Dead Letters(20)

Surprisingly, my sister was unruffled. Usually, Zelda was prone to transfigure from quietly scheming force into berserker, whirling like an exuberant dervish in a haze of deranged, violent joy. But after the furry burial, she bided her time. She waited so long that I thought she had forgotten, or forgiven. One day, the skies over the lake darkened and there was a torrential downpour for hours. When the rain stopped, Zelda calmly informed our mother of my misdeed. Nadine told us that now Josefina belonged to Zelda, as she had no other toys. I dug up the stuffed animals, which had been marinating in mud, and even put them in the washing machine in an attempt to get Josefina back, but Zelda wouldn’t budge. She didn’t want Josefina for herself, but she had learned that I did, and she sacrificed her own menagerie to win the game.

I cry helplessly, remembering this, feeling like the bratty child I was at eight, vindictively punishing Zelda, though punishing only myself in the end. Even now, I can’t tell whether I feel remorse because I’d made Zelda suffer alone out here or because now I am suffering, and I don’t know how to put it back how it was before. I’d been living on my own in a foreign country for nearly two years, and after just one full day of being back on Seneca Lake I had regressed to feeling like a child.

I clutch Wyatt’s sweatshirt, and even though it’s a hot day, I pull it on. It smells like him and like Zelda, like the two of them together, which makes me cry even harder, but it feels good, and I breathe in deeply, moaning softly into my knees. My wailing is almost self-indulgent, but it helps.

“What happened, Zelda?” I sob into my legs. “I can’t do this without you.” I’ve been rocking on the porch step for a few minutes when the phone in my pocket vibrates. I sniff and fumble to get the phone out of my pants. Faced with the password-protected screen, I try her usual password again, the last four digits of the house phone. No luck. I try our birthday, 0531, which doesn’t work either. Then I smile, remembering Zelda’s disdain for passwords, and go for 0000. Z is for zero. The screen disappears, and I’m left with her background image. It’s a picture of both of us, age fourteen. I’m rolling my eyes and standing primly next to Zelda, who is jumping in the air, a halo of her insane curls encircling both our heads. She’s wearing a strange knee-length caftan and has a forearm full of bangles; I’ve got on a snug floral sundress and ballerina flats. I smile, remembering that day.

I notice that the mail icon has several new messages, and I tap it open. There are six or seven new emails, and I scroll through them. All but the most recent are ads. The last one, from one minute ago, is from Zelda herself. I freeze and look around nervously, as though I’ll see her lurking somewhere nearby. I open the message.



To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: A Brief Correspondence from Beyond the Grave

June 23, 2016 @ 11:42 AM

Ahoy, Ava!

Welcome home, my sweet jet-setting twin!

So glad you were able to wrest yourself away from your dazzling life in the City of Light; I hope my “death” hasn’t interrupted anything too crucial. I’m sure you’ve run into Wyatt already, and I doubt that you two just fell into each other’s arms, filled with remorse at the squandered years. Bet you made him squirm, Ava. But (and this is a recent development) I bet he made you squirm a bit, too; he’s not the gormless, innocent boy you left behind. I hope you don’t mind my improvements.

Well, what’s the gossip? Am I dead, or am I “just being Zelda”? What does Dad think? I’m sure Mom has been too pickled and loopy to assert an opinion either way. She probably doesn’t even think I’m gone, with you there to fill the holes. Just think of how you could permanently damage my relationship with Mother, with her presuming you to be me! Such an opportunity. And you could remain the talented, ambitious sister living a full life away from her clutches, while I (you) torment her with your frustration and indifference back at home. Such fun!

I’m sure you never really thought I was dead. I mean, you maybe considered it, but I doubt you really believed it. That would fuck all your plans up, that would make you the mean twin who let her sister die alone in a fatal blaze, never having forgiven her now-dead twin for a childish mistake, a few evenings of thoughtlessness. That would make you the sister who ditched her responsibilities, her training, and flew the coop, leaving her (woefully underprepared) sister to take care of all the tasks they were supposed to share. Of course you couldn’t entertain that reality; it would portray you in a bad light. So all along you’ve figured I’m still running around out there, up to my old tricks.

You’re going to come look for me, right? Hide-and-seek, Ava, your favorite game. But, for once, you won’t be able to just cram yourself into some impossibly tiny space and wait for me to lose my patience and call “Olly olly oxen free!” This time you’re looking for me.

So: What am I up to? Hint: Your first piece of the puzzle is nearby.


Your ever-playful sister,

Z is for Zelda



Speechless, I stare at the phone for a long time. Tears have dried on my face, leaving it tight and salty. I’m sweating into Wyatt’s sweatshirt, my scent mixing with his and Zelda’s, but I still don’t take it off, even though the temperature is climbing toward ninety. The phone rests in my lap, and I spin through endless possibilities. But only one blinks clearly at me through my hazy thoughts.