Lustful Memoirs
By: Gina - gina@basic-nstynct.com
Chapter Forty EightThe show started and it was clear from the beginning that they owned the stage and every member of the audience. I stood still, captured by him, unable to focus my eyes on anyone but him. The crowd didn’t exist, the band didn’t exist, the rest of the group didn’t exist. It was only him, and I wasn’t the only one there that thought so. He moved naturally, an animal in his habitat. He was confident, content, and I could see in that instant why the daily hardships that he faced were worth it. He truly loved performing, truly loved everyone’s attention to be on him. The concert ended too soon after it had begun and we began to shuffle out with the rest of the herd.
Moving our way through the droves of people, as they made their mass exodus to the door, seemed futile. I pulled my mother toward the souvenir vendor. I glanced up at his image. There were four pictures of him. Two of them showed him on stage in two different costumes. Another captured his fake smile, the other his cocky grin. I purchased them all. As I turned from the man, clutching my treasures in my hand, my body collided with another.
Eyes met eyes, breath caught in each of our throats as we observed the other: the same color hair, only styled differently, the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, the same expression of confusion, the same unanswered questions burning between us. The crowd around us swelled, rocking our bodies from left to right, yet we remained frozen, captured in stone, unmovable by the force of the tide. As if looking into a mirror, we saw each other for the first time. The woman that stood before me was my sister, my twin; she shared my DNA. This was the woman that had hurt JC, therefore hurting Justin. I didn’t know whether to capture her in a hug, or to beat the hell out of her. I did the only thing my mind could comprehend. I extended my hand in greeting. She stood, staring, shocked, taking my hand, slowly, cautiously, as if I stood on the other side of a mirror, and that her hand would meet cool glass when it reached my extended fingers.
"Who, who are, are you?" She asked the question, stuttering. I could not think of how to answer. My voice did not function. After spending so much time looking for her, I could not believe that I would just run right into her when I least expected it. Many questions rang through my mind. I wanted to know her favorite music, favorite perfume, what forced her to run away, constantly. What forced her to leave him? What made her come to see him that night? Was she back with him? Did he know that she was there? Surely he could not, for if that were the case she would not be weaving her way through the onslaught of human traffic in an attempt to leave the arena. We continued to stare at each other, all of our silent questions almost audible over the noise of the stampede. My mother came between us, capturing both of our hands and leading us out into the night air. She led us to my car. It was then that she started to speak, explaining to Brenda the circumstances that I myself had learned only a short time prior.
Brenda took several steps back as my mother’s words registered in her mind. She collapsed onto the hood of my car, willing herself to comprehend the information that she had just been given.
"You...are...my...sister?" Her words were more of a question then a statement. "How long have you known?"
I responded, telling her that I had only known for a short period of time, that I had been looking for her but that she was a hard person to find. She smiled as the words left my lips and I raised my eyebrows.
"I have a knack of doing that."
"So I’ve heard." I responded, sarcasm dripping from each word. I was unable to match her smile, not finding anything humorous about her desertion of people, people that cared for her, loved her, and missed her so badly it ate away at them. The questions continued to rage through my mind, though I could not ask them. It was not the time, nor the place, and as I looked at my watch, it was becoming clearer and clearer to me, that our first meeting would have to be cut short. As much as I hated it, I had a client to meet, and a week of my sentence to erase.
We talked for several more minutes, before we both realized that we had to be leaving, that we had people to meet. I longed to ask her about him, ask her if she was meeting him, but I once again had to suppress the questions, not wanting to seem overbearing, just yet. We exchanged phone numbers and hugs, she promising that I would be able to reach her there, I promising that I would call. And then she walked off. My eyes followed her figure, departing into the night, the darkness swallowing her. I wondered if I would ever see her again. Something deep inside of me assured me that I would. I continued to stare after her, until my mother stood in front of me.
"Blake, let’s go home, you and her both need time to process this."
My mother’s words echoed in my ears as I drove the route to her house. We arrived there, far too fast for her liking, I’m sure. However, she said nothing. She turned to me, her hand on the door latch.
"Do you want to come in and have a cup of tea, or something?"
"No, mom," I stressed the word, "I’m fine. I just want to go home, take a nice hot bath, and relax."
"Okay, dear." My mother responded, "Call me tomorrow, let me know that you are okay."
"I will, good night mom, love you."
"Love you too. And thank you so much for taking me, those five boys rocked my world."
I laughed at her words, thinking of the five boys that she mentioned. Surprisingly the thoughts of them dissolved as quickly as they had appeared. The image of my twin, of my sister, of my true family, burned in my mind.