Present Perfect (2 page)

I was born on March 23, 1990 at 10:57 pm. Noah was born on March 23, 1990 at 10:58 pm. Other than the one minute that had separated our births, Noah and I have always been together. We had shared all of our firsts, first teeth, smile, and words. We started crawling at the same time and took our first steps together. There was no part of my life that didn’t include him.

When Noah’s mom went back to work, my mom, being a stay-at-home mom, offered to take care of him while Mr. and Mrs. Stewart were at work. Mom had figured two babies were just as easy to take care of as one. In most situations, that wasn’t true. Two babies meant double the diapers, double the feedings, double the screaming, and double the headaches. But not with Noah and me. As long as we were together, we had been happy babies.

He and I had become such an extension of each other. My mom said we had developed our own language, like twins did. To the average untrained ear, it had sounded like a bunch of gibberish, but Noah and I had understood exactly what we were saying. Our
secret language
continued as we got older.

The connection we shared kept getting stronger as the years passed. Noah could read me like no one else could. He knew my thoughts, my moods, and my feelings, just like I knew his. As we got older, our instincts sharpened and we knew when the other was in need without a word passing between us.

Even at the age of six, I knew I would look hideous in it. The moms of all my friends were wholeheartedly embracing the conveniences of modern day America, like store-bought Halloween costumes. In 1996, my mom decided it would be a wonderful childhood memory for me and Emily to have homemade costumes. I blame Martha Stewart one hundred percent for causing my mother’s temporary insanity. Mom didn’t have a crafty or artistic bone in her entire body.

Emily wanted to be a princess. She had been taking ballet lessons since the age of five, so she had all the makings of a decent princess costume.

Mom grabbed a couple of Emily’s light pink tutus and hot glued one on top of the other for the bottom of the gown. The top was made of one of Emily’s hot pink leotards. Mom drizzled hot glue all over it, and then, threw handfuls of glitter at it. She topped off her creation with a tiara made of foil and multicolored marbles as the royal jewels. Emily’s costume didn’t look too bad. If you throw enough glitter on something, people get distracted by the dazzle and don’t notice the ugly as much.

I, on the other hand, wanted to be a cowgirl. A cowgirl costume was the easiest costume to put together. All that was needed was a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt, a vest, a pair of boots, and a hat. Ta- da, cowgirl! No hot glue or glitter required. I had everything I needed except the most important item.

Mom and I were at the store when I saw it. It was made of bright red felt, the brim was trimmed in white, and the word ‘
cowgirl’
was stitched across the front. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. My heart started to flutter.

I grabbed the hat and ran up to my mom beaming with excitement. “Mom, look at it. Isn’t it the most perfect cowgirl hat you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s a very nice hat, Amanda. Now go put it back. We’ve got more shopping to do,” she said while pushing the shopping cart down the aisle.

The smile dropped off my face. I ran up behind her, clutching the hat against my chest. “But Mom, I need it.”

“For what, sweetie?”

“Um…for my Halloween costume,” Sarcasm flowed through each word, accompanied by a smirk, and an eye roll.

“I’m making your costume this year, Amanda. You know that.” I followed behind her as she continued down the aisle, paying more attention to the items she was placing in the cart than me.

“I want to be a cowgirl. It’s the easiest costume to make. I already have everything except the hat. I need this hat, Mom,” I pleaded.

She glanced over her shoulder at me and asked, “Why do you want to be a cowgirl?”

“Because cowgirls are cool,” I said.

As if this wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Noah’s going to be a cool knight. I want to be a cool cowgirl and I
will be
if I have
this hat
. Please, Mom.”

She stopped and squatted down in front of me, bringing us eye-to-eye, and said, “Sweetie, you
are
going to be the coolest kid trick or treating this year.”

“So I can get the hat?” I felt the smile slowly crawl back across my face. I waited with great anticipation to hear the word, “
yes”
float past her lips.

