by Katrina Dodson

     I was eleven when I realized that there was something different about me.  Not that I looked any different than any other girl, because I didn’t, but something just doesn’t seem right.
     My name is Abby. When I’m in the sun my curly red hair looks like it’s on fire.  Freckles not only sprinkle my nose, but frankly they cover every inch of my body. I look like a giant connect the dot puzzle. My dimple, a dark cave, is covered by my chubby cheek.  My green eyes sparkle and my lips are bright red.  I am the youngest, by a day. I have a sister, Carrie, and a brother, Mark. My sister, Carrie, is also eleven she is my mirror image. We do everything together.  My brother Mark is 15; he is quirky, gangly and crazy about girls.  My mom and dad are about 40, they’re so old.
     We live on a large dairy farm.  The rolling hills remind me of a roller coaster the way they go up and down.  At the edge of the field there is a large woods. I like to rest under the autumn trees. They remind me of giant kaleidoscopes; their leaves blowing in the wind twisting and turning, forming new and exciting patterns.  Animals scurry around the woods and bullfrogs croak a deep and eerie melody in the middle of the pond.  Dragon flies look like little airplanes. They circle the sky looking for the perfect landing spot. Soon making their final descent they land smoothly on a cattail.  I feel so safe and happy when I’m in the woods.  
     We live in a beautiful old farmhouse that has a double staircase.  My sister and I are always having races to see who can get to the top first.  She starts on one staircase and I start on the other and we meet in the middle. We have lots of rooms to play in; sometimes we play hide and seek for hours. In the winter, a roaring fire covers our house like a giant electric blanket. 
     We have a red hip roof barn that is filled with all types of animals.  The cows leisurely walk in and out of the building. Cackling chickens are in the barnyard picking corn out of cow pies. Cobwebs form hammocks between the barn beams.  Intrigued I am by the tightly woven web that hides the eight legged creature.  We catch flies and throw them in the webs.  We watch as the spectacle begins.  The hairy creature quickly darts out of his resting spot to pounce on the fly.  He wraps him tightly in a blanket to savor him for later.  You say this is odd? I say its life, you live you die.
     The hay mound is stacked high with sweet smelling hay.  The stacks are tall and heavy and they hide the newly born kittens.  I love looking in all the cracks and crevices for the kittens. I make a “meowing” sound, to mimic what the mom cat sounds like.  This makes the kittens cry out, and I can easily find them. Once I find them, I take each of them out to see what they look like. The first one I grab is fluffy and white, and the second is black with white paws. I take them in the house to show my Mom and Dad.  Mom always scolds me. “Take those kittens back to the barn.” I don’t have the time to take care of them; if the mom decides she won’t, now that you’ve covered them with your scent. Besides, how many times have I told you not to play in the hay mound by yourself, it can be very dangerous.
     We have a puppy whose name is Bronson.  My parents gave him to us on our eleventh birthday.  He is clumsily big, but oh so sweet.  His eyes look like milk chocolate, his ears are big and floppy, and he drools a lot. He is our constant companion.
     It’s actually kind of funny, for years Carrie and I have always asked for the same present.  In fact, we have a little tradition.  We secretly write on a piece of paper what it is that we want our parents to get us for our birthdays. We give the papers to Dad who tucks them away safely in his toolbox.  When we celebrate our birthdays, Dad brings out the papers, it’s like we’re having show-n-tell.  We open them up and believe it or not, we always have written down the same gift. 
     Carrie and I share a very unique bond, one that seems to transcend the normal, you might even say magical. Sometimes it seems like we know each other’s thoughts, by speaking simultaneously or finishing each other’s sentences. Weirder yet is the fact that sometimes we share each other’s experiences.  We feel each other’s pain.  For instance, the other night Carrie was told that she had to go out and feed the chickens; she had forgotten to do them earlier.  She got mad and started sputtering about it not being fair.  She said that it was fricken stupid and the chickens could wait till morning.  Well dad got mad and made her chew on a bar of dial soap. Have you ever heard the jingle, “Aren’t you glad you use dial?”  Well I can tell you, without a doubt, that I was not thrilled that my dad was using Dial, because when I was brushing my teeth it tasted like I was using soap not toothpaste.  This is just one example of how my sister and I seem to have these weird supernatural connections.
