Separated @ Birth: A True Love Story of Twin Sisters Reunited (9 page)

While in Korea, I also witnessed an adopting family picking up their new son, a boy about two years old. It was heart-wrenching to watch this little boy separate, perhaps for good, from the couple who’d been his foster parents for those two years, a time in which everyone involved had clearly
become very attached. The boy and his foster grandfather were bawling their eyes out as they hugged for the last time. Once again it reminded me how loved these children really are. Adoptees often feel they have not been loved, because they have been “given up.” But during this trip I learned that this is a myth. We have been loved by so many people, starting with our conception.

first skype call with samantha

I was getting to know Samantha without her necessarily knowing how much I was snooping. I saw her baby pictures and her pictures from her trip to Korea. I learned about her life from “How It Feels to Be Adopted . . . I Am Sam,” but that was her as an actress, so I had to decide how much of her character was how she was in real life. Discovering a person through social media is insane. There were pictures and snippets of dialogue, but there was not yet common ground. Our histories up until this point had been completely separate, and all of sudden, we were becoming spontaneous best friends, only on a hunch that we might be twins separated at birth. I found it somewhat difficult to think of topics to bring up during our messaging sessions—after all, she was someone I knew absolutely nothing about, but with whom I felt identical.

Messaging each other definitely was the best first approach: first, I wasn’t self-conscious and felt protected in the anonymity of typing as opposed to face-to-face communication; and second, I could think longer about what I was going
to put down on paper, or should I say, type on the keyboard. I even had time to review and edit anything I said, in case it sounded weird or wrong. On the other hand, writing can be very puzzling, as people express themselves differently with their choice of words, and therefore a written message can still be misunderstood in the nuances. Further complicating matters was that English was my second language, making it even more nerve-wracking.

Those first few days, Samantha and I kept things fun and general. I told her I was an only child, I was in my final year of design school, and I liked to go to bed late, so she needn’t worry about the eight-hour time difference between us.

The idea of “seeing” Samantha in a Skype call was floating somewhere in my field of neurons, but I guess I was trying to ignore it. Of course, it had been the first thing I had hoped to do: see this potential twin of mine instantaneously—flesh and bones—in French,
en chair et en os
. On Facebook we could “chat,” and interact at the same time, compared to letters or even e-mails. It fascinated me how immediate Facebook chat was, like an instant snapshot, although it still wasn’t face-to-face. I was desperate to actually get a look at Samantha “live,” although I was reluctant to ask her if she wanted to Skype, as it’s not something I could invite someone to do on our first “meeting.” It was like a date. You can’t rush it, but must patiently wait for just the right moment.

After a few Facebook chats, I finally mentioned Skype very casually and gave Samantha my Skype name, in case she was interested in talking that way. I started getting anxious when four and five days passed without her doing anything about it. But at last, she suggested we set a time. I had
no idea if she felt as excited and terrified as I did. I was mostly terrified, but in a very good way. “That’s going to be the weirdest experience ever!” I wrote in my response to her.

We set up the call for later that night, February 27, at ten p.m. for me in London and two p.m. for Samantha in L.A. I made sure I gave myself plenty of time to get home and be in front of my computer. I wasn’t going to wear anything particularly special. I had on the same V-neck sweater that I had worn to school. As I was counting down the minutes until our call, I got a message from Sam that she had a last-minute audition she had to attend. She assured me she still wanted to have the call, but we needed to push it off a few hours. I was really disappointed, but at least it hadn’t been canceled, only delayed.

The fact that all my flat mates were out made my evening suddenly lonely. To fill in the downtime, I tried working on some of the designs for my project. The pending Skype call had me rather distracted, but I still did my best to cut, sew, and draw, even though I’d have to start everything all over again, because I was not concentrating at my best. Time passed extremely slowly. Every time I looked at the clock, only a few minutes had gone by. A few hours more to wait . . . fine . . . totally fine . . . I was fine . . . yes . . . fine . . .

