There are people who were made to lead, made to be the center of attention, made to be popular. There are people who are made to adore these people, hoping and praying that one day they too can have that status. Too bad for them you apparently have to be born with a popular gene to even think of being a part of that group. Finally, there are people who were made to assist the first group, people who, if they do not do something spectacular or life-threatening, will be easily forgotten. In case you haven't guessed, I'm part of the final group, the group that gets little to no recognition even if we are constantly with those considered popular. Luckily (or unluckily) for me my sister is.
I always thought identical twins were exactly the same. Growing up, we wore the same things, went to the same places and had the same friends. Somewhere down the line though, puberty hit. Puberty, short skirts and the incapability to avoid boys, in her case anyway. It always struck me as funny to be referred to as 'Amy's sister' or 'the other one'- that's my favorite. I never really paid much attention to it growing up, figuring if they really needed me, they'd take the time to learn my name. Little did I know that it would continue until high school, the formative years, the 'best years of our lives'. That's when it got to be too much. It got terribly annoying to be called 'Amy's sister' or 'that girl Amy lives with' and at some point it became hurtful. I mean honestly, Brooklyn is big but it isn't that damn big.
There was a time I'd deluded myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, they only had enough time to say two syllables and went for the easy name rather than spit out an extra one and waste a precious second of their time. Amy over Eliot. It's been that way for years so of course it was a conclusion I allowed myself to come to. That and my parents must have really hated me from the start to make me the one named after our grandpa.
I've wanted to separate myself from this way of life for years. It's hard living in your sister's shadow, especially when you're slightly taller and just a tad bit thicker and you swear you look like you're related to Nefertiti. Anyway, I will finally get my chance. Three days until our first day of college, our first day of being independent women, our first day of real life. And the best part? We won't be at the same school. While she treks to Rutgers to drown herself in sorority life, I am leaving the country to study in France. France, of all places. I cannot begin to express my excitement.
I guess it's good being invisible sometimes. It's how you make contacts indirectly, contacts that could help you with your journey further down the road should you choose to take it. That and getting away from my sister might actually help me figure out who I am on my own.
- Eliot Marshall. Diary entry August 5, 2006.