     My sister and I share a bedroom.  I don’t understand why, but her bed is always so messy.  Mine is always so neat, it doesn’t even look like I’ve slept in it.  Bronson takes turns sleeping on each of our beds.  He always stretches out and practically lies on top of me while I sleep.  However, he sleeps in a tight little ball at the end of my sister’s bed.  My brother has his own room.  He is always trying to sneak out of the house.  I have told my parents several times, but they won’t listen.  I don’t understand why.
     It’s fall and the leaves have started changing colors. The air is cool and crisp. It is the first day of school. Mom makes us a big breakfast which includes: eggs, bacon, toast, and of course a tall glass of creamy milk.   “Carrie will you please pass the butter?” Carrie butters her own toast first, and then she sets the butter next to me.  Thanks for breakfast mom, Carrie and I say in unison.  Mom never lets us get out of the house without making sure that we have eaten a good hearty breakfast.  She’s always reminding us that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  After we finish breakfast we say our goodbyes and head out the drive to catch the bus.  Bronson walks with us down the drive, he chases after a rabbit that darts across his path. He sits patiently with us as we wait for the bus. 
     As we wait, I try to talk with Carrie. “Carrie, why do you seem so sad?  I wish you would tell me what is wrong.  You should be excited; we’re celebrating our birthdays tomorrow, we’re going to be twelve.” Carrie is silent and a soft tear trickles down her freckled face. “Fine, maybe later, but it makes me feel sad when I see you crying.”  Carrie just stares at the ground; she looks like she has lost her best friend.  I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.
     Pretty soon we see the front of the bus barreling down the road kicking dust all over.  The red flashing lights start blinking and then the bus comes to a screeching stop.  I’m starting to feel really nervous, what if no one will let me sit with them?  I come to a seat where a little blonde haired boy is seated next to the window.  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” No answer, he just stares out the window with a glazed look in his eyes.  I guess I’ll just sit down.  Carrie found a seat several rows back.   I’m glad it is a short ride to school.  I hope I like my teacher, and I hope she likes me.  We pull up next to the school and the bus driver lets us out. 
     We head into the school.  I always love the first day of school. The floors are squeaky clean and they gleam in the sunlight that streams through the windows.  The halls are filled with the laughter of kids who are anxious to be back in school, but by week’s end will probably be wishing that they were back on summer break.  I see Ms. Fine’s classroom up ahead on the right.  I’m really lucky that she is going to be my teacher.  Mr. Buckle is the other 3^rd grade teacher, and everyone says that he is a grumpy old man.
     Ms. Fine tells us that we are going to be able to pick our seats.  My sister picks her seat first; it’s not fair she always gets to go first.  I try to pick my seat but the other kids are constantly shoving me out of the seats.  “Ouch!” Carrie yelps, looking around with a bewildered look on her face.  I’m not sure what she’s yelping about. I’m the one that’s going to have a bruised butt from landing on the floor. I don’t understand why the kids are so mean. There is one seat left at the back of the room, I guess I’ll sit there.
     It’s almost lunch time.  Mom thinks it is important for us to eat hot lunch.  If she only had to sit and eat this no flavored cafeteria food, she might think twice about not letting us pack our lunch.  I quickly eat, because I want to get out on the playground.  Recess is my favorite time of the day.  I run over to the swings.  As I swing back and forth my hair blows in the breeze. I swing so high that I can almost reach out and touch the sky.  I want to jump on the merry-go-round, but they won’t slow it down, so I can get on. Why is everyone so mean?
