Unmatched Pairs

Chapter 1

“Tracy, I need you to come get me,” my sister wailed into the phone. Although we weren’t psychic twins, the cadence of her words told me she was scared. It wasn’t hard to guess why.

I had always considered my sister Carly handicapped also, although her handicap wasn’t obvious the way mine was.

Carly’s propensity to hook up with the wrong man was as debilitating as missing a limb, or worse, at least in my eyes. My life without an arm was the same as if I’d been born with two perfect arms, (more or less), but her handicap was making her life shit.

In our last month of high school, she had met Jerry, a dropout loser a year older than us who worked at a garage near our school. We’d been walking home one day when he’d stopped working on the car he was under to have a smoke. He whistled at us as we walked by.

“Don’t look,” I warned, knowing my sister better than I knew myself.

But it was too late. She put that smile on her face, the one that told boys she was easy. “You whistlin’ at me or my sister?”

Jerry grinned, taking a long drag of his smoke before answering. “Both. You girls twins?”

“Keep walking,” I warned. Too late: Carly was walking, but now towards Jerry.

“Yeah, we’re twins. The only thing to tell us apart is…” she turned and looked at me, giving me the private smile. “Well, Tracy’s prettier and six minutes older.”

It was then that Jerry noticed the limp sleeve tucked into the pocket of my jacket.

“Hey, where’s your arm?”

“Up her last boyfriend’s ass. Come on Carly.”

“Whoa. Now she’s a spitfire!”

Carly was unimpressed. “She’s just bitter, don’t mind her.”

I was not bitter. I just knew this guy was bad news. He had grease under his fingernails and tattoos all over his arms. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against guys who work with their hands for a living, but there was something in his eyes that told me he was going to be trouble.

And true to form, where I saw trouble, Carly saw opportunity.

Three months later, she found out she was pregnant and abandoned both her plans to go to college and her dream to become a famous writer. Two weeks after that there was a civil ceremony down at city hall.

Dad was never quite the same after that.

“Is he drinking again?” I asked through gritted teeth. I pretty much knew the answer.

Carly’s voice hitched on a sob. “Just come get me, ‘kay?”

The keys were already in my hand, the phone cradled between my shoulder and my ear. “On my way”

I stuffed the keys into my pocket and hung up the phone, replacing it on the cradle on the table by the door. As I left my apartment, the anger bubbled up like acrid bile in my throat. When would she ever learn?

She was my twin sister; of course I would never wish her harm. But I was secretly relieved when Carly’s baby had been stillborn shortly after she’d married Jerry. But sadly, even though the reason for their hasty marriage was suddenly gone, she still didn’t leave him.

Even my vocal protestations of the abusive marriage did nothing to persuade her.

“He’s a good guy, Trace, he really is and I know he loves me,” she’d say, always ready to defend the man who got drunk and would call her every name in the book. He hadn’t ever hit her, though, at least there was that. So there wasn’t much I could do as long as she defended him. But at least once a month, I’d get a call just like I had today, begging for me to come rescue her from him.

It was only a short drive to Carly’s house (we’d never discussed it but both knew we couldn’t bear to be too far from each other), but halfway there, my stomach started to grumble. It had been a busy day; I was on deadline, due to hand in six week’s worth of strips by the end of the week so I’d skipped lunch.

I had barely stopped the car before Carly came out of the house. Walking, but in that way cats do when they’re crossing the street; walking as fast as physically possible without breaking into a run. I reached over and unlocked the door.

“Hey Trace, thanks a lot,” Carly said breathlessly as she climbed into the car.

“He drinking again?” I asked for the second time since I’d gotten the call.

She scowled at me. “No, I just wanted a night out with my sister.”

She wasn’t fooling anyone, but I kept my peace.

“So,” she said suddenly, the scorn out of her voice. “Where should we go tonight?”

I glanced over at my sister. We were identical, but it never felt like I was looking in the mirror when I looked at Carly; she always wore make up, I never bothered (why make yourself up if you’re never going anywhere?). She always had a smile on her face, ready to strike up a conversation, I was more…well reserved.

“I have work to do, so if you want to go out, you’re on your own.”

She actually stuck out her lower lip. “Aw, come on, Trace, let’s go out dancing. Stop being such a party pooper. You never want to go anywhere. How are you ever going to meet anyone if all you ever do is sit at home alone?”

I turned back to the road and fought the urge to vomit at just the thought of going out to a loud, crowded night club. She never understood when I told her I wasn’t looking to meet anyone, and she absolutely didn’t get my reluctance to go out to party, so telling her again would just get her on my case worse. “No, Carly, I really can’t. I’ve got a ton of work.”

“You know if you did something with your hair, you’d look a lot better.”

I pulled down the visor and looked at my hair. It didn’t look so bad. Short was the only way I could really manage it, although it was probably a few weeks beyond needing a cut.

“Not everyone is as glamorous as you, Carly.”

“No one says you have to grow it long like mine. But I don’t know, maybe color it or something. At least a real cut, not just one of those walk in mall places. Oh, I know, we can go now, maybe my guy could squeeze you in.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with the color of my hair,” I said, glancing again in the mirror. We had been born with light brown hair, which I didn’t see as a problem. Carly, on the other hand needed to constantly infuse red or blonde highlights into hers. Often her hair color was determined by mood. I, myself, didn’t see the reason to waste the money. “And anyway, I’m serious, I have work to do.”

“Can we at least stop for some Pogos?”

I rolled my eyes. I always felt like I had to act like her mother figure, but the truth was, I shared my sister’s love for Pogo dogs. It wasn’t long before I turned into the 7-11 parking lot.

I put the car in park. Carly didn’t move. “Aren’t you coming in with me?”

She looked at me if I’d suggested she cut her own arm off so we could be exactly identical. “No, I’m sure you can handle it, Tracy. You’re handicapable”

I rolled my eyes again and wiped my suddenly sweaty palm on my jeans before fastening my fanny pack around my waist.

“Don’t forget the diet coke,” she hollered as I slammed the door.

“How could I possibly forget Princess’ diet coke?” I murmured to myself.

My empty and churning stomach responded angrily, causing me to forget my demanding sister in favor of searching out the Pogo it had been promised.

First I needed drinks. I headed to the back of the store towards the floor to ceiling refrigerators. I pulled the door open and grabbed a Mountain Dew for me and a Diet Coke for her. I hip-checked the door closed and headed up to the counter. “Hi,” I said to the clerk, avoiding his eyes.

“Hi,” he said. “Just the sodas?”

I unzipped the fanny pack and took out my wallet. “No, um, I’d like two pogo dogs also, but if you could wrap them up and put them in a bag with the sodas that would be really helpful.”

“Oh, um, yeah, okay,” the clerk said in that tone that everyone got when they noticed I only had one arm.

I looked up at him and my stomach lurched the way it always did when I met someone new, especially when I made that someone uncomfortable just by being.

“It’s okay,” I said, nodding towards my left side, the one without the arm. “I’m all right.” I delivered the joke with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, missing the joke completely.

It only worked about sixty percent of the time, so it wasn’t a big surprise. When it did work, though, it usually broke the tension a little, making it a bit more bearable. Not this time, obviously. I was about to grab my bag and get out of there, but as the guy handed me my change and I looked over his shoulder to avoid his eyes, I saw a sign.

Not a sign from god or anything, but a sign for the lottery. A sign saying this week’s jackpot was estimated at twenty million dollars.

Stifling the urge to just bolt, I handed the clerk back two dollars. “And give me a quick pick for the big draw.”

I stuffed the lottery ticket into my fanny pack and grabbed the bag before leaving the clerk to return back to his comfortable existence.

“What took so long?” Carly asked predictably when I got into the car, tossing the bag at her.

