Now I'm stuck in it again. Mrs. Wilsome is taking us Lewises to town "because you must get some decent travelling clothes," and it seems as if we don't have any at all in her opinion. But look at the amount of clothes we already have, many of which could be well suited for travelling in too. Bernie and Bea really enjoy it and makes us stop to look at almost every shop window display we pass. Toys, as well as clothes and equipment of all kinds; Miriam doesn't mind much, neither does Mrs. Wilsome object. In fact, she's also a window shopper. All, except me.

People, people, people. Just too many of them. They scare the daylight out of me. I prefer my own little world; it's safe so I'll stick to it. Sometimes I'm able to distract my mind from them so that, like now, they are just shadows in a dance. I don't see them, I don't hear them. And I continue like that, while we go into some shops and stores. It's fairly easy to find something nice for the twins. They each get a sailor's suit, one in cream and the other in blue. Bernie and Bea like to be clad the same way, and they do as often as they may, but sometimes like now in different colours. Bea prefers pants to skirts, so when they are together there's no mistaking that they aren't twins. In fact, they act more like identical twins than Miriam and I do. Miriam chooses a formal looking jeans skirt and jacket, and a white pleated blouse—she, the only one of us all: skirt! (I know that Mrs. Wilsome would rather have Bea and me in skirts too, but for once she's not making any comments.) I myself can't make up my mind, but after a while I settle for a pair of darkish green pants with quite a few pockets. In another shop I find an attractive blouse in a matching turquoise. Together with the pants, it certainly fits me. And after that: shoes for the twins, says Mrs. Wilsome. She means Bernie and Bea of course. Nobody in the family calls me and Miriam 'the twins'.

But by this time my interest has faded, and I start to lag behind, not caring any longer.

I'm seeing people again—too many of them. It's driving me up the wall, making me feel like a fugitive with nowhere to run to. Busy traffic; and noise, noise, noise. How can people stand it? I can't.

Suddenly I stop dead in my tracks, face to face with a face I will never forget. About eighteen, and half a head taller than me: those dark eyes—neither brown nor black—staring back at me with the same stunned look of recognition as I feel. I catch my breath with a step backwards, wanting to flee.

"Hey, wait a minute. Don't go," he says quietly and involuntarily I wait for him to continue. Instead he reaches out to me with his hand, I find that mine is slowly drawn to it, as if there's something magnetizing in it. I don't understand this, I have no resistance—I don't know where it went to—but our fingers touch and slowly his interlocks with mine. I barely notice all the people passing us by as the feeling I had in the dream floods me. Time seems to stand still.

"Mishie!" a voice suddenly calls, breaking the almost hypnotic spell. I jerk my hand away and spin around, looking out into the street.

"Mishie!"

Oh, there he is, stretching out his arms for me! "Dad!" I shout and rush to meet him. I feel someone trying to stop me; I hear the screeching tyres and screams. But I am at last in my father's arms, almost crying with joy.

"So you came for me," I say after a while. It doesn't occur to me what that actually means.

"Yes, dear. I did," he replies.

"Where's Mother?"

"She's waiting for us at our new home."

I smile happily, I'm not miserable any longer. But then I hear a commotion behind me. "What's that?" I ask, turning around.

There's a crowd in front of a delivery van, and the twins, Miriam and even Mrs. Wilsome are there. They all look horrified.

"It's an accident," Dad says. "But don't look."

But I don't listen to him. Without any trouble at all (that's odd) I get myself through the crowd to look, while sirens are coming closer.

"Oh, my god!" I gasp, shocked. It's my body lying down there—all bloody and ... dead. Then Dad reaches me and hides my face in his shirt, rocking me gently as he always used to do when I was upset; and I hear Miriam soothing the twins for the second time. "Don't worry. I think she's happy now." I look at her. She has a shimmer of tears in her eyes. She understands, but... how?

"She always has, dear; although you've never let her show you that she did," Dad says in reply to my thought.

I glance at him, and then back at my twin sister. Suddenly I feel grateful toward her—and then guilty. Sorry too. I was always too selfish. But now it's too late to tell her that.

And what about Len, whom I promised to write to when I got to live in America?

Without the faintest idea of how I did it, I suddenly find myself in the doorway to the family's kitchen, watching them having early Saturday dinner together: Len, his brother and sister, and his parents. He's lucky to have them all. Richard is looking straight at the doorway, but doesn't seem to notice me. Strange. I can't get used to what I am now—or rather, what I'm not.

I go upstairs, into Len's room. Everything looks familiar, although it's been a long time since I've been here. I pick up a blue vase that is identical to one we used to have at home. But he keeps pencils and pens in this one. I lift a finger to touch the floral pattern, but when my finger goes straight through it, I let it drop from my hands, frightened. I can't believe it! I stare at the broken pieces, then look around for a dustbin. I don't see any so I just collect them into a heap. When I straighten myself up my eyes fall on an old photograph with Len and me, on the window sill. Picking it up carefully, I remember that we were only seven years old that time. I smile to myself as I recall those sweet memories of childhood. I wasn't as withdrawn then.

Suddenly I hear a scream and I look around. They must have heard the vase crash and come up to see what broke. Though I didn't hear them coming up the stairs. It was the mother who fainted when she saw... —Saw what? A photograph floating in mid-air? Her husband caught her.

"What is it? What is it?" Tina asks, tugging Richard's arm. He just picks her up, staring at the picture. But Len stares at me, as if he can see me.

"Michelle!" he exclaims with a breath. "What are you doing here?"

I look at him, and then at the picture I'm holding. One can see it's him all right. "I've come to say ... goodbye," I reply, carefully putting it down on the bed. Richard and his father stare at it almost hypnotically. Len looks wonderingly at me.

"Why? Aren't you going to write?" he asks, reaching out with his hand. That reminds me of the other one, whom I couldn't resist. But I don't hesitate with Len. I know him—that's the difference. Suddenly I feel terrible about leaving their world— "Thank you for being my friend." —and leaving him, too. I reach out to touch his hand: "I think ... I – I could have loved you."

***

...The Epilogue NEXT!

© 1983/2016 by kemorgan65

CREDIT:
*Instrumental track "I miss you" by Danny Rayel https://youtu.be/XRS6sUOPDHE