Her answer was somewhere in the distance... "Its too early... Its not time yet.... go back to sleep."
This memory is so firmly embedded in my memories that even if it floated out of my head and dissolved in the air, I would still remember it, because I had another just like it; and another; and another; and another again.
As we got older and entered into adulthood, I considered myself the keeper of our memories; I have memories prior to the first day that had any context involving a timeframe; our second birthday; The day that my grandpa brought over matching big girl and boy beds that he had made himself. My incredible math skills tell me that my crib memories occurred somewhere in the vast dreamspace between my first and second birthdays.
I remember during that time, my mother's weekly belly dancing classes in the cafeteria of the community college, and having every expectation that someday, when I was a mommie, I would learn to belly dance and would be able to roll a money on my tummy, too. That was probably my first memory I had in which my thoughts of myself separated me from my twin, who spent that time rolling around on the floor under the tables that had been pushed aside.
Sharing twinship meant that every moment of accolade my brother received for a new dangerously acrobatic trick he performed on the swingset was praise that cohabitated equally within me; every pain he felt when injured doing stupid stunts I suffered intensely. I developed an irrational fear of bees that lasted into my adulthood because of the number of times he stepped on bees while they were collecting pollen from flowers causing them to fly into his pant legs and sting him.
Sharing twinship meant when my absent father showed up out of the blue with a child-sized guitar for my brother and not a thing for me, I was absolutely thrilled. Later, when I took guitar lessons during lunch recess at school, I had a guitar... Ownership boundaries were fluid and undefined.
Sharing twinship meant that when our mommie's friend had a baby and we went with her to see him for the first time, we were both completely baffled that there was only one, and out of courtesy tried to hide our disinterest at only half a miracle.
Life is like that, sometimes.
Killing fish by feeding them baby powder to watch them swim to the top, and discovering we had the power to make them float with their bellies showing and make our mommie cry.
Enjoying wonderful impromptu fieldtrips when my twinnie escaped from preschool and walked home to play on our own yard, which was better because the elderly neighbor lady said such kind words and fed us cookies.
Watching the grownups sit in a circle on the floor, with their legs crossed, and a candle burning in the center, and putting a twisted piece of paper to their lips and making it spark before passing it to the grown-up sitting next to them.
Emptying the toys from our toybox that our Grandpa had built and our Grandma had painted with farm animals and taking turns laying down inside it.
I had a lot of good years with my twinnie, before our twinship began to dissolve and we became two separate individuals. I think it was much worse for me than it was for my brother. Sharing in his victories wasn't quite the draw it had been when I had to spend a whole Saturday in the rain with nothing to do. I didn't like his friends, and I learned not to like him either, when he became less a part of me and more a part of them and there suddenly were parts of him that made me feel left out, like a stranger.
We became teenagers, then adults. One day my brother would meet the woman that later became his wife, who, while a lovely person, cemented the distance between us; and I would become a mother, living a life so foreign to him that we hadn't any common ground outside our resentments of one another.
That being said, today I embrace the inner child within me, and she is a twin.
She has a host of stored memories to draw on, and they fill her with satisfaction; she experiences universal love on a personal scale sized for two.
She remembers the beginning, the Creator; the Source. She lives outside the realm of individuation and is part of a collective whole, where she experiences no judgement and only perfect acceptance and love, because to judge or withhold love means to deny acceptance and love to one's self.
Her name is twin.