Flowers
When I was younger, around second or third grade, I began to notice how my mom had these little things she would say. Usually she was trying to be helpful but a lot of the time she ended up being sardonic, which is why Rose and I managed to perfect our eye rolls early on. One of my mom’s favorites was actually a quote from Harry Potter (which is probably what started my addiction to all things fantastical): “If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." Another was something she found online: “There are two types of people in this world: Those who categorize, and those who don’t.”
I don’t know, maybe it’s my mom’s doing, or maybe it’s the fact that I “need some way to govern everything around me because I’m a control freak” (my mother’s words again), but I’ve always found myself classifying people. My sister does the same thing, but not really to the extent I do, I think. My sister puts people into diverse social groups at school (the jocks, the geeks, the nerds, etc.), but she got that from the movie Mean Girls so I’m not sure if she’s done this her entire life.
While my sister uses numerous groups, I mostly put people into two: Roses (outgoing, garrulous, and self-assured) and Violets (introverted, awkward, and internet-obsessed). Basically, people similar to my sister and people similar to me. It’s funny, actually. My sister and I are identical twins, but personality-wise, we couldn’t be more different.
~*~
Derek’s potty mouth acts up the second my sister and I scramble into the back seat of his truck.
“Last day of sophomore year, bitches!” he whoops before he, in his usual manner, blasts out of Marie’s driveway and down our street. For whatever reason, twenty over the marked speed limit is perfectly reasonable to him. In the words of Wallace & Gromit, “He’s so crazy” (it’s taken out of context, but it still works).
Marie, his girlfriend of a few months, grabs his arm. “Derek Bennett, I swear to whatever god exists, if you don’t slow down I will cut your genitals off.”
“You’ve been threatening him since he got the truck, ‘Ree. Seriously, look up some new threats,” Rose says. Her thin legs are both pulled up to rest on the back of the driver’s seat, as are mine. Except on the passenger seat, of course.
“Yeah, threaten to ‘blow up my flipping car’ again, that one’s my favorite.”
Marie sends them both glares. “You’re dead to me,” she says before turning around to face me. Her brown eyes peep between the black leather seat and the head rest, and her extremely curly brown hair poufs so that it looks like the head rest has hair.
“I like your shirt. Did Rose get you to wear it?” Marie asks. I frown and look down at the shirt I’m wearing, a white one with many colored flowers all over it.
“Why couldn’t I have chosen it?” I say.
Marie shoots me one of her infamous looks. “Because even you admitted that you have no style.”
My frown deepens and she grins.
“Knew it. Most of your wardrobe includes t-shirts from your favorite TV shows and quotes from Tumblr.” Rose and Derek nod in agreement.
“You’re all pompous idiots,” I mumble. My other leg pulls down from its awkward spot. Both legs curl against my chest and I clutch them close, wrapping my pale arms around them and letting two fingers rub a blue and red flower on my shirt. The silly comment hits me in the heart with a pang as I bury my face in my knees. It shouldn’t bother me. Stupid teasing shouldn’t bother me.
It’s because you’re so insecure.
Derek flips the car into a parking space a few minutes later. Marie screams profanities without actually saying any curse words, my sister laughs, and I grip the door in some attempt not to fall over. Everything goes flying and, somehow, my long blonde hair gets twisted around the head rest.
“No such thing as unicorns? More like no such thing as Derek’s common sense,” I mutter as I untangle my hair. Marie hits Derek while he grins triumphantly.
Rose smiles as she elegantly steps out of the vehicle. “Derek, you aren’t in Fast and Furious, so don’t drive like it,” she says. Seconds later she waves at all of us. The backpack, a flowery one she selected at the same time I chose my bulky green one, gets flung over one shoulder as she then saunters over to her cheerleading friends.
Inane, superficial, oblivious, and self-obsessed. Oh, and freakishly thin. That’s all the cheerleaders are. Each one of them is the cliché Rose; not entirely like my sister, but enough to where I can’t help but group them together. My sister is the only true Rose in our group; the rest of us are definite Violets. To be honest, none of us really belong anywhere, but we’re all outsiders and outsiders tend to band together like their own island of misfit toys.
If you were honest with yourself, you’d realize you’re the only one that doesn’t belong.
I uncurl my legs and shove the car door open. Marie and Derek are already talking to Shamshad as he, obviously frazzled, does as much homework as possible before school. This little idiosyncrasy, a stark contrast from his practical, almost pedantic self, makes my heart thump in my chest and my face turn embarrassing shades of the first and last colors on the rainbow. It’s not because I like him, not at all; it’s because it’s so ironic.
My sister never blushes, ever; the only time she isn’t completely composed is around us. She is a Rose, though, so she has a reputation to uphold at school. I do too, I guess. No one really pays attention to me or any other Violet like me, though, so it isn’t really the same. We’re the invisible people.
Do your friends even notice you?
