I was born two minutes before my twin sister and tradition be damned, even though I was female I was the first born my Dad insisted that I carry his name.

There were  five Bertram’s going back and my Dad saw no reason to break with that record because I was female.

My Mother said, ” are you out of your mind? I am NOT naming our daughter Bertha. Chose another name. ”

He refused, in fact he told her she might as well name ‘the other one’ while she was at it because she was apparently far more gifted in  the name chosing department  then he was.

Mom was fine with that assessment.

She  named my sister, ” Federika  ” and my name is Fern.

Like the plant.

I’m not sure if the name thing is what did it to any relationship I could have had with my Dad, but the the thing of it is. We never had one. It’s like he decided that on the day I was born, if I couldn’t be Bertha, I couldn’t be anything at all.

If that sounds like a jerk move- it was.

Me and Freddie are identical twins. We sound alike,  we look alike, we have the same hair style and we have the same little brown speck in our left eye just where sclera meets the iris.

I’ll bet you know where this is going- Freddie was our Dad’s favorite child.

He bragged about her grades ( much like our faces, those were identical ) he went to  “Freddie’s ” dance recitals ( we are both in the same classes so we always danced in the same recitals ) and he attended all of ” Freddie’s ” soccer games.  We both played offense for the same team, but whatever.

Freddie didn’t like the way our Dad treated me anymore then I did.

I may have seethed in quiet fury over the way my Dad treated me- but Freddie’s anger was truly epic.

When we were  kids she stole money from our Dad’s wallet, when we were thirteen years old she  took his new car out for a joy ride and ran it into our neighbor’s house and straight into their living room where they were watching TV with their dog at their feet.

Their dog died.

Freddie actually felt bad for the dog. If that dog hadn’t died the look of ‘remorse’ all over her face when she went to court would not have been there and she probably would have ended up in Juvenile Hall for the remainder of her teenage years.

Instead she was ordered to go to counseling. I think anti-psychotic drugs were involved in her treatement. I honestly don’t remember, anyway, after court and we got home,   Dad started to yell  at  Freddie before the living room door swung shut.

He went on about the horrible way she treated him, she would insisted it was nothing compared to how he treated her and he  threw his hands up and yell back that he guessed giving her the blood in his veins wasn’t enough. She wanted the marrow of his bones too.

Our Dad  started to stalk off and of course he  ran right into me becase Freddie and I were always around each other.

Dad looked at me like I was a wad of dog poo that he had just discovered was stuck to his shoe and he told  tell me to get my good for nothing useless ass out of his way.

Freddie watched him stomp off and she said to me, ” You’re not useless Fern. Swear to God. ”

After we grew up and moved away Freddie never went over to our Parent’s house again. I was would go over to see our parents when I had the chance because I knew it drove my Dad bonkers  that he would have to see Freddie’s face and hear Freddie’s voice and he would be brutally  reminded that Freddie had written him off.

Freddie was right when  you think about what she said that day after court. I had a purpose. I was her revenge.

Our Mom died when we were in our late 40’s.

I went home just before her funeral and I found our  Dad sitting on the couch with the tv remote in his hand.

He was aimlessly  flipping through the channels. When he was done he looked up at me and said, ” You know Freddie, she never forgave me for the way I treated Fern. That’s how she left this world. Hating me for the way I treated your sister. That’s the only reason I think she stayed with me. She wanted me to know, without a doubt for every single minute of my life that she truly, truly hated me. ”

I said. ” Really. ”

” Yes. Really. ” his voice sounded tired and old. ” But I’m glad you’re here Freddie. You’re the best. You always have been. ”

I went into the kitchen to make us some coffee and I wondered if, after I dusted rat poison into his coffee  and he started to die the horrible death that rat poison promises it’s  victims,  he ever  realized I was Fern.

Or if he died thinking it was Freddie who killed him.

On the one hand, I really did hope he would think I was Freddie because that really would  have hurt him-

on the other hand the truth  may have been even worse for him.

Did he go to his grave  knowing  that inside of  my dark heart I was more of his twin then my Sister’s and that even though my Mom had named me Fern  I really had been his Bertha all along.

For Writober Prompt: REJECTION