Finding Ruby Starling

by Karen Rivers

  Anyway, what if I was born to be dead? And she wasn’t? It’s like we mixed everything up, the way things were supposed to be. But what does that mean, “supposed to be”? It’s like what people say to Mom all the time about cloning a dinosaur that is extinct: “Maybe they are supposed to be extinct. Maybe you are messing with the natural order.” And then she says, “That’s the point, that we can mess with it. And there’s so much to learn.”

  And then I think, OK, maybe I am here because I have so much to learn! And then I try harder at school. School is sort of actually really really really hard for me, but I work extra hard because I feel like I should, because I am not dead and Ashley Mary Jane is. I sometimes set my alarm and do extra studying at night when Mom and Dad are sleeping so I can stay at the gifted school and they will think I am smart, and then everyone who knows about me and Ashley Mary Jane won’t think that her heart went to waste.

  After my surgery, Mom and Dad told Ashley Mary Jane’s parents right away that they could keep in touch with us, so they would know how their daughter’s heart was making someone else have this amazing life. So I kind of owe them an amazing life.

  Every year, we meet Ashley Mary Jane’s parents at this huge event called the Walk to Remember. It’s always in a different town, but there’s always a big field and what we do is we take all these balloons, a different color every year, and we tie notes to them, and we send them up to Ashley Mary Jane. Other people send balloons to their own dead kids, and then everyone cries, and it sounds AWFUL and so sad, but it’s kind of amazing and beautiful. Then we have salmon and bagels and lemonade with the McNays and hang around and listen to music, and then at the end, Mom and Dad hug the McNays and I get hugged by them so hard they nearly squeeze my (her) heart clear out of my body, and then everyone cries a little more and sniffs and says, “Have a good year!” Chaz sometimes doesn’t say anything. Last year, he had his earphones in the whole time. But Mom says that’s normal, that he’s a teenage boy and he probably just isn’t sure entirely how to act.

  It’s all sort of like our New Year’s Eve, except it happens in August and it’s usually painfully hot, no matter whether it’s in Idaho or Maine or wherever. On the way home, we are always very quiet and we listen to the air conditioner or the plane’s engine and think about Ashley Mary Jane, and I feel her heart thumping away in my chest and feel lucky to be alive and weirdly happy and full of love for her and her family and my family and basically all the families. The whole thing is a lovefest, in the best possible way that is also the saddest thing.

  That feeling doesn’t last long. Like, I don’t walk around all the time going, “GOSH, I LOVE EVERYONE!” That would be totes weird. I’m just telling YOU all this because I feel like YOU will understand.

  You have to.

  Anyway, I sometimes think maybe I’m more likely to die sooner than other people because I’m here on borrowed time, and Death is getting ultra-annoyed that I got away so many times before I was even one year old. I try not to be freaked out by this. I try to think about how I’ll be a ghost and can haunt everyone who ever made me mad, like Freddie Blue Anderson, who is this horrible girl at my school with perfect hair and a super-extra-lousy personality.

  I don’t really think I’ll die soon. My policy is, REFUSE TO BE AFRAID. (And stay in the present! Like Buddha!) Being dead doesn’t seem like something to be afraid of, anyway, whether you believe in heaven or an afterlife or just nothingness. Death is something that happens to everyone at some time or another! You probably don’t know when it’s happening to you, so what does it matter? I just don’t want to miss stuff like my first kiss and seeing every scary movie ever made and graduating and learning to drive and seeing Mom’s dinosaur stomp all over the East Coast (or the West!) and so many things. And now I have a new one, obvi, which is meeting YOU, my twin sister, Ruby Starling!!!

  And, I guess, to meet my birth mom. Delilah Starling. Her. The one who gave me away, even though I was sick. Even though I needed a mom more than anything. Even though I was probably going to die, but didn’t.

  I don’t know how to stop being so angry, Ruby. I just don’t know if I know how to do it. I want to. I really want to. I’m TRYING to. But it isn’t working.

  I’m still mad.

  Do you understand?

  Please please please say that you do.

