One time we went to a wedding. We must have been about nine at the time. I was very interested in transformers, because it was the ‘80s. The wedding took place at an old camp in fall. It was fall but it was hot, and all the guests wandered about the place with brightly colored drinks in hand. I remember this because we were drinking punch, and you kept cackling “Punch me!” and giggling because you’d had an impossible amount of Hi-C. There were big trees clustered closely together and if you looked through them, you could see a lake in the distance, but it didn’t even look like water, it looked like just a shimmer. The trees had enormous roots that were growing above ground and we put the transformers and your pony toys on and around them and tied bandannas among the trees we liked best. We all stayed in little cabins on the property and when we awoke the following day, we walked out into a still balmy field strewn with middle-aged bodies in sundresses and suits. And right there amongst them, sitting and snoring propped up on a golf cart was dad, Smirnoff bottle still in hand. “I found him!” you yelled, like you’d won a prize, and ran off to tell mom.
Oh, I do remember that. It was one of the only times mom dressed us alike— you as a sailor with white hat and blue piping, me in a pinafore. Both in bowl cuts. We were positively a sideshow; all we needed was a dance and we could have taken it on the road! People were much more charmed by twins back then. Now that there’s IVF, it’s all old hat.