Marie claps once in front of my face and I step back, surprised. “Did I do the thing again?” I ask blearily. I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m currently standing with my friends.
“Yeah, you went off into Vi-vi world,” Derek says. The stupid grin is still on his face.
I scowl at him. “Don’t call me that,” I mumble.
“Sucks, Vi-vi.”
For a second I debate responding, but when the bell rings a few seconds later, I decide against it and instead hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulder. The couple walks away, off in their own world.
Shamshad, his stuff still all over the place, groans and quickly begins to shove everything into one small multicolored folder. Without thinking, I begin to help and he sends me a look of gratitude once we finish. My heart thumps loudly.
“Ready?” I say, my voice steady, and he nods.
We walk side by side to our homeroom classes. Conversation starters begin to flip through my brain at lightning speed but none of them seem suitable. Everything we have in common seems to have shot straight out of my brain for the moment. I scrunch my shirt nervously.
My sister would know how to talk to him. She always knows exactly how to get people to like her because a Rose always knows what to say. A Rose seems perfect to everyone around them.
Unlike your messy, anxious self.
I look down at my flowery shirt when we get to my classroom. “Well, um, see you at lunch?” he says and I nod, my eyes fixated on a dark purple flower.
“Yeah, see you,” I reply. He walks away and I stand there watching him and playing with the hem of my shirt. The rough texture of the flowers compared to the smooth texture of the white part is frustrating and itchy and I yank on it. For a few minutes I stand there staring blankly at a florescent light, but when the bell rings, I turn away and walk into my classroom.
My first classes are all pointless today; my English teacher shows a Disney movie, my P.E. teacher gives us free time, and my History teacher lets us watch some horror film. When the bell rings after History, I wait outside the classroom door for Marie so we can walk to lunch.
As we walk and talk, an arm wraps around my shoulders and I jump, a strange noise squeaking out of my mouth. The arm slides off as I look over to see who it is. I’m greeted with a tan face and dark eyes, both of which are currently sporting an odd expression.
Shamshad. Of course.
Why do you have to be so awkward?
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I look down at my shirt as my face turns many colors. “I’m fine, you just startled me,” I mumble.
A bemused look is on his face when I look up. Marie is giving me a knowing squint, which I have told her she shouldn’t do because it looks like she’s having bowel problems. She’s convinced I like him, but I don’t. I just think he’s mildly attractive, as does Rose, but she likes odd looking people. He’s tall, kind of exotic (his parents are from the Middle East), and he has a nice face. It’s symmetrical.
The three of us walk through the cafeteria. Marie immediately leaves us to buy lunch with Derek, but Shamshad and I continue outside where my sister is sitting at our usual spot. She’s talking to her current crush, a guy on the soccer team with brown hair down to his shoulders and a frighteningly angular face. His cheekbones are so sharp they could cut apart my indestructible phone.
Shamshad’s hand whips out and grabs my arm when we’re a few feet away from our spot. My arm is warm where he’s touching me. My face grows hot to match it, naturally. I don’t look at him of course, and instead glance down at where his hand is.
“Does Rose like me?” he whispers. “I mean, would she say yes if I asked her to dinner or something?”
I stop breathing as his words slice like razors into my heart.
You claim you don’t like him because you’re terrified of emotion.
Tears blur my vision and I blink.
He’s not choosing your sister over you because you weren’t even a choice.
One foot steps back.
Even someone you’re identical to is better than you.
“She likes some soccer player,” I gasp.
You’re Violet, the lesser twin.
And then suddenly I’m walking away, mumbling about the bathroom as the tears burst from my eyes like rain from the clouds. My chest aches and my eyes ache and I really don’t want anyone to ever see me again because eyes add weight. Maybe if I’m forgotten enough, I’ll actually turn invisible.
Maybe. Hopefully.
You’re already gone, can’t you tell?
I shove my way through the outdoor bathroom door and into the handicapped stall. My backpack clunks to the ground as I stare into the mirror at my red face, my blue and violet eyes, my stupid pimple right under my stupid nose. Everything I like about myself exists on someone else. All the things I hate are mine, all mine.
I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this.
Throw it away, then. Throw everything away.
I’ve never been great at handling my emotions, and I know this. They’re my downfall, the thing that keeps me locked up in my room night after night, watching TV and living in someone else’s world.
Let your insecurities take over.
I’m flawed, so flawed, so hopelessly flawed compared to my beautiful, outgoing, perfect sister.
Become someone you hate.
One hand forcefully swipes my eye and leaves a mascara streak across my cheek. I stare at it for a minute, as if looking for a sign from some god. It’s just a streak, though, and I’m just crazy, and everything is messy.
Why am I even wearing makeup? I hate it. It’s fake, it’s gross, it’s disgusting, and it belongs to my sister. I’m not my sister. I’m not Rose.
Why can’t anyone see it?
Why can’t you see it?
