Copycat
Photo of author and twin sister, provided by Keisha Ramdhanie
Calypso Christmas music blared through daddy’s surround sound speakers on December 25, 1992. He tinkered with the buttons, switches, and dials of his new system since he got home from his second job, an early shift at the hospital. We were that family. We had to brush our teeth, properly set the table, thoughtfully say grace, and patiently eat a big breakfast—biscuits, jam, ham, eggs, and orange juice. Then we could open gifts.
“Turn it down, nuh,” Mommy sat against the sofa, sipping coffee. She had tested her new perfumes and massaged her legs and feet with the matching lotions. As she admired her new tennis bracelets and rings, she insisted Daddy turn down the vibrant music. Daddy shimmied to the beat and turned the volume up slowly, smiling at Mommy with his gap-toothed grin, purposely teasing her. She cut him a glare and he immediately lowered the volume.
My older sister, Nicky, had already tested her new nail polish colors on each of her fingers and toes. She sat with a caboodle on her lap, trying to stuff her new eye shadow and blush palettes into the compartments.
Randy, my older brother, was fixated on a How To Make a Lightbulb From a Potato science kit. He had already laced his new sneakers and set them in a corner; a warning to us not scuff them, or else.
Then there was me and my frizzy-haired bucktooth clone, Kellie. She insisted on being the last person to open her gifts so she could be the center of attention, like usual. I was her Secret Santa this year so with the allowance Daddy gave us to buy one gift, I bought her the Kenya doll she had blabbed about since Halloween. Kenya had large brown eyes, like us, with long, thick hair made to be styled in every way possible, just like ours. Kenya’s beautiful, brown skin looked just like ours, too. I wanted one so badly but didn’t put it on my Christmas list; I knew my twin would just call me a copycat like usual. I was one minute older but I’m the copycat?
“Why are you covering your eyes? It’s already wrapped, stupid,” I sneered, pinging her on the head with the gift, “And no one is even paying attention to you.”
“OUCH!” she yelled, rubbing the strawberry birthmark soft spot at the crown of her head. She also liked drawing attention to that, too; as if that made her more special than everyone else.
“Shhh! Stop being dramatic! I didn’t even touch that!” I hissed at her, making sure Mommy and Daddy weren’t looking.
“Shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“Can both of y'all shut up?” Randy yelled, fiddling with his new Walkman.
“Just open it,” I said, handing her the gift nicely. I was tempted to not knock her over the head with it again.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said, sticking out her tongue.
“Whatever.”
“I'm opening up my last present now!” she announced to the room.
“WE KNOW!!” we yelled in unison.
Kellie ripped off the paper to reveal a beautiful, Black doll with a hairbrush, hair beads, rollers, and styling lotion. Her buck teeth shot out of her mouth into the biggest beaver smile I’d ever seen.
“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! I can’t beliiiieeeve iiit!” Kellie squealed, jumping up and down in her signature dramatic, Kellie way. She set the box down, threw her arms around me and squeezed tighter than ever.
“Thank you, sissy!” she cried.
“Sure.” I peeped as she continued to squeeze the very last breath out of me.
“Thank you SO much!” she went on, finally releasing me.
“Yep,” I turned and glanced at the coloring books Randy got me.
“You close your eyes now,” she demanded.
“Why?”
“Just do it!”
“No.”
“Ugh. Shut up and do it,” she said, grabbing my hands and putting them over my eyes for me.
“Here,” she said throwing a terribly wrapped box in my lap. I looked at her and then around at everyone else, confused.
“She did a little more chores around the house so she could buy it for you,” Daddy said.
I was still confused.
“Girl, open it!” Nicky yelled.
I tore the decorative paper off. My buck teeth poked out as a smile spread across my face.
“Weirdo twins,” Randy said, snapping a picture with his disposable camera.
“Don’t pay him no mind, gyuls.” Mommy said, smiling at us.
I slowly looked up at Kellie and couldn’t believe that my sister thought about anyone other than herself for once.
“Happy now, Bucky?” Kellie stood and smiled over me. Bucky was the nickname she called me even though our teeth were identical, too.
“Yes!” I stood up and squeezed her with all my might.
“Ok, get off me now,” she muttered. We pulled away and yanked our matching dolls out of their boxes at the same time.
“Copycat!” we yelled at each other.
25 years later and we still buy each other identical Christmas gifts. That ole copycat.
Keisha Ramdhanie is the author of “The Private Life of Estelle Knight” and “Senior Citizens” (both available on Amazon). Follow her on IG, YouTube and Twitter: @KeishaAnnRam
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