I woke up early the morning after graduation to see my twin sister Phyllis packing to run away, for real this time. Her mop of chestnut curls bounced as she stuffed jewelry, baby china, books, and her life savings of 50 dollars between the clothes in her backpack. Phee paused and swung her head up to see me awake across the room. I didn’t say a word.

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This, of course, had been a long time coming. Phee’s talked about running away since before Eisenhower was sworn in. The first time, she was ten. Phee got sent home from school for fighting while wearing shorts under her skirt. She’d ripped the damn thing off to chase down Robert Brady from sixth grade after he’d spit on her and called her skirt queer during recess. As the older twin, I should’ve socked him in the mouth. But I stood frozen. My baby sister flew after Robert Brady and tackled him to the ground. I’d never been prouder, but Mom seemed pretty ashamed. She glared at the detention slip like it was a one-way ticket to hell. 

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“Phyllis Jeanne! That behavior is not ladylike,” Mom scolded, clutching her cross necklace. 

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“Ladies get spit on!” Phee shouted back, her big blue eyes running. “I had to teach him a lesson! --But the teachers don’t stop anything! --they already call me a dyke, wearing a dress won’t change it!” 

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Mom spanked Phee for using that word while I did my homework in the other room. In what I assumed was a panic, Mom threw out Phee’s shorts, jeans, belts, pajama pants, anything a boy could wear, and sent her to bed without supper. Mom prayed fiercely over her Bible that night while Dad sipped whiskey on the sofa. It was the first time he didn’t tuck us in. She told me that she wanted to run away. But what clothes would she even take? It’s hard to run away in a poofy skirt, so she’d have to stay. 

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If Phee wore what Mom wanted during the day, she wouldn’t drink in the kitchen and pray all night. Dad would beam over his two favorite girls when he’d come home and only have one Lagavulin instead of three. Quiet days lulled into pleasant nights. But once the Lord’s prayer was said and the lights were all off, Phee’s legs would shake. She had to escape. I pretended not to know Phee stole my shorts to go running every night. As the older twin, I decided to be the bigger person and not mention it.

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The room was still dark, I wondered how long Phee’d been packing before I woke. The sight of her hollow cheeks prickled the skin on my full, rosy ones. The striped pajamas I used to wear years ago threatened to swallow her whole now, each stripe weighing her down ten pounds. I hadn’t noticed how thin she’d gotten. Phee stared back. She smiled, knelt down next to her twin bed, and pulled out a shoe box I’d given her the second time she threatened to run away.

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The second time was the summer before high school. Dad caught her sneaking in through the kitchen window because she fell in the sink, broke a wine glass, and caught her skirt in the garbage disposal. When he found her trying to rip herself loose, blood from the glass shards ran down her pantiless legs. Mom beat her while Dad stared red-faced at his Bible. Phee shouted through tears as I froze in the hall.

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“OW! I’m sorry! --I was with Barbs at the school track! --’cause they don’t let us use it during the school year and we thought what the hell --OW! Heck, sorry! --but Barb’s got the curse, so she bled through her panties and her pad --OW! --it’s true! --I gave her mine so her mom wouldn’t have a cow about the blood! --we threw them in the dumpster --I’m really sorry! --OW! because Barbs can’t leave the house during the day! --her mom’s real set on teaching her to be a housewife before high school starts! --No, wait! Don’t call Mrs. Wilson! Barbs made me promise not to tell!”

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After the telephone call, Mom and Dad fought until sunrise about what to do with Phee. Dad told her she’d be staying inside for the rest of the summer. For months, I earned four bucks every morning at the bookstore while Phee made my lunch. She’d ask about life on the other side and cry over her Bible every night. Her curls sticking to her sopping face, she talked about running away. But Dad’s been sleeping on the couch for some time. She’d never be able to sneak out. All I could do was kneel next to her twin bed and hug her. It was my job as the older twin to keep Phee from worrying about Mom and Dad fighting, but I couldn’t keep her from praying. Her sniffling pleas to keep Dad and Mom happy started that summer. Sometimes she’d say if she was gone, they’d have nothing to yell about. I never knew what to say back.  

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The weekend before high school started, Phee was allowed to go outside with me. I took her to the track for a run and saw her face light up like it hadn’t all summer. Before Phee took off, I handed her a box I picked up after work that day. Inside were pink New Balance shoes. It was the least I could do for my baby sister, especially since she made me lunch all summer. Phee smiled and hugged me as tight as she could. They barely left her feet for the next four years. 

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This morning, she wore them, too. I rubbed my face as Phee set the shoe box on her bed and reached for a pair of jeans I’d outgrown. I looked down, trying to ignore the pang in my full stomach from being able to count her ribs. We used to look so alike. I began to count how many times had I told myself she was fine instead of asking. 

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In high school, I got a spotlight while Phee survived in the shadows. I wasn’t as fast as Phee, so we’d run together every day for fun. I could train for football and baseball while Phee could practice outrunning crowds if she got groped in the bleachers. I stood up for her when I could in class, but I couldn’t stop rumors.

