Dear B,
I found your note. I can’t believe it took so long.
I remember everything.
K<3
Kit
Age 6
I had to ask my mom three different times if I could come outside before she let me. Something about neighbors not wanting to hear kids yelling so early in the morning. I guess it's not too early now—finally—but I’m still not able to get on my bike yet. Not until the boys come out.
I roll my eyes behind my hands, tapping my dirty tennis shoes on the top step. The sun is hot already, and I just want to get on my bike and ride. Italwaystakes them forever. I huff, squeezing my fingers closed tightly, making sure I can’t see between them.
“Mom said I get to pick first; you got to yesterday,” I hear one of them yelling next door.
“You’re going to pick my favorite bike just to make me mad,” the other boy says. I roll my eyes again but giggle. The Briggs boys are always arguing.
I hear their sandals slapping against the sidewalk up to my porch, where I’ve been waitingforever.
“Okay, Kit,” they say in unison, and I quickly drop my hands to my lap.
Two sets of pale blue eyes are staring back at me. So pale, I’ve told them they don’t look like any other eyes I’ve seen before, with long lashes my mom said some people are going to envy. Whatever that means.
My nose wrinkles, and they both smile. Two dimpled sets of cheeks. Two heads of crazy black hair. I’ve heard their mom, Sheila, yell at them to brush it so many times. I don’t think they ever listen.
They have the same face. They’re the same height. If they talk, I could probably figure it out a lot easier, but they stand quiet and wait. I’ve known them my whole life, and it makes me feel stupid that I still can’t figure it out.
I grumble and point to one of them. “Brett.” Then, the other, frowning and second-guessing myself already, but I follow through. “Bowen.”
They both laugh, and my shoulders slump.
“How do you get it wrong every single time?” says the one I thought was Bowen but I guess is Brett.
“You have the same face,” I yell, pointing back and forth between them. They look at each other, and their laughs grow louder, especially Brett’s. Butthead.
“I mean, kinda, I guess,” Bowen says.
“Duh. We’re twins,” Brett laughs again, and Bowen smirks. “Tucker can tell us apart.”
I growl at the mention of my brother. He popped Ken’s head off and put it on my teacher Barbie. Now Ken has no head, and the teacher’s head is who knows where. He won’t tell me, not even when I cried about it to Mom this morning. He claims he has no idea what happened. Like I would ruin them myself. I hope he doesn’t come out to play with us. I don’t like my big brother like the twins like each other, that's for sure.
“I’ll be able to figure it out too when I’m eight like him. I’m only six.” I scowl at them both, standing up. I don’t realize I’m standing on my untied shoelaces until it's too late. I trip, falling down the last two stairs, landing on my hands and knees. It burns, and tears spring to my eyes, but I bite them back. This morning, Tucker said only babies cry.
“What the heck, Kit?”Brett says, trying to lift me with hands under my armpits.
“I forgot to tie them. I wanted to beat you outside.”
Bowen makes a noise, kneeling in front of me once I’m back on my feet.
“Oh, Kit, just admit you don’t know how. It’s fine, I just jumble up the laces until Ma helps me.” Brett giggles when Bowen shoots him a look.
I try to smile, sniffling back tears, and watch Bowen slowly tie each shoe, tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration. I hate sneakers. Hate them. My toes feel all stuffy and hot in socks during summertime. And I hate that I can’t do it myself, but my fingers get all mixed up and confused.
“You can’t go into first grade without knowing how to tie your shoes, Kit,” Bowen says when he’s done, and my cheeks warm. But then he gives my hair a little tussle and offers a smile. “I can teach you.”
I have just enough time to smile back before he’s pulling me to where Brett is already screaming, running towards his bike. I guess that’s the screaming Mom was talking about.