  Love,

  Ruth

  I’ve been thinking about the script, and maybe we could use, like, every language in the world and then it could be a UNIVERSAL movie. One that speaks to everyone and basically means everything. Has anyone done that before? It could practically be a metaphor for life. For everything. Ever. But that sounds like a lot for five minutes or less. Maybe I’ll stick to the animated line drawings and the SHORCAs in the toilet, superimposed over the drawings. The blue water works like blue screen in movies so it’s kind of perfect, because I’ve figured out a way to make it seem like the clay SHORCAs are eating the paper people. It’s amazing, I think. I’m putting a post on the Internet about the Jedgar Method. Do you think I could, like, patent it? And get rich? I’m just kind of thinking out loud. But not out loud — thinking while I type. What’s up? Where are you?

  What? I can’t talk about SHORCA! I am much too busy crying. Please leave me alone.

  What? Why? Are you OK? Or are you joking? We have to talk about SHORCA!, seriously.

  Mom said that if our movies had a double meaning, like if the story was a metaphor for something really cool, then they’d go viral. But I can’t think of how to make SHORCA! also about something else. Plus, you know, that video of a cat on a Roomba didn’t have two meanings. So actually, that’s a terrible idea and explains why Mom is not a famous viral video maker.

  Still, her comment made me want to not make SHORCA! at all. Because she’s right, annoyingly, and it doesn’t have any larger meaning. It’s just shock value and cool special effects. Sometimes when I’m working on stuff like this, I start to think, what’s the point? Does the world actually need another shock value/special effects short video? WHY? Shouldn’t I be saving starving kids or something useful instead of wasting so much time on this?

  Then I get pretty depressed.

  But now we have this other thing that fell in our laps, which is your story about finding Ruby Starling on the Internet. So maybe we should make a documentary about you and her instead. I mean, it’s pretty freaking amazing, and people like twin stuff. I found a whole bunch of it when I Googled. Some of it was completely bizarro, like this one pair of twins who were raised separately but both grew up to have the same job and to marry men named Bob. I guess that’s not that much of a coincidence seeing as back in the 1960s, everyone was named Bob. But still, it’s kind of freakishly cool.

  I did some drawings of you finding Ruby — can you just look? It could be sort of like a comic book but with real talking and feelings and stuff like that, if you want. I had to do therapy after I lit that fire in fourth grade BY MISTAKE so I know what it is like, and making a movie about your experience would be better, therapeutically, for you. I think. I’m not, like, a therapy expert or anything. Anyway, I won’t do it if you don’t want me to but it’s TOTALLY got an edge over a chomping shark/orca hybrid horror movie because it’s, you know, real. It’s your real, actual story. And that’s pretty cool.

  And it probably wouldn’t need a double meaning to go viral.

  NO WAY. I can’t even believe you are asking me that! That’s a terrible idea. Is this because you are still mad about the thing that we said we weren’t ever going to talk about again? It’s really unfair of you to do that when I’m in the midst of TURMOIL. Turmoil! EMOTIONAL TURMOIL, JEDGAR JOHNSTON! I totes know how celebs feel now when their so-called friends sell their stories to the tabloids, which is terrible. That’s how they feel. Terrible.

  You didn’t even ask me why I was crying over here, alone on my island, which is what a real actual friend would have done instead of going on and on about double meanings found in movies about SHORCAs. Wha
t would Buddha say about that? I’ll ask Dad, but I’m guessing probably something like, “If you can’t be a friend to your friend when she is having a life crisis, then you probably are not going to find peace in the sky and/or in drawing animated movies about the tragedies in her life.”

  Actually, there is an actual real Buddha quote that fits, which is, “The tongue, like a sharp knife, kills without drawing blood.” Which is a ridiculous quote, because of course a knife that kills you draws blood, but what it means, Jedgar, is that this whole thing about having a real mom and a twin sister in England is killing me. Without blood.

  Do you know what I mean?

  I did SO ask! I said, “Are you OK? What happened?”

  And WHAT? Call me! Right now! So we can talk about your REAL MOM?!?

