“Sure,” I replied. “Marilyn, Carolyn!” I called. “Time to get dressed.”
The girls and I went upstairs.
“Your mom said she laid your clothes out,” I told them on the way.
No response.
Now what? I wondered.
We entered the girls’ room. There on the beds were two absolutely beautiful dresses. They were white with pink ribbon running in rows from the neck to the waistline, and with lace at the collar, the edges of the sleeves, and all around the bottom.
“Those are gorgeous!” I exclaimed as soon as I saw them. “Are they new?”
“Yes,” replied Carolyn shortly.
She and Marilyn looked at each other, looked at the dresses, then looked at each other again.
I decided to take a chance. “Gosh,” I said, trying to sound casual, “you guys probably don’t like having to dress the same all the time. I’m not sure I’d like it.”
The twins’ eyes widened in surprise. Then Marilyn said slowly, almost as if she were afraid to say it, “It’s funny. Last year we loved wearing the same dresses. This year, it just doesn’t seem like fun anymore. Hardly anyone knows whether I’m Marilyn or Carolyn. No one even cares.”
“It’s like we’re one person instead of two,” Carolyn added.
A-ha!
“Maybe you could dress differently today,” I suggested. “One of you could wear your sailor dress. That would be good for a birthday party.”
Carolyn’s face lit up at the thought, but then she said, “No. We have to wear what Mommy says.”
So on went the two white dresses — and two pairs of pink tights, two pairs of Mary Janes, two gold lockets, two pink hair ribbons, and the name bracelets.
No sooner were the girls dressed, than the doorbell rang.
“They’re here!” cried Marilyn. “The kids are here!”
The twins made a dash for the front door. Standing on the stoop outside were three dressed-up little girls. Each was holding two identical presents.
“Come on in!” said Mr. Arnold heartily. And the girls stepped into the living room. They put their presents in two piles on the couch.
For the next fifteen minutes, the doorbell kept ringing and guests kept arriving. Each one came with two gifts which were placed on the two piles. When all the children had arrived and Mary Anne and Dawn were organizing them for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, I secretly added my own gifts to the piles. I slipped them underneath the other presents.
Marilyn and Carolyn had seemed a little upset while they were getting dressed, but they were just fine during the games. All the girls liked pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Marilyn and Carolyn giggled and shrieked as they and their guests wandered blindly around the rec room, groping for the donkey poster. By the time everyone had had a turn, there were tails tacked up all over the rec room. The winner was the one who had pinned the tail on the donkey’s nose. The twins were hysterical.
After the prize had been awarded, the kids played musical chairs (twice, Carolyn fell on the floor), and then they had a peanut hunt. When the hunt was over, Mrs. Arnold said, “Time for presents!”
The kids began cheering. The guests were as excited as the birthday girls were.
Marilyn and Carolyn sat down on the floor in the living room and their father set one stack of gifts beside each girl. The twins reached for the presents at the very top of the stacks. They were wrapped in Winnie-the-Pooh paper and were from a pigtailed girl named Jane. Marilyn and Carolyn tore off the wrapping. In each box was a small Raggedy Ann doll.
“Thank you,” the twins said at the same time, and set the dolls on the floor.
They opened the next packages — two Barbie dolls. Then two stuffed elephants, then matching necklaces. Two, two, two. Each twin kept tossing her presents onto the floor, and growing crosser-looking by the second, although the guests kept exclaiming, “Aw, isn’t that cute?” or “Oh, can I play with that?”
At last, the only presents left were mine. They were not the same size or shape. They were wrapped in different paper. The twins looked intrigued.
“Is this a mistake?” asked Carolyn.
“Who are they from?” asked Marilyn.
“Me,” I replied. “Go on. Open them.”
So they did. I’d picked out a tiny pin in the shape of a piano for Marilyn, and a book of simple science experiments for Carolyn.
“Boy, thanks!” cried the girls enthusiastically. They absolutely beamed at me.
But their smiles didn’t last long. Mrs. Arnold wanted to take some pictures. She took the twins standing together holding hands. She took them cradling their new Raggedy Anns with the party guests grouped behind them. She took them sitting next to their piles of identical gifts. The girls were always together, always doing the same things.
It was no wonder that by cake time, the twins’ faces were identical thunderclouds. They were sitting at one end of the decorated dining room table, the cake between them.
“Now lean over and blow out the candles,” instructed Mrs. Arnold, her camera poised.
Two angry faces blew out the candles, then turned toward the camera.
Click!
The camera caught me in the background. I was trying to smile, but I’ll bet my face looked pretty strange. I felt terrible for the twins. How awful to have no identity, to be just Marilyn-or-Carolyn, a cute lookalike twin.
As I walked home from the party later that day, I knew that my idea had been right. The girls didn’t want to look identical. They might have enjoyed it when they were younger, but now they wanted to be individuals, just the way Dawn does — just the way almost everybody does — and I planned to do something about it.
The next time I sat for Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold was on Tuesday, three days after their birthday party. The girls were waiting for me when I arrived. They were sitting side by side on the front stoop. In their matching yellow jumpsuits and white T-shirts they looked like gateposts marking the entrance to the house. When I was still only halfway up the walk, though, I noticed one difference between them. Marilyn was wearing the piano pin I’d given her.
