Читать книгу The Last Summer - Chan Howell - Страница 8

Sister’s Shadow

I grew up in right field at Scarborough Memorial Park; it is the first place the sun’s rays abandon once it starts its descent. The only time I ever led the way was when I was born. My twin sister followed me six minutes later, although she barely survived. She was born with caul covering her head and fluid in her lungs. My mother always says, “I fell in love with her the moment she cried out.” Although I was firstborn, I was the runt. My parents believed Whitley was born with a halo. She was far more superior in every way. She was tall, beautiful, and athletic. She was the apple of my parents’ eyes, and everyone was enchanted with the green-eyed beauty. I spent my youth chasing my sister and watching her fill my parents’ scrapbooks.

Whitley’s side of the mantel looked similar to Duckworth’s shrine to Donnie. Whitley’s side was overcrowded with first-place trophies, blue ribbons, and the centerpiece was of Whitley’s U10 state championship in soccer. My parents framed the local newspaper highlighting the soccer prodigy. The headline read, “Magic Feet.” It would not be the last time she graced the front page of The Swansville Orator. Every time we had guests or family over, my father always awkwardly climbed above the television and pulled the frame off the wall for folks to marvel over Whitley. My side of the mantel was only a participation trophy and a trophy for reading two hundred books in the fifth grade. Whitley shone at all times, and even our teachers were enamored with her.

My dad taught Whitley to tell everyone she was a daddy’s girl, and my mom taught her to bat her eyes on cue. Strangers would stop to shower her with compliments: “Just look at those beautiful eyes!” I learned very early to let her be the main attraction. I once got lost at the county fair and my mom had difficulty describing me. She could not even recall what color shirt I was wearing. She told the police officer my name was Dustin, which is her brother’s name. I sat crying behind a trailer at the petting zoo, hearing people yelling, “Dustin! Dustin!” When I was finally spotted and I was asked what my name was, I told them “Carson Smith,” just as my mom ran up, saying, “My baby, my baby!” The search party was confused; they had been searching for a Dustin Smith, not Carson Smith.

Whitley would’ve never gotten lost, because she was the center of attention. She was lively, and the crowds that circled her made you believe a magician was at the center, putting on a show. She cast a spell on everyone and a shadow over me. I learned how to navigate in the shadows at an early age. I found comfort in the books I began to read.

Whitley’s bright-green eyes and perfect smile would torment my friends in the coming years, and she knew it. She looked like she was carved by Michelangelo, and I looked like I was carved from the scraps left over. She knew very early in life how to manipulate our classmates, and she quickly rose to the leader of all the girls and almost all the boys. She feared no one, and she had carried herself with a commanding grace since we were eight years old. She was made for the main stage, and she vanquished anyone trying to steal her spotlight.

We had a late birthday, and we were older than most of our classmates. She had all the advantages of being the oldest and most developed, while I was just a skinny runt. When I was twelve years old, I finally caught up in size despite being nearly a year older. I was awkwardly skinny and tall. The summer of 1994, I finally stopped tripping over my long legs and I finally began to fill out.

My mom and dad worked together at our family real estate company. Home Away from Home Realty was the biggest real estate company in Swansville, but it was also the only real estate company in town. My dad stayed at his office late into the night most evenings. My dad, Mark, and my mom, Emily, were high school sweethearts. The question “Will the Smiths be there?” was common because my parents went everywhere together. My parents missed many of my games because they followed Whitley’s soccer team everywhere. Whitley always bemoaned having to attend one of my lowly baseball games. I dreaded the games when I knew Whitley would be in the stands. She somehow was able to draw the attention away from the game.

I became an official Duckling since I usually traveled with the Duckworths. I even chose to ride with Duckworth when my parents were able to attend my game. Duckworth called me Worm, as in bookworm, because I always had a book with me. He had a nickname for everyone, and Worm was one of the few that stuck. He took me from a right fielder that was scared of the ball to a fearless second baseman. He taught me how to get on base. I became a leadoff hitter and played the speed game. Duckworth saw that I could run and taught me how to embrace it. I was no longer a colt tripping over my own legs. He helped transform me.

Duckworth always told me I was the best but the ugliest twin. He knew I lacked confidence, because I spent most of my time trying to avoid everyone. I tried to ignore my parents’ constant bragging about my sister’s accomplishments, but she always dominated the conversation. Duckworth brought me out of my books with his crazy stories. I loved riding to games with Duckworth and Drake. Drake always rode in silence, while Duckworth and I talked the entire trip. I was shy around everyone but him.