  Anyway, a lot of things don’t have to happen for you to know what it would be like. If a SHORCA chomped off my leg, I’m guessing it would hurt. This is the same sort of thing, if you think about it. That was my attempt at Buddhist wisdom. What do you think? Your dad would probably approve.

  You do know that he’s sort of not quite teaching you the point of Buddhism, right? Like the main parts? That calendar misses a lot of the big stuff. You can borrow my books about it if you want. It’s totally interesting.

  But Buddhism doesn’t matter right now. I’m sorry that you’re freaked out. I won’t talk to you about SHORCA! or the Documentary of You until you want to, if you want to. If you don’t, I’ll just be over here, fending off my brothers AND WAITING FOR YOU TO CALL. (Should I come over?) The bros are doing something really alarming with Mentos and Diet Coke. Does Diet Coke stain? Because this is my favorite shirt and … oh, crap, I have to go. Diet Coke in the keyboard is probably not good.

  I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I don’t know why I am. I’m just pretty mad at EVERYONE right now! I can’t explain! I am completely not on the Buddhist path! I’m off the path! Lost in the jungle! I am not “one with the path” or whatever, I’ve actually fallen into the river of rage and I’m drowning! Help! And I totes don’t have time to read helpful Buddhist books about it either!

  In other news, Mom is home. My actual mom, not the mom of my twin-sister-who-lives-in-England-who-obviously-gave-me-away.

  I am going to talk to her. (MY mom, that is.)

  RIGHT NOW!

  OR IN A FEW MINUTES!

  You know when you try not to think about a thing because you are thinking about something else, the thing comes to you anyway? So even though I am temporarily on a break from SHORCA! and any and all chomping, I just had an idea for an ending. How about it turns out that the SHORCA has a twin she did not know about and is not, in fact, mostly alone in the world after all? And THEN she obviously becomes much less short-tempered and apt to eat frolicking children and fishermen, and everyone lives happily ever after. Because by finding another SHORCA, she finds herself. What do you think?

  There is your double meaning, Jedgar Johnston! It was right there, in front of our faces, all along. That’s what it was about the whole time. Just not being alone.

  I do not suggest that you introduce the SHORCA to her real parents, a shark and an orca, who aren’t poor students, after all, but rather perfectly capable artists who live in England and just chose to leave her behind. That would be entirely too much for a three-minute film.

  And now I’m crying again. I don’t know why I keep crying. You would not want to be around me right now. EMOTIONAL TURMOIL is really a lot worse than it sounds. And better. Both.

  P.S. Jedgar Johnston, I am not joking when I say I DO NOT want you to take my pain and make it into a movie. I don’t think you get how serious I am because sometimes I’m only half serious and half joking, so I have made the following contract. Please sign it. Thank you very much. I still love you and stuff, in a BFF way, I’m just confused, so if you think I’m mad, you’re probably right, but if you think I’m not mad anymore, then you’re right about that too.

  CONTRACT BETWEEN RUTH E. QUAYLE AND JEDGAR A. JOHNSTON

  I, Jedgar Allen Johnston, do solemnly swear on my future grave that I will not use Ruth Elizabeth Quayle’s life story as material for a documentary about what happens when you find your twin using FaceTrace and she lives in England with your real mother, who gave you up when you were born, even though she kept your twin, for reasons that have not yet been explained, no matter how fascinating that documentary sounds and how many millions of people would want to watch it on the Internet. I further promise to finish making SHORCA! with or without the sculpted SHORCAs made by Ruth Elizabeth Quayle, but giving Ruth Elizabeth Quayle credit for her IDEAS. Even FURTHER, I promise to be a good friend to Ruth Elizabeth Quayle at all times no matter what, even if my feelings change about her romantically, which I promise to never mention again and I will stop acting weird about RIGHT AWAY.