“Hi, Mallory! Hi, Mallory!” the twins cried as I approached. They jumped up and ran to me, throwing their arms around my waist.
What a welcome.
“Hi, you guys!” I replied with a smile.
“We couldn’t wait for you to get here,” said Carolyn, taking one of my hands.
“You want to play with our new toys?” asked Marilyn, taking my other hand.
The twins led me inside, where the three of us were greeted by Mrs. Arnold. As soon as she left, we went upstairs to their bedroom so I could look at their gifts. (A good project, since I’d forgotten to bring the Kid-Kit.) I’d seen the gifts the girls had received at the party, of course, but I hadn’t seen the ones from their parents or relatives.
“These are from Aunt Elaine and Uncle Frank,” said Carolyn, holding up two sticks. Attached to the ends of each was a long rope that fell beneath the stick in a loop.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Jump sticks,” answered Carolyn. “See?” She put one of them down, held onto either end of the other, the stick poised in front of her at waist level, and made the rope circle up over her body. Jump, jump, jump. It was like a skipping rope, except that you held onto the stick instead of the ends of the rope.
“Neat!” I said. “But that looks like a better outdoor toy than an indoor one.”
Carolyn obediently set the stick on the floor.
“Mommy and Daddy gave us these,” spoke up Marilyn. She was pointing to two brass doll beds. Each had been placed at the foot of the girls’ own beds.
“Boy,” I said, “I never had anything like those.” We aren’t poor, but with eight kids in your family, you don’t get duplicate copies of brass doll beds. You don’t even get one brass doll bed.
“Now,” said Carolyn, “you have to come downstairs to see our biggest presents.”
Biggest presents? The doll beds
weren’t enough?
The twins took my hands again and led me to the rec room. There, on the floor, were two dollhouses. Pretty impressive ones, I might add.
“Look,” said Marilyn. She ran to one house and pressed a button. Lights came on in each room! You should have seen those houses. They were decorated with everything from furniture (naturally) to teeny-tiny books and teeny-tiny plates of food. In each attic were a Christmas tree, a wreath, and garlands of greens, so the houses could be decorated for Christmas.
I was speechless.
But I was even more speechless after Marilyn said, “Guess what our best presents are.”
“The dollhouses,” I replied immediately.
“Nope,” said Marilyn. “The piano pin and the science book.”
“My presents?!” I exclaimed. “You’re kidding! How come?” But already I knew the answer. I just hadn’t realized how strong the girls’ feelings about individuality were.
“Because … because,” Marilyn said, giving her sister a sidelong glance, “they were different.”
“And they were meant just for us, “added Carolyn. “I mean, you know, a piano for Marilyn because of her lessons, and the book for me because of the science fair.”
“It seems like you know us,” said Marilyn. “Is — is that silly?”
“Of course not,” I answered seriously. “It isn’t silly at all. Did I tell you that three of my brothers are triplets?”
“No! They are?” exclaimed Carolyn.
“Yup. And our family never treats them like they’re all one person. I think maybe that’s because there are so many kids in our family. There wouldn’t be any point in treating three of them like one person, and the rest of us like five different people.”
“So,” said Marilyn, “you mean your brothers don’t dress alike?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Or have three of everything?”
“Nope. Unless they want three of something that isn’t too expensive.”
The twins looked thoughtful. “How come,” Carolyn ventured after a moment, “you thought it was so neat that Marilyn and I are lookalikes and have all the same things?” I must have appeared sort of blank because she went on, “Remember that first day you sat for us?” I nodded. “Well, in the very beginning you tried to tell us apart, but then … then you were just like everyone else. You said, oh, how cute we were in our matching outfits and stuff. We decided we weren’t going to be nice to any baby-sitters anymore.”
So that had been my mistake.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Really I am. But you were cute. I didn’t mean that I didn’t care who you were. I just meant you were cute.”
“Then we’re sorry, too,” said Carolyn. “We didn’t understand.”
“Yeah, we’re sorry, too,” added her sister.
I smiled. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Would you like to talk to your mother about how you feel? I’d help you.” Please say yes, I begged silently. This was my plan and I wanted it to work.
“Talk to our mother about … what?” asked Marilyn.
The twins looked mystified.
I had thought it was obvious. “About you two. About letting you be individuals, separate people. Marilyn, if you could wear any kind of clothes you wanted, what would they look like?” I asked.
“More grown up,” was her answer. “Like skirts without straps and stuff.”
“Carolyn, how about you?”
“More cool,” she said immediately. “Pushdown socks and zipper jeans and barrettes with ribbons on them.”
“You see?” I went on. “You guys like different things. It isn’t just that you don’t want to dress the same anymore, you also want to dress like you. You are two different girls and you have different tastes. Just like my sisters and I have different tastes.”
“And you’d help us talk to our mother?” asked Marilyn.
I nodded. “How about it?”
“Yes!” cried the girls.
* * *
Talking to the twins’ mother had seemed like a good idea when I’d first thought of it — but by the time Mrs. Arnold came home, I was a wreck. What right did I have, I wondered, butting into another family’s business?
