A set of twins lived with their mother and father in a two-story, two-bedroom brownstone in Homewood South, a borough on the far-east side of Pittsburgh.
The brownstone sat on the low end of a hill facing an old steel warehouse. The lot was now empty, except for a staging area filled with pallets of building materials and a pair of flat bed trailers. Barbwire fence separated them from the lot. Neighborhood kids often slipped through broken links and partied inside the old abandoned buildings.
The twins shared a bedroom upstairs, which faced away from the lot. Still, the bleakness of their neighborhood was never too far away; they could sit on the toilet and peek through the cracks in the frosted bathroom window and see the eyesore.
The older sibling's name was Phoebe Gatteau. Her younger sister (by only six minutes) was named Portia. Phoebe and Portia were the youngest of three.
Their older brother Alex lived across town in a small one-bedroom apartment with his child and its mother. The mother collected welfare while Alex worked on a construction site across town. He was paid cash every Friday. His income was off the books, just like his fatherhood.
Portia’s' parents had met at the U.S. Post Office, where they both worked. They still collected income from the U.S. Postal Service, while neither of them still worked.
Mrs. Gatteau collected worker’s compensation. She sorted mail for the Post Office for about two years until she claimed to have a nervous breakdown. After that, she never worked another day in her life.
Mr. Gatteau, on the other hand, put his full time in, working as a mail carrier for 25 years before finally retiring.
It was early February. The streets of Pittsburgh were just cleared by salt trucks; however, dirty black piles of snow were piled eight feet high.
Portia and Phoebe stayed after school for Mr. Tanner's ensemble practice. Mr. Tanner, just like Mr. Gatteau, had lived and worked in Homewood South his whole life, teaching Ensemble and Chorus for over 20 years. His chorus often finished 1st in state. This year would probably be the same. Both Portia and Phoebe were two of his top singers.
“Phoebe, can you step up to the microphone, please?”
Phoebe cut through students as she stepped off the bleachers. She fixed her dress and pulled her hair into place before clearing her throat.
“Give me a C.”
“Ahh.”
“Now an F.”
“Ahh.”
Mr. Tanner plinked on the piano key until Phoebe matched tones. He cut her off and then nodded to the entire chorus. Phoebe led as the chorus sang backing harmonics.
“I am what I am…” she paused, “I am my own special creation…”
As they continued through the song, Phoebe’s hands waved histrionically. Mr. Tanner stopped her.
“Phoebe, this is not a Broadway play and there are no divas in my chorus. We’re performing at a national competition in less than three months. You are part of a team.”
“You know my gestures are part of my singing.”
“Not for competition they aren't.”
“But…”
“Portia…” called Mr. Tanner, “can you come front and center?”
“Of course, Mr. Tanner.”
Portia stood beside her sister, who was still in front of the microphone.
“Phoebe?”
Phoebe glared at Hr. Tanner hard enough to burn a hole through his forehead. Mr. Tanner had dealt with the Gatteau twins ever since they joined his Ensemble team their freshman year. This was certainly nothing new to him.
“Please, return to your spot in chorus, Miss Gatteau.”
Both girls remained at their places, one because she wasn't the one Mr. Tanner called, and the other because she thought she wasn't the one called, either.
"Return to your place right now, Phoebe," demanded Mr. Tanner.
A low murmur came over the chorus as Phoebe snarled at him. Between Portia and Phoebe, everyone knew that Phoebe was a much better singer. She also brought much more drama to everything she did (or didn’t) do.
“Everyone from the top,” said Mr. Tanner plaintively, “1…2…3…”
Portia kept her hands glued to her hips. She formed a slender silhouette, mimicking the microphone in front of her. Her voice, although not as strong as her older sister’s, was mellow and smooth.
“It would work just as well,” thought Mr. Tanner. At the end of the song, he nodded affirmatively.
“That’s it for today, group. I’ll see you all first thing tomorrow morning for our regular class.”
The group disbanded, filtering off into their separate directions.
“I need to go to my locker to get my books,” said Portia.
“Go ahead,” said Phoebe.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
Phoebe went to her car while Portia went to her locker. When Portia came outside, Phoebe’s car was not where she parked it that morning.
“Awww, man,” groaned Portia.
She cinched her hood around her face and began walking home. About halfway, Phoebe’s car pulled up beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t see you in the lot, so I’m walking home.”
“Get in. You’re being totally stupid.”
Portia stood still.
“Get in already,” snapped Phoebe. She reached across and opened the door. It flung open towards Portia.
It was too cold and windy to fight about it, especially when Phoebe didn’t throw her usual tantrum. Portia couldn’t let her sister get the best of her, especially when Portia had already won today. This was one of the few times Mr. Tanner ever gave her a chance to sing lead for anything, let alone a competition song. She got into her sister’s car.
Neither girl said one thing until the car stopped in front of their house.
“Phoebe, could you please back up so I don’t have to walk through a snowdrift?”
“Yes,” hissed Phoebe.
She punched the clutch with her foot and jammed the car into reverse. Gears ground as she forced it into position. She backed up just enough to let her sister out, then immediately re-parked the car.
It was much the same when they entered the house. Portia kept to her side of their bedroom and Phoebe kept to hers. Phoebe stopped just long enough to drop off her schoolbooks. She went downstairs and joined her parents in the family room. Meanwhile, Portia lay on her bed, doing her homework.