“I was not long.”

Without being asked, Carly unwrapped my Pogo and handed it to me, then opened my mountain dew before putting it into the cup holder for me. She probably didn’t even realize she’d done it; years of habit.

“Mmmm Pogos are the food of the gods.”

I just nodded through the mouthful of dry corn dough.

Although they were tasty, there was more to it than that, Pogo dogs were comfort food; the taste of our childhood. Carly and I had been raised by our father after our mother had left us just before our fifth birthday. Dad was an electrician and had worked like a dog, often working fourteen hour days to make sure we had everything we needed. That often meant we were left to fend for ourselves and there were many meals taken at the 7-11. Meals of Pogo dogs and big gulps eaten while hunched over video games. It wasn’t a perfect childhood by any means, but Dad had done the best he could and loved us so much that there thankfully weren’t many times we lamented the lack of a mother.

“So how’s the strip going? What’s Handy Andie up to these days?” She asked after taking a swig of her diet coke.

I threw her a dirty look, not that it evoked any remorse. “The strip is doing well, thanks for asking,” Bitch. I had started drawing my comic strip, Spokes, as a creative outlet, something I could put out in the world, something that might help people learn a little something about people with disabilities while being entertained. I’d always loved all the comics: Peanuts, Herman, Dilbert, Adam and Family Circus. And it had been a dream come true that I could draw a strip good enough to be published among them. Add to that the paycheck and the fact that I almost never had to leave the house but could rely on e-mail and couriers, and I had to admit that I pretty much had it all.

However, if I’d ever realized that my strip’s main character, Andrea, who happened to be in a wheelchair, would be forever referred to by my sister as Handy Andie, I would have named her Kate or Linda or something a little less open to ridicule.

“He doesn’t hit me, you know,” Carly said out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“Jerry. He doesn’t hurt me.”

I dragged the last piece of Pogo off the stick with my teeth. I washed it down with a gulp of caffeine infused Dew. “There are more ways to hurt someone than just hit them, Carly.”

“Trace, he’s not a bad guy…”

I refrained from rolling my eyes and I didn’t sigh; I’d heard it all before and it was just easier to go along. If I kept my mouth shut, she’d change the subject. It was when I argued, told her how much of an asshole he was, said she could do better, that she fought back, defending him until I could take it no longer.

But my new tactic worked magnificently. “Do you think Paris Hilton eats Pogo dogs?”

I frowned, hating that my sister often tried to identify with the notorious party girl. “I think she’s probably too busy with other things in her mouth to eat Pogo dogs.”

Carly snickered. “You’re probably right, but do you think rich celebrities eat stuff like Pogos from 7-11?”

I pondered her question for a minute. “I think they do. I mean, who wouldn’t love a Pogo? It’s got everything, carbs, protein and undoubtedly tons of fat.”

Carly tossed her stick into the empty shopping bag and leaned back, tilting her head up towards the roof of the car. “It would be cool to be rich, don’t you think, Trace?”

I thought about the lottery ticket in my fanny pack. “Maybe we will be; I bought a ticket for the twenty million dollar draw on Saturday.”

She looked over at me and smiled. “You’d share with me, wouldn’t you? You know I’m your twin sister.”

“How could I forget?” I snorted. “Of course I’d share with you.”

“But?” She asked.

I pulled the seat belt across me and started the car. I really did have work to get back to. “But what?”

“Tracy, I’m your twin, we shared a womb. I heard a ‘but’”

I glanced over at her and then back at my rear view mirror.

“Tracy?”

“Fine. But I don’t’ think I could bring myself to share with him.” I made busy with backing the car out of the 7-11 parking lot.

“He’s my husband, Tracy.”

Time for damage control. I looked over at my sister and rolled my eyes. “It’s a moot point, Carly, I very much doubt we’re going to win twenty million dollars.”

I had never been more mistaken in my entire life, and I’d made a lot of mistakes in my twenty-nine years.