I had promised the girls I would help them talk, though, so as soon as Mrs. Arnold had paid me, I drew in a deep breath and said, “Um, I was wondering. Could Marilyn and Carolyn and I talk to you?”
“Of course,” replied Mrs. Arnold. “Is there a problem?” She began to look worried.
“Well, yes,” I answered. “Not a baby-sitting problem, but … ”
“Let’s sit down,” suggested Mrs. Arnold.
We stepped into the living room. I sat on the couch with one twin on either side of me. Mrs. Arnold sat across from us in an armchair.
I cleared my throat. I wasn’t sure where to begin. At last I said, “Mrs. Arnold, did you know that three of my brothers are triplets?” I asked.
Before she could answer, Marilyn jumped into the conversation: “And they don’t have to wear name bracelets!”
“No,” said Carolyn. “They dress differently. Everyone can tell Mallory’s brothers apart.”
“Even though they’re identical,” I added.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Arnold, frowning.
“Well, the thing is,” I went on, “I think Marilyn and Carolyn would like to be —”
“Different,” spoke up Marilyn. “But we look alike and dress alike, so everyone treats us like one person — the same person.”
“And we aren’t one person, Mommy!” said Carolyn desperately. “We’re two. Only no one knows it. At school, the kids call both of us ‘Marilyn-or-Carolyn.’”
I cringed, remembering that that was how I used to think of the girls.
“We hate it!” added Marilyn.
“The girls do look sweet in their matching outfits,” I said, “but,” I added quickly as Carolyn poked me in the ribs, “they’ve told me they think they’re old enough to choose their own clothes. They have different tastes.”
“If we went to school looking different,” said Marilyn, “maybe the kids would get to know who we are.”
Oh, good line, I thought as Mrs. Arnold melted before our very eyes.
“Girls,” she said, “I never realized…. You’re so adorable in your matching outfits. And it’s so easy to lay out the same clothes for you every day and to buy two of everything. Plus, when you were little you liked looking identical, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but we’re not babies anymore,” said Carolyn. “We can choose our own clothes every day. Honest.”
“And if you let us come shopping with you,” said Marilyn, “we could pick out the kinds of things we each like.”
The twins looked hopefully at their mother.
“Of course you can come shopping with me.”
“Can I grow my hair out?” asked Marilyn.
“Can I get mine cut?” asked Carolyn.
“Oh, you two,” said Mrs. Arnold with a little gasp, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to cry. “I feel terrible. I always assumed that since your father and I liked the way you look, you liked the way you look.”
“Well, we used to,” Carolyn admitted.
“But not anymore,” added her sister.
“Mallory,” said Mrs. Arnold, “thank you. I know it wasn’t easy for you to bring this to my attention.”
“It wasn’t,” I said with a smile, “but I really like Marilyn and Carolyn. I’m glad this worked out.”
“Mallory,” whispered Carolyn, nudging me.
“Oh, right,” I said. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yes?” said Mrs. Arnold.
“Mommy,” Carolyn began, “you know the money we got for our birthday? Well, if you say it’s okay, we want to spend it on new clothes.”
“That’s okay,” agreed Mrs. Arnold quickly. “It’s your money.”
“Great,” I spoke up. “Could I take them shopping on Thursday? You could drop us off down
town on your way to the school and pick us up afterward.”
“Please?” begged the twins.
“It’s a date,” said Mrs. Arnold.
The girls cheered.
And I walked home that afternoon feeling as if I were on air.
By the time I reached my own house, not only did I feel as if I were on air, but I’d come up with another idea. (I was getting like Kristy Thomas, with all my ideas.) Anyway, the talk with Mrs. Arnold had gone awfully well. So it had occurred to me that I should probably try talking to my own parents. If I really wanted pierced ears and decent hair, maybe I should tell them so, instead of moping around, dropping hints about how unattractive and babyish I thought I was. Mrs. Arnold had given in to an awful lot, and the twins were barely eight years old. Imagine what my parents might agree to for someone who was closer to twelve than eleven.
As soon as I walked through our front door I ran up to my room, hoping Vanessa wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t. Good. There was about a half an hour before dinner, and I needed peace to plan my strategy. I wanted to talk to Mom and Dad right after dinner, and I figured I would need a good strategy.
It never hurts to be prepared, especially with Mom and Dad. As the parents of eight children, they know every trick in the book — because one or the other of us kids has pulled every trick in the book at least once. My parents can tell a real stomachache from a fake one. They know when someone is eating and when someone is just moving food around on the plate. And I’m pretty sure they have eyes in the backs of their heads — under their hair or something — because without even turning around, they can see a kid who’s trying to sneak something upstairs. Maybe they are wizards.
After twenty minutes, the ideal plan of attack came to me: bargaining. I am very good at bargaining. Once, I went to a flea market and saw this really neat old jewelry box. The price tag said $7.50, but I bargained with the guy who was selling it and bought it for $4.75. The man was asking for more than the box was worth, so first I offered less than it was worth (only a dollar) and finally we agreed to $4.75, which was a pretty fair price.