  Signed,

  _______________________

  JEDGAR A. JOHNSTON

  (sign your name here)(if you want)

  Ruby, we’re all really really worried about you. We spent half of Hawkster’s do just sitting in the garden and talking about you and your possible American twin situation. (Me and Chlophie, that is. The boys were watching the football. And the other girls were pretending to be really keen on football too, so the boys would think they were cool. But the boys didn’t notice! Dead boring, really.) Look, it’s just a lot to take in and it can’t be any good that you are there alone, thinking that your nan is haunting your mum’s old studio. We can’t have you going bonkers. So you should come and stay with me and I’ll help you with all of it. Mum and Dad say of course you can stay. So get your things and come to mine! The Mole is just banging on about how he’s going out the door to go on some sort of horrid computer course in the Cotswolds. Apparently he’s leaving first thing tomorrow. So he won’t even be here, staring at you grimly over his Weetabix and wiping his drippy nose on his sleeve. Honestly, I don’t know why he’s so disgusting and what exactly he smells of.

  Gosh, that’s lovely of you. Am sure Mum won’t mind, but I’ll message her right now. Will call you as soon as I can! (I can’t just come without clearing it with her first! What if she came home and I wasn’t here? She’d go mental. So I’ll come in the morning, OK?)

  PS — Are you sure the Mole is going away? It’s just that he is a bit annoying sometimes with his hangdog staring, like you always say. What do you mean, exactly, about his smell? He smells like soap. Just like you do. Not that I’ve been sniffing him.

  Mum,

  Can you please stop and pick up some milk on the way home from work? I’m going to go stay with Fi for a few days. Is that OK? I don’t much like being alone at home all the time, is the thing, especially during the vac, and I understand that time is all meaningless and silly when you’re working, but the thing is that it does get awfully dark and the house is so bumpy and loud. Not that I’m afraid, nothing like that. I’m fine, really. But I’ll be here still tonight and I’ll go to Fi’s in the morning. There is something else too. Because …

  It’s just that, do you think that you and I could have a chat later? If you’re home early enough. It’s not anything important, so don’t get worried, except it is a little bit important, Mum. I really do need to talk to you.

  I think you should also get chocolate. Maybe we can watch EastEnders and think about Nan, just like we used to, only we didn’t used to have to think about her, because she was there in her awful chair, shouting at us to be quiet so she could hear her stories. Can you set your phone to go off at half five so you make it on time? Just in case you lose track again.

  Love,

  Ruby

  Ruby, darling, I’ll be ages still — working on the tricky bits, like the ears. (Oh, our wonky ears!) I can’t possibly leave at half five or at all until this is done! It’ll set all wrong. Can you get the milk and bread? Just cycle into town. Or walk! There is money in the jar, it should be enough. Stop in and say hi if you like. But we don’t need milk and bread if you’re off to Fi
’s. I’ll just eat at the café, and Fi’s mum makes those lovely meals for you when you’re there, with proper organic things. I admire her so much for that. Have some tinned spag for tea, you used to love that when you were little. I’m sure I saw some in the cupboard.

  Get some chocolate, or whatever you like, for a treat. See if they have any of those chocolate biscuits that Nan used to like with her tea. I’ve just thought of those. Probably Nan’s way of saying hello from the Great Beyond, d’you think? Or maybe she just approves of your plan for some telly, which I’d love to do, but I just can’t. I can’t. I’m so overwhelmed with this work. It’s for you, darling. Dedicated to you properly on a little plaque. Just like everything.

  Don’t wait up, sweetheart. Have a lovely time with your friends! We’ll have a good long goss when I’m done with this project, OK?

  By the way, a spotty-faced boy was watching me measure out some of the space earlier, where the statue will go, and just when I was getting a bit annoyed that he was there, he finally approached me. He said, ‘Cor, that’s lovely. Know a girl who looks just like that photo, like, over there, I do. Ruby. She’s a looker’. There’s a big photo by the site of what the statue’s going to look like, of course. Anyway, darling, I think he might have a little crush. Awfully funny-looking, but you know sometimes funny-looking boys are far nicer in the long run than attractive boys. I gave him your email — was that OK? Don’t be cross. He just looked so hopeless, I couldn’t help it. It was quite romantic really. In a funny way, he reminded me of your dad. Not that your dad was ever spotty. He was always just perfect. Just the way he should have been. We still miss him, don’t we? So much.