     Recess is over and we all head back to class, just a couple more hours before we get to go home.  This means it’s that much closer to birthday party time. I hope I get a bike this year, a pink Huffy with a banana seat; just one more day.  I look over at Carrie; she looks like she’s day dreaming. She is probably thinking about our birthday party. However, if that’s the case why does she still seem so sad?  Her face is quivering; it looks like she’s trying to force a lump down in her throat.  She’s fighting back tears. It’s really hard for me to watch this. I have this gut wrenching pain in my belly, and I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I feel trapped; I feel a lump in my throat. The school bell rings and startles me. I jump about a foot and hit my knees on the bottom of my desk. Everyone is grabbing their back packs and heading out the door.  Ms. Fine stops Carrie. “I just want to tell you that I am so sorry. I can tell that you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.  If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”  We get back on the bus and head home.  I’m really puzzled about what just happened. “Sorry for your loss,” what does that mean?
     It has started to rain, a soft gentle soaking rain; the kind of rain that makes gardens grow by leaps and bounds.  The bus slides around the corner and stops in front of our house. Bronson is waiting for us; so still, he looks like a dog statue, the kind that people put on their front porches. Mom and Dad are waiting for us when we get home, the car is running.
     “Lets go.”
     “I don’t think I can do this” Carrie says, her voice trembling.
     “I know sweetie, this isn’t easy for any of us.” Tears stream down her face. “Mark get off the phone, we have to get going.” Slowly and methodically we get into the car and head out of the drive. Dad puts on his old fart music, at least that’s what I call it.  He calls it classic.
     The sky is getting really dark, lightning flashes across the sky and the thunder rolls in the distance. The weather’s shadow adds to the doom and gloom of the evening.  After about an hour, we pull up to Valet parking at Community General. Dad hands the keys to the attendant.
     “I really don’t want to do this.” Carrie says now almost hysterically.
     Mom bent down and took Carrie’s face in her hands.  “Sweet, sweet daughter, I know that this is hard for you. I promise you, we will find a way to get through this together.” Dad and Mom each take one of Carrie’s hands. Mark follows behind scuffing his feet against the wet pavement.  
     “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Abby says.
     They enter the hospital and head down the hall to the pediatric wing.  Dr. Parker meets them in front of the dimly lit room. “I’m sorry. The tests came back; there is no brain activity, and the ventilator is the only thing keeping her alive.  For all technical purposes, she is dead, again my deepest sympathies.”  We walk up to the bed and surround it.  I look down and gasp with horror, “oh no, no, it can’t be. Am I really,” the words just wouldn’t come out. I can’t really be… dead, can I? All of the day’s events came flooding back, like a movie that’s been fast forwarded. All of the things I didn’t understand were finally making sense.  I finally understood that I was indeed dead. “Carrie, I am going to miss you so much.”
     Carrie takes her sister’s hand gently in hers.  “Abby, we will always be twin sisters. You were and always will be a part of me. Our lives will be forever entwined. I feel your pain. I also feel the comfort of the angels surrounding you now, to take you home.  But rest assured, every year when it comes time to celebrate our birthdays; I will write my birthday wish on a piece of paper and send it heaven bound on a pink balloon. By the way, I asked for a bike this year, a pink Huffy, with a banana seat.”

Linda truly exemplifies all of the qualities of being a great boss! It is with great pride, admiration and privilege that I have the opportunity to work with her every day.  Thank you for offering a hand and for encouraging me to follow my dreams.

On the upside.  I have worked with a lot of departments on  the campus of Michigan State University, as a student and as a staff member.  The professors that I have dealt with in the Math department have been phenomenal.  I could not ask for better people to work with.  They have been kind and empathetic. They have shared with me suggestions and ideas so that I might rid myself from my math ball and chain.  For all of you in the math department, my hat is off to you.  Thanks

“We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee.”            Marian Wright Edelman