The radio blared through all 7,000 square feet of her newly built home. The chandeliers made of real silver and the crystal wine glasses shook every time the bass thumped. There was a mirror in every room of the house, no matter the size or location. The kitchen had granite counter tops and state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances. Her room consisted of a walk-in closet, a king bed and a flat-screen TV that covered an entire wall. Hundreds of pairs of shoes lined the walls and half of her wardrobe was piled on the floor from picking out what to wear to work the previous morning. It was impossible to find anything in less than 20 minutes with that many clothes. But most importantly, her make-up. She had numerous drawers full of different shades of foundation, powder, blush, eye shadow, eye liner, lipstick, and most of all, mascara. She could not live without her mascara. She had one in her bathroom, kitchen, office, purse, car, and coat pocket at all times. She made sure she looked her best at all hours of the day, no matter what she was doing or where she was going.
The phone rang just as she brought the round black brush to her already mascara- covered eyelashes. She rushed to her brand new touch screen phone buzzing on the granite counter top. “Hello?” she squawked. She hated getting interrupted while doing her make-up.
“Hi. Is this, um, Scarlett Cohen?” a concerned woman asked.
“Yes, this is her. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Hello, Scarlett. My name is Margaret and I am the relations coordinator here at the Center for the Disabled in Greenfield, Ohio. We received notice that your parents have passed away and the only other emergency contact on Kinsley’s file is you.”
“Excuse me ma’am, I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve never heard of a Center for Disabled in Ohio, nor do I know a Kinsley. I’m sorry but I really have to go--”
“We have on record that you were born on September 15, 1981, that your parents are John and Martha Cohen, you have Type 1 diabetes, and you are allergic to peanuts. Is this not you?”
Oh my god. She thought. Why would a center for the disabled know so much about my life? “Y-yes, that is me. What can I help you with, Margaret?”
“Ma’am, you have a twin sister with down syndrome that needs your help.”
All of a sudden, her whole life became a lie. If her parents could lie to her about having another child, then what else had they lied about? She started to question her childhood and who her parents had raised her to be. What kind of people send their own child away to an institution just because she isn’t exactly who they pictured her to be? Thoughts and accusations raced through her mind. “H-hello? Ma’am? Are you there?”
How in the world am I going to help her? I’ve never dealt with anyone that had a disability, much less down syndrome. She thought back to high school when she babysat her neighbor’s kids for a couple hours one weekend. If I couldn’t even handle two second graders on my own, how does this lady expect me to take care of someone who has down syndrome? She thought about how much different her life would be, how many sacrifices she would have to make.
“Yeah, I’m here. So what kind of help are you thinking of? Because if you need me to send like monthly checks or whatever to help pay for the cost of her staying there, then I can totally do that.” She said, hoping that was what Margaret had meant by “help”.
“Actually, we have the financial piece covered. Before your parents passed away, one of them would come in at least once a week and visit Kinsley. They would catch up on what had happened the past week, share stories, laugh, and just spend time together. Since they are no longer with us and you are her only other living family member, we simply ask that you would give up some of your time to come in and spend it with Kinsley. Visitors are one of the most important parts of our program here and it would mean a lot for Kinsley to know that she still has someone out there who cares.” Margaret explained sympathetically.
“Oh wow. Uh Margaret, can I think about it and call you back?” She pictured her calender and everything she would either have to reschedule or cancel. The visits would get in the way of her weekly facial and massage, her tennis matches would no longer be number one and her daily coffee dates would need to be limited. This sure would make things different.
She almost forgot she was on still on the phone. “Yes, Scarlett, I’ll give you some time to process all of this and you can get back to me when you’re ready.” Margaret said.
“Actually, you know what? I’ll do it,” Scarlett decided. “When’s the first visit?”
Margaret gave her all the details, dates and times, and said she would talk to Kinsley about her new visitor. So this is really happening. Scarlett thought. I guess it’s time to go meet my twin sister.
Scarlett had never been so nervous in her entire life. She tried writing questions down that she could ask Kinsley, but then threw them away, feeling stupid that she needed a pen and paper to talk to her own sister. Well, here goes, she thought as she pushed past the clear doors into a part of her life that she never knew existed. She scanned the room numbers above each door and finally reached 217, the last room on the second floor. The TV was on and she could hear Hannah Montana’s voice coming from the corner of the room. Scarlett pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Hello? Is anyone in here?” She saw a strawberry blonde head turn away from the TV screen and in her direction. Kinsley. Her hair was extremely thin, her almond-shaped eyes slanted upward and her smile was crooked, yet so big that it stretched from one ear to the other. The moment that Scarlett saw her twin sister sitting there on the floor watching Hannah Montana, never happier to have a visitor than she was that morning, she changed. She didn’t care about how much money she had in her wallet or whether or not she had enough mascara on. No amount of mascara could give Scarlett what she found that day in room 217.
Explanation
The aspect about the American Experience that my story’s theme makes a statement about is that Americans spend too much time caring about material things and the way that they look, rather than on relationships and what really matters in life. In the beginning, Scarlett is only focused on her looks, how much stuff she has, and how nice her house is. When she finds out that she has a twin sister with down syndrome that her parents gave up when she was born, she starts to question her parents and her life. But when she is asked to take time out of her busy schedule to come and visit Kinsley, she is hesitant because she would have to give up a part of her glamorous life. When Scarlett finally decides to be a part of Kinsley’s life, she realizes that she would have missed out on something that means so much more than all of her material things. I also enhanced my story’s theme by using dialogue, specific characters, and objects as symbols throughout my story. The dialogue helps draw the reader in because it shows how the characters are feeling and helps the reader connect to each one in a different way. It also makes the story seem more real because people are actually having a conversation and sharing their emotions. The characters enhance the story because they all have different feelings and descriptions and it gives the story depth. The main symbol throughout my story was the mascara. It symbolizes all material possessions and how Americans care so much about what they look like. In the end, however, Scarlett trades her mascara for Kinsley. She is giving up her material things for family, relationships, and what really matters.
Overall, I wrote this story about this theme because as Americans, we are starting to lose sight of what is most important in life and we take our families for granted. My story shows that everyone needs family to survive. In the end, Scarlett finds that she needs Kinsley more than Kinsley seems to need her.