The bathroom door opens so I hold my breath, trying not to sniffle or make any noise. The person must know I’m here, though, because they walk straight over to the stall door and lightly knock.
“Violet?” my sister says.
I clench my shirt in both fists. Not Rose. Not now. Please, not now.
“I know you’re in there.”
When I don’t answer, she crouches down and shimmies under the door. My body tenses and I stare fixatedly at the mirror. I can see her, however, hesitantly walking towards me and holding out a hand as if to put it on my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap.
She winces slightly but takes a step back. “Violet, what’s wrong?” she asks. For the first time in her life she looks like she feels awkward, unwanted, ignored. It gives me a guilty bit of pleasure but I still don’t look directly at her.
“I’m fine, just PMS. You can go,” I say, kinder this time.
“No, it’s not; you had your period a week ago.”
I don’t respond, and continue to stare.
“Violet, you can tell me anything.”
Another tear rolls down my face.
“What happened?”
My fists have built up a rhythm of clenching and unclenching my shirt. One clenches, the other unclenches.
“Violet, tell me what’s wrong.”
And then I burst open like a dam. “Freaking Rose Zykin, that’s what happened! Perfect little Rose, loved by everyone and forgotten by few. You’re that person, the one everyone wants to be, even some of the guys because you’re just so nice, so funny, so everything that no one can compare! Not even your twin sister.”
Rose stands there, speechless. I can’t stop though. I’m spilling words like a new wound spills blood.
“I am nothing compared to you. Since we were created, you’ve been before me. You were born first. You were the planned baby. You’re the one Mom has been able to relate to since the start. I am just Violet, the silent daughter that does as she’s told and hides in her room the rest of the time.”
“That’s not my fault, any of it,” Rose says, her voice harsh.
I swipe at my eye again. “I know it’s not, I know, but I can’t fault myself because I’m self-centered and appalling. I blame you because you’re immaculate.” I take a shaky breath and sigh. “And it’s not only that, Rose, it’s not only the things at home. Everywhere we go people prefer you. Summer camp? You get all our cabin mates to love you and all but ignore me. Auditioning for a play? You get a good role while I’m just a background dancer. We meet some boys? Every single one loves you by the end of the day. It’s history, Rose, and history freaking repeats itself. I hate it. I hate me, I hate everyone around us, and I want to hate you.”
“But what?” Rose whispers.
I look at her for a bit. Her eyes are wide and her hands are clenched around the edge of her dress. Rose’s face isn’t red, of course. Of course.
“But nothing,” I say after a moment. “I don’t hate you, I’m nothing compared to you and…” I allow another quivering breath. “If everyone had to choose one person to live, just one person on the planet, I wouldn’t be alive anymore.”
Rose’s face grows disbelieving. “What?” she asks.
“If everyone had-”
“I got that, but how could you think that?” Rose lightly rubs one of her eyelids and no makeup smears. “Violet, you and Marie are my best friends but when it comes down to it, you’re the one I can’t live without. You’re my favorite person, my awkward sister that I can always count on to make some hilarious comment when suitable. You’re the only one that gets it when I reference some movie or TV show, and you’re the only person that sits in the strange positions I do. You’re my identical twin. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“But we’re nothing alike. It’s like night and day, black and white, Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter, just complete opposites. Why in all insanity would you choose me?” I look down at my shirt.
“Because you’re stupid, and incredibly oblivious.” She pauses. “You do know Harry and Neville were a lot alike, right?”
I sigh. “It wasn’t my best comparison, I know. But… you’d pick me because I’m stupid?”
Rose rolls her eyes. “You’re so silly. I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.” I frown and glance into the mirror. My face is still red and splotchy, but my eyes are clear and hands lay limply by my legs.
Rose grabs my bag and then my hand. “C’mon stupid, let’s go eat lunch,” she says and then forcefully drags me out of the stall. Just before we leave, though, I get a glimpse of a rainbow being projected onto the wall from the window. Instead of all the colors being evenly divided like the cartoon drawings I made as a child, they all blur into each other, one a part of the next.
~*~
My mom told me something once, one of her little mom-isms, when I was crying after school. Kids had been teasing me with the rhyme “Roses are red, Violets are blue”, and saying blue was a boys color. Rose wasn’t there to tell them to knock it off for the first time in my life.
My mom, once I told her what had happened, kissed me on the forehead. “Violet, your flower isn’t just blue. It comes in many different colors such as purple and sometimes pink. My favorite is indigo, though.”
I looked at her through puffy eyelids. “Why?” I asked simply.
She smiled. “Because, even though it’s the least popular color in the rainbow, it still makes it exist.”
___________________________________________________
so i have finally put up the next part of tsom whaaat.
originally Alien was gonna be a stand-alone short story thing, but now I have plans to write at least two more in tsom: one abut Rose, and one about Shamshad. you guys better love me for this.
enjoy, point out mistakes, tell me if anything doesn't make sense, etc. oh and vote if you like it c: