work," Val said, sweeping her hair back. "What about her?"
"Over winter break, I thought we could visit her inn in British Columbia. She might have told me about it, but I don't remember what it's called or its location."
"What do you want me for? I don't know much about her."
"Maybe you can contact her relatives on social media?"
"And say what?"
"I don't, Val. I just... I need to talk to her, and her family cut me off for some reason. I don't think I can move on without concluding whatever happened between us. But while her parents are keeping it a secret from me, they may be willing to share the details with one of your friends."
"What did you do to piss them off? Did they find out how nasty your real personality was?"
Val reached for her comforter. Before she could cover her head, Juliana gripped her sister's wrist. "I help you whenever you argue with Naomi. It wouldn't hurt you to return the favour once in a while."
Val sighed. "Give me two hours; I went to bed at midnight. Not all of us get home as early as you."
"Fine."
"Good. Now get out; I need my beauty sleep." The comforter covered Val's head again, signalling the end of their conversation.
***