June 16, 1996. This was the day my
sister and I were born. Even after birth, Ester and I were
inseparable. We talked together, ate together, danced together, and
smiled together. When we were young, Mama would dress us a like.
Ester and I shared a bunk bed in our room. I had the top bunk. When
she looked up, I looked down.
Others recognized our connection.
Whenever we walked outside, kids on our block would sing,
“Eva and Ester
Together forever.
Ester and Eva
They're soul sistas!”
Even when we stopped wearing the same
exact outfits, many still had trouble telling us a part. If I had a
nickle for every time someone accidentally called me Ester, I would
probably be a millionaire.
As identical twins, not only did we
look alike, but we had very similar interests. We liked eating pizza,
listened to the same music, took piano lessons, and we were both a
part of our school's basketball team. The only differences between us
was that Ester liked cooking, the color pink, and she wished to be
come and veterinarian. Everything I cook burns, I despise anything
pink, and I'd much rather be a singer. My life changed forever when
she died.
Ester died in a bus accident on her
way to play in a basketball game. I wasn't there because I was sick
at home. I even remember feeling shivers and cold sweat on my body
while she was on the road. Just like my now broken heart, I was
missing my other half.
Everything seems different since Ester
passed away. No one sings our song when I walk around our
neighborhood. No one mistakes me for Ester anymore, and I miss that.
I go to basketball and piano practice without her. Ester was my twin,
my best friend, my “soul sista”, and now she's gone.
