I liked spinning with Lily. She was my twin, and aside for her ugly hair and white skin, we looked exactly alike

We were lucky to land a top-floor apartment in the large apartment complex on Keap Street. Top floor apartments came with a little pull-string on the ceiling next to the bedrooms that let down a folded ladder leading to the attic. But then again, maybe Papa and Mama had chosen that apartment for the attic. Although it was damp and dim, it had enough room for two beds. One for Berta and one for Lily.

I slept downstairs with the rest of the children, sharing a bedroom with Esther and Suzie, while the boys slept in the boys’ bedroom. Baby Diana’s little crib was in Mama and Papa’s room. We played in the lobby and on the dust-infested steps with all the other kids from the building. There was Becky from my class, Judy from Suzie’s class, and a handful of Italians we played hopscotch with when Papa wasn’t looking. No one ever played with Lily, and I wondered if they even knew she existed.

On some days, as I lay in bed, I’d wonder the same thing. Did she exist at all? Why was it so quiet upstairs?

On other nights, I’d hear the thump, thump, thump of her head banging against the floor or the wall, along with her roaring wails. She made noise like all the washing machines at Laura’s Laundromat running at once.

On those nights, I also heard Berta yelling and cursing. If I strained my ears enough, I’d hear the sound of a strap hitting Lily’s body until the thumping stopped. Then I knew that Lily was strapped tightly to her bed.

I’d seen her like that one night when I crept up quietly while Berta was sleeping.

Lily was sleeping, too. Her body spread out like an ironed dress. Her hands and feet far apart and attached to the bed with straps. Her hair was cut so short, she looked like an ugly boy, and the lamp cast a light on her raw and red hands.

I loved Lily even though she looked like a boy. On many days, when the lobby noise made me think of how quiet the attic was, I quietly crept over to the string and pulled hard. Mama sometimes heard me, but she looked away and kept quiet. I’d tiptoe up the steps and give a little knock on the low door.

Sometimes Berta would open right away and wag her fingers at me and say, “Look at that girl, Lil, she looks exactly like ya.” Lily’s nurse was friendly enough while I was there that I was almost able to convince myself that her angry shouts and Lily’s spanking marks were my imagination.

Besides, Berta wasn’t spared either. She had bite marks and scratch marks all over her hands and face. And I would also yell if I was trapped in a tiny attic all day with a crazed girl.

On the days I went upstairs, I would stay far from Lily, hardly making a noise. I’d sit on the smelly carpeted floor and slowly pull my weight toward her in a sitting crawl. The carpet dust tickled my nose and made me want to sneeze. But I couldn’t let that happen — one sneeze and Lily would start with her thumping.

For a few seconds, Lily would look up. She would stop twirling the old record Berta always gave her and look at me curiously. I was equipped with a record myself. I’d position it on my finger and start spinning, too, slowly moving toward Lily while trying not to sneeze. It was hard to do all those things at once, but it was worth it.

When I came close to Lily, her pug nose, with the sprinkle of freckles so like mine, would sniff my dress, and touch me, and then she’d resume spinning.

I liked spinning with Lily. She was my twin, and aside for her ugly hair and white skin, we looked exactly alike.

“You’re as crazy as your sister,” Berta would tell me often, but even Berta liked when I came. She would go off to the little bathroom and only come out when I was ready to leave.

When Lily and I would sit really close, I would speak to her. Quietly, in a whisper, and she really listened. I talked about Miss Harley and how hard her math tests were. I told her about Papa and Mama and how cute baby Diana was. I told her how much I loved being her twin. But she never answered.

I didn’t touch her because she was stronger than me. Her nails could dig into my skin until I bled. Mama asked me once what happened and I told her I had a fight with some girls. She muttered, “Millie, which mama doesn’t trim the nagel for Shabbos?”

I wanted to tell her that she was the mama, but I didn’t. I just took the clean handkerchief she gave me and wrapped it around the marks.

Suddenly, she stopped filling the delkelech she was making for Shabbos, but she didn’t say anything.

The next day, Lily’s nails were trimmed.

There was no way to trim her teeth, though, and her bites were stronger than her scratches. I only got it once when I sneezed hard enough to irritate her. I bit my lips to keep myself from shouting until Berta pulled Lily’s hair and she opened her mouth.