“No. Guess what you’re going to be for Halloween?” She smiled at me with her stormy blue grey eyes filled with excitement. Standing, she started looking through the shopping cart. When she turned back around she was holding the biggest bag of bright yellow feathers I had ever seen. I looked up at her, my face twisted in confusion. “You’re going to be Tweety Bird! Isn’t that going to be fun?”

I was stunned. “I don’t want to be Tweety Bird. I want to be a cool cowgirl. Why can’t I be a cowgirl?” I whined.

“Because I already have all the things I need to make Tweety,” she said, tossing the big bag of feathers back in the cart.

“We could just put that stuff back, and you could get me this cool cowgirl hat.”

“Amanda, you’re going to be Tweety Bird this year. Stop arguing with me. You need to try and be more like your sister. She never gives me any trouble. You can be a cowgirl next year. Now, go put the hat back.”

With my shoulders slumped and my head lowered in defeat, I dragged my feet slowly as I made my way down the aisle to put the perfect cowgirl hat back on the shelf. “I don’t want to be stupid Tweety. I want to be a cowgirl. It’s my costume,” I grumbled.

“Amanda, hurry up! We need to get going.”

My mom was so obsessed with making the Tweety costume I had started to wonder if she thought I looked like a jaundiced bubble head with puffy cheeks and lips.

The construction of the Tweety costume was a hell that no child should have to experience. Mom had found the instructions on how to make the costume in a magazine. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where she had put them, but she was positive she would be able to figure things out.

I was standing in our family room dressed in a skin tight pale yellow leotard that Mom made me put on over shorts and a t-shirt. She walked into the room weighted down with an armful of supplies and dumped them out on to the floor beside me. “Whew! Ok, let’s get the show on the road,” she said, rubbing her palms together. I couldn’t believe how excited she was about this stupid bird costume.

She began setting out her supplies, as I gasped for air, and said, “Mom?”

“Hmmm…?”

“This leotard’s too tight. I can’t breathe.” I gulped in as much oxygen as the vacuum packed garment would allow.

“It has to be a little tight, Amanda. Otherwise the feathers will weight it down and make it sag. You don’t want to be a sagging Tweety do you?”

“I don’t want to be Tweety at all,” I muttered.

“Enough of that. I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Your sister didn’t complain about her costume.”

“That’s because she gets to be a fairy princess like she wants to be.”

“Let’s get started.”

Mom pulled a few more things out of her tote bag, and then, walked over to the wall to plug in her hot glue gun. When she turned back around, the glue gun was pointed directly at me.

My eyebrows immediately shot up, I could feel my eyeballs pop right out of their sockets as beads of sweat trickled down my neck. My voice was shaky when I asked, “You’re not going to shoot me with hot glue, are you? I promise I won’t say anything bad about Tweety ever again.”

“Oh Amanda, you’re so dramatic. I’m not going to drip hot glue on you. I need to figure out where to place the feathers while you’re wearing the leotard.”

She pulled out a huge roll of duct tape, started ripping off small pieces, and rolled them up. She then stuck them all over me. Taking handfuls of the bright yellow feathers, she began to shove them against my body. I tipped over a couple of times when she got a little over enthusiastic.

After she helped me out of the torture chamber, I watched as she removed sections of feathers from the leotard, drizzled hot glue, and plastered them back on. Sighing deeply, I turned away, and went to my room. I couldn’t bear to watch any longer.

Each time I walked by the feathered monstrosity my face crumpled up in disgust. Halloween was in one week. There wasn’t much time left. I needed help from an adult if I was going to have any chance of changing my mom’s mind about this bird suit.

One night, before dinner, I found my dad alone in our family room sitting in his recliner watching the evening news. I leaned over the arm of the chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Can it wait until the news is over?” His eyes stayed glued to the TV.

I pursed my lips together and stepped back. “I guess. How long is that going to be?” I asked, gnawing on my thumbnail.

He glanced at me out the corner of his eye as he aimed the remote toward the TV, and turned the sound down. Turning to me, he asked, “What’s up, sweetheart?”