LVII | Someone Like You
❦
It’s noon.
I know
because the sun
is frying my back
to a crisp.
I draw the curtain
and drag my easel
into the cooler interior
of the hall.
Li Wen
is holding Raymond’s fries
out of his reach,
trying to feed him
one fry at a time
from her mouth.
He’s leaning in
to bite
the fry
sticking out
of her mouth
when I put my box of paints
on the dining table.
He slumps
back
in his chair,
ears turning bright red.
Li Wen glares at me.
I ignore her
and make my peanut butter sandwich.
She tries again,
but because
I’m still there,
he avoids her gaze
and examines the blank fridge door
with quivering eyes.
I’ve learnt,
if that’s possible,
that Li Wen
is a fearsome person.
Since the first day
she told me
Raymond was hers,
I’ve avoided
having
anything to do with her.
It’s not that hard.
She
doesn’t
have any interest
in anyone
other than Raymond.
I wonder
if they were admitted
into the asylum
together.
They weren’t.
The smell of peanut butter
runs away
as Tammie
sits in the chair
beside me.
(I put the lid
over the tub,
just in case.)
She follows me back
into the main hall,
away from Li Wen’s scalding gaze.
I sit on half my stool,
Tammie on the other side,
staring
at my sun-stained canvas.
Raymond was here first.
Li Wen came later.
They’re not siblings.
I peek at them
over my sandwich.
Raymond
has his fries back
now,
and Li Wen
is draped across
the back of his chair,
whispering
into his ear.
Definitely
not siblings.
Li Wen dropped her towel
outside her cubicle
during bath time.
Raymond picked it up
for her.
She bathed in the guys toilet?
I point out.
Tammie giggles.
That’s her habit.
It’s not hard
to guess
the rest of the story.
She opened the door
to see who
hung her towel back
for her
and saw Raymond.
Raymond’s ears
probably turned
bright red
when Li Wen smiled at him.
And he probably found
the clothes rack
opposite the cubicles
very interesting.
‘Poor Raymond,’ I comment.
The main
door of the asylum opens.
(It never opens
unless
it’s medicine time.)
Or…
a new patient comes.
There’s two of them.
It’s hard to see
since the boy
is hiding behind the girl
and there are
three nurses
(the pretty one, the plain one and one male)
following them.
The girl’s eyes
are sharp,
she looks around her
warily,
hands forming fists.
No—
one of her hands
is wrapped around his.
She meets my gaze
with a challenge.
I smile quickly
and hide behind
my sandwich.
Like a bodyguard
who’s ensured the surroundings are clear,
she pulls the boy forward.
He’s not a boy.
He’s a man.
With a faint beard
and deep-set
eyes.
That’s about the only difference
there is
between the two of them.
Both have the same
intense eyes,
same height,
same shoulder-length
hair,
same face,
same physique.
Without his beard,
he would be
the exact replica
of his sister.
‘Twins,’ I tell Tammie.
‘They’re adult twins.’
Tammie laughs
at my choice of words.
All twins grow into adults, Fifi.
But that’s
not the reason
I said that.
The brother,
eyes darting around the hall,
inches closer
to his sister
and holds onto her arm.
It’s a strange sight.
…Like clowns
performing a mime,
I explain
to Tammie.
❦
