Separated at Birth
By Valerie L. Egar
A
long time ago, twin girls were separated at birth. Maybe bandits kidnapped them
from a caravan and one bandit fled north and the other east. Maybe a careless
auntie left them unattended in the bazaar to gossip with the fishmonger. What
really happened, no one knows. What’s true is that one twin, Anya, was
separated from her mirror image, Anika.
Anya
grew up in the mountains with a sheep farmer and his wife. When she was old
enough, her job was tending the sheep. She liked wandering the meadow watching the
flock more than living in the house. The farmer’s wife was stingy with food. She
argued with her husband for hours every night.
Being
alone with the sheep was far more peaceful. During the day, Anya dozed in the
sun, confident the sheep were safe. She picked raspberries, eating as many as
she wanted. She looked at the silver river, far away in the valley, and
wondered where it led.
At
night, Anya stayed awake to keep the sheep safe from wolves. Wrapped in a thin
blanket, she played her flute as she watched over the flock. Anya’s song was
beautiful but sad, the notes like seeds on the wind, looking for a place to
grow. Anya felt an emptiness deep inside, as
though part of her was missing. Her song drifted through the air, looking for
the missing piece.
Far away in a busy
city, Anika woke every morning with a song in her head. She heard the music in
her dreams and it lingered all day.
Unlike Anya, Anika
grew up in a wealthy family as a treasured daughter. She loved to paint and had
lessons from the finest artists in the kingdom. Though she had a very good life
and people who loved her, Anika still felt a sadness deep inside, like something
was missing.
One morning, with
the dream music playing in her head, Anika painted a beautiful landscape. It
was a view of a silver river, winding through a lush valley. A red boat floated
on the river.
That night, as
Anya played her flute and watched the distant river lit by the full moon, she
decided to run away. Surely there was a better life somewhere. She herded the
sheep into a pasture by the barn so they would be safe and made her way down
the mountain.
“Where are you
headed?” a kind man in a red boat asked.
“Away,” said Anya.
The man agreed
that Anya playing her flute would be payment enough for a ride. She played and
watched small villages pass by.
The next morning,
Anika painted a picture of a bustling town. The buildings were white and glowed
in sunlight. Immense palm trees shaded the street.
“I dreamed it.”
When Anya saw white
buildings in the distance, she was drawn to the town the way a moth is drawn to
light. “That is where I would like to get off,” she said to the boatman.
Anya walked
through town, and then the road split. The right fork led through a dark
forest, the left through fields of grain. She wasn’t sure which way to go and
rested beside a tree.
At that moment,
Anika finished painting a forest. Trees overhung the road and the forest looked
frightening, but she was careful not to paint any tigers or wolves under the
trees.
Anya chose the
forest road. She played her flute as loudly as she could to keep from being
scared.
When the forest
thinned, Anya saw a bustling city.
“What a beautiful
painting of our house, Anika,” said her mother. “Our red front door almost
glows.”
Anya knocked on a red
door to ask for a drink of water. The young woman who opened the door looked
exactly like her. She had the same smile and the same eyes, a sister she didn’t
know she had.
“I have been looking for you without knowing,”Anya said.
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Copyright January 2018 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied of reproduced without permission from with author.
Published January 21, 2018, Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).
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