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At night, Phee kept up with the Bible while I read my comics. She’d cry sometimes, but I never knew what she prayed about. I just knelt next to her twin bed and hugged her. I didn’t realize it was about the rumors at school, because I didn’t really think they were true until one Friday after football practice. 

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I walked into our room to see my baby sister in bed with Barbara Wilson. She jumped to cover herself while Barbs casually waved hello. I screamed, shut the door, and ran downstairs to confront something I might have already knew but hadn’t believed. Phee actually was a dyke.

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When Barbs ran out the door with her shirt on inside out, my chest tightened. I wanted to talk to was Phee but worried all I’d see was the queer girl my school always talked about who was just in bed with Barbs. A bit later, Phee came down in her robe and sat next to me on the couch. She looked straight ahead, her curls the same as mine. Our aqua eyes turned to our hands as we sat in silence. After maybe an eternity, I blurted out something stupid. 

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“H-how was it?”

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Phee looked right at me. Her eyes watered till she laughed, and she laughed till she cried, and she cried and laughed some more till she was empty of everything for just a moment. All I saw was my baby sister. 

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And then Mom walked through the front door, shrieked, crossed herself and slammed the  door shut. “Phyllis, why on earth are you in your robe in front of your brother? It’s very unladylike.”

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Mom worked as a secretary since Dad left the house. It made the house feel empty, but it also made me realize how small our home was. It also made me realize Mom only took her stress out on Phee, never me. It’s not like I was an angel. I listened to Elvis and wouldn’t get crew cuts, I snuck around with my girlfriend, I hadn’t registered to vote yet. But Phee was always in trouble, because she wasn’t just a rebellious teen. She was the opposite of everything Mom needed her to be.

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“Cause I had company over. --no, but I can tell you her name. --oh, don’t act surprised. You knew. --hang on, don’t bring Dad into this. --you know how sorry I’ve been. --if that’s how you feel, just let me leave then! --no? Then I’m going to bed, and I’ll see you for breakfast. Good night, Mom.”

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Phee actually slept that night. No prayers, no running. But Barbs got caught sneaking into her house and her little sister Karen told the whole school that Barbs and my sister were dykes in love that next Monday. Barbara was sent to a mental hospital and never finished school. Mom tried calling Phee’s behavior sick for a while, but that backfired when she tried to get excused from school for feeling “too gay” one morning. For the rest of  senior year, Phee kept her grades up and her head down. I didn’t think much of her turning down our daily runs or skipping supper or sleeping in. I’d applied to college, gotten wrapped up in baseball season, and forgotten to check in. It didn’t occur to me that in a few months, I’d go to school and she’d be stuck with mom until she got married, which seemed unlikely given her situation. She was trapped. With literally nowhere to run to, Phee stopped trying to run away. 

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The last time she threatened to run away was at our graduation party. Mom brought a strange man who requested to take Phee with him for the summer. He said he could fix her. I stood frozen as Phee and mom had their last and quietest fight in the kitchen during our commencement party.

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“Dr. Carter’s here to help you, Phyllis,” Mom whispered as she served swedish meatballs. “Your sins can be forgiven if you just ask for help.”

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Phee smiled as to not alarm guests. With her relaxed hair and painted lips, I didn’t recognize my twin. “I’m doing what you want, Mom. Nothing’s happened since that night. Please... don’t make me go.”

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“Sweetheart,” Mom leaned in, smoothing out her dress. “I’d never send you somewhere that wasn’t for your own good. This man’s job is to break down those feelings and teach you to have healthy thoughts. All I’ve ever wanted to do is save you. You’re going to get better.”

Phee’s voice shook quietly. “If I hear ugly words every day and praying to God every night to undo me doesn’t stop people from leaving --doesn’t fix me --I won’t ever be less broken.”

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Mom gently smiled. “You can talk more with Dr. Carter about that on the way to his office tomorrow.” Phee told me that night that she’d be gone before sunrise. 

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As the ether of night made way for a purple glow, Phee knelt by her twin bed. All I could do was kneel next to her. She opened the old shoe box and on top of the withered wrappings was an acceptance letter to Cornell. I didn’t even know she’d applied. She handed me the box. Our identical blue eyes met and I felt my throat close as tears rolled down his face. She was really leaving. And she had somewhere to go. Phee smiled and hugged me as tight as she could. I shook as I hugged her back. Before the sun woke up and the sky became pink, Phee had already run away. For real this time.

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I opened the box to find a pair of white New Balance shoes in my size. Inside one shoe was a New York address and phone number. So you can visit your baby sister, it said. 

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There were so many moments I thought Phee needed her older twin to stand up for her. It wasn’t until Phee finally ran away that I realized the stronger of us had left this room for good, and I became aware of how frozen I had been. Curls just like hers stuck to my sopping face as the gentle pink sky made way for a harsh summer morning alone. I laced on the shoes and hid the box under the bed. And before Mom could look for either one of her twin babies, I raced out the front door, unsure of where to run.