“Portia!” called her mother.
“What?” she shouted from her bed.
“Can you come down here a second?”
Portia went down to the family room. Phoebe was sitting next to her mother. Both women’s arms were folded. Portia stopped at the edge of the room.
“You took your sister’s solo?”
“I didn't take anything. Mr. Tanner gave it to me.”
“You know your sister is the most talented soloist at that school. She’s an alto. You’re a soprano. You’re not even a strong soprano.”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“Next time, you’ll politely refuse Mr. Tanner’s requests.”
Portia said nothing. Instead, she just turned and went upstairs.
“Don’t turn your back on me when I’m talking to you.”
“I thought you were finished.”
“I’ll tell you when I’m finished. I want you to tell Mr. Tanner that you don’t want to sing solo in the competition.”
“I do want the solo.”
“You don’t even like singing,” said Phoebe.
Portia stood alone at the edge of the room, in shock over what her sister said. However, she did not reply.
Portia’s mother unfolded her arms and leaned back against the couch as she turned her attention back to the television. Phoebe relaxed her posture too, but held her gaze on her younger sister. It was more of a sneer than a gaze.
Portia cleared her throat. Without hesitation, her mother shooed her away.
This was nothing new for Portia. She was the younger child and Phoebe was not only the eldest, but the favorite, too - not a conspired favorite, but a true favorite. Her mother had even chosen those exact words more than once.
Portia was a surprise in the delivery room. Her name was only picked because it started with a P. In fact, the nurse picked it out. Phoebe, on the other hand, was a family name, named after her great Aunt, who was her mother’s favorite in-law. Great Aunt Phoebe babysat the twins until her passing. From that time on, Phoebe simply watched over her younger sister, even though it was six measly minutes.
Being the least favorite girl bothered Portia very little. She had grown completely used to it. For the most part, she just went her own way. She’d always leaned on her older brother Alex whenever she could. He always lent a shoulder for her.
She simply returned to her bedroom and sat in her little 'reading nook' between her bed and the dresser. She leaned her back against the cold wall and made a call on her cell phone.
“Alex? Got a few minutes?”
“Problems with mom again?”
“As always. Mr. Tanner let me sing the solo today and Phoebe threw a fit. Mom took her side.”
“What did she say?’
“Just that I should give the solo to Phoebe.”
“Don’t you dare let her bully you like that.”
“Who do you mean, mom or Phoebe?"
"Both of them."
"You know I don’t have a choice, Alex.”
“Just tell her no.”
“You don’t have to live with her, Alex.”
"I spent my time with her and I remember exactly how she was."
“I know, Alex.”
“But it’s the same old story, Sweet Pea, you have to be like a duck – let it roll off your back.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“That’s all anyone could ask, now good night and sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams to you, big brother.”
After they hung up, Portia went straight to bed. Although Alex was already in bed, he would not be the first one to sleep. His little sister weighed heavily on his mind.
Alex always pressed one idea into his Portia’s head, “Get by anyway you can, but never at the expense of yourself.” These were words he preached, but words he seldom followed.
He was 10 years old when Phoebe and Portia were born. By that time, he was delivering 75 newspapers on his daily route – 200 papers on Sunday. He was also acting as middle man for some of the neighborhood drug dealers and their clients, collecting money and then hand delivering a newspaper-wrapped quarter bag.
Even though it was a ghetto attitude, Alex still had a hard-working attitude: survival of the toughest. Still, he looked for short cuts every step of the way. That included working under-the-table with a handful of construction companies. In the short run, it made him fast money. In the long run, he’d spend lots of time between jobs looking for more work.
There was no safety net.
“Who was that on the phone?” asked his girlfriend Ramona.
“My little sister.”
“Which one?”
“You know it’s Portia.”
“What does she want now?”
“Just somewhere to vent.”
“She needs to get a boyfriend.”
“She has a boyfriend.”
“Then why doesn’t she call him?”
“We’re closer than that, I guess.”
“She calls at all hours of the night.”
Alex kicked off his shoes and slipped into bed next to Ramona. She turned away before the sheet even fell across his body. He rolled onto his back and placed his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. A baby’s cry cut through the silence before he even had a chance to relax.
“Can you get that?” asked Ramona.
Alex heaved a sigh and went to the baby’s room.
“What do you want, silly girl?”
The baby cooed as Alex picked her up. He bounced her against his chest as he walked around the apartment. In a so-so relation such as Alex and Ramona's, the true redeeming factor for Alex was the baby.
It was funny, since Penny against Alex’s chest gave him the same feeling as holding his littlest sister Portia almost twenty years earlier. Portia was the ‘runt of the litter’, born small and sickly. Portia’s mother did very little to look after her own child, so Alex took it upon himself to be Portia’s personal guardian angel. While Mrs. Gatteau was spending long afternoons at the bingo hall, Alex was at home, taking care of a baby that was not his.
Then again, Portia held Alex in the highest esteem – the oldest child who could do no wrong in the youngest one’s eyes. Alex had a built-in fan club of which Portia was President.
Alex returned Penny to her crib as soon as she was asleep. The lights in his bedroom were all off and Ramona was sprawled across the bed. Alex went out to the living room and slept on the couch.
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