So many questions were racing through my head. I guess I was mentally jumping for joy, because physically my body was warring between petrified and soft as a mollusk. I was eager to see if Samantha and I were alike for real, and if she could be my real sister, or if I had just dreamt it and wished for it too strongly. When I had seen her in her YouTube videos, I had started building a personality for her based on all her acting personas. I was also creating a character for her based on my own personality. We are twins, after all. It
was like a dance of contradictions, salsa or a waltz—you put a foot forward and take it back, then you turn, but in the end, you stay in the loop.

Everything I was thinking, I was almost immediately taking back. She must be like me personality-wise—wait, no, this is stupid, you don’t even know if you are identical, or twins. Maybe you fantasized it. No, I did not. I will check on Facebook if she still exists. We were identical babies. Come on, have you seen our pictures? No. I am being schizophrenic. Oh, no, wait, she is real. Her Facebook is still there. Phew. Breathe. Okay. What time is it? It is two minutes later. Great . . . She was definitely small, as she had asserted in one of her videos, and I was really small, so that was a match. . . .

I had no idea what the Skype call would be like. I had agreed to let Samantha tape it, knowing she wanted to show it to her family. How long would the conversation last? How long would she want it to last? Was she as excited as I? Or was she just being polite with me? Will she be alone? Will she be interested in me? Maybe she will not like me . . . but if she’s my twin sister, she has to like me, because I already like her, even though I do not know her. Can I make a joke, or is it too soon? I should have made a list of subjects and organized them in the order of significance. Maybe she will be like a superstar actor and talk only about herself? What if she is a bitch? Nah, I am not one, so . . . But we are different people, and twins can be different. Will she think I am crazy? Will she be dramatic? Actors can be very dramatic, right?

Finally, at 12:29 a.m., two and a half hours after our scheduled call time, Samantha sent me a Facebook message that she was about to log on. Seconds later, I heard the little
boink
sound Skype makes when someone on your contacts list logs on . . . without a doubt, Samantha.

“EEEEE,” she typed in the message box.

Right, I thought, she is as crazy as I am. And, she likes to use onomatopoeia like me, too. She is quintupling her letters. She is anxious, and I have proof on my screen. These quick observations made me feel much more comfortable. This was going to be great. Argh . . . trouble with my Internet. Five, four, three, two, one. I was hugely relieved when I heard
tuti du titu di tu di
, the sound of a Skype call ringing!

Why is my Internet connection so slow?! It was definitely not working at normal speed. Maybe it was because Samantha was calling from L.A., so many time zones away. Something was coming into focus on my screen. I SEE MYSELF PIXELIZED! It was unbelievable. It was me, but wearing a white lacy blouse with short sleeves! Even pixelated, we look so identical. Wait, she is moving. Wait, she looks so nice. She is smiling. She looks happy. Oh, she is giggling. And so am I. I can’t believe it. This is really it. We are reunited!

Houston, I hear something! She is about to speak! Who will talk first? My Internet connection was failing me at the worst time ever. Just when I thought it was going to cut off completely, it stabilized. Thank God. I was about to start my end of the conversation with a swear word, which I wasn’t sure was appropriate. Although I’d soon find out anything goes with Samantha. We are very similar in our liberal use of cuss words.

“My connection is really bad,” I finally told Sam, making me the first to speak.

“Oh, my God, you’re European!” I heard her squeal.

I could even see her bringing both her hands to her face in disbelief. I guess my accent caught her off guard. And we both broke into giggles. I knew I was French, but it was funny to hear myself referred to as “European.”

The first few minutes of the call were surreal. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, like time had frozen around me, around us. Time and space did not matter anymore, because we were on opposite sides of the earth, talking at the same time. In the first moments, we were even talking in different languages. When Samantha asked me, “How’s it going?” I answered in French! “
Ça va
” came out without me even thinking about it. “This is a really weird experience,” I said.

“It’s sooooo weird,” Sam agreed, and we started giggling again. Our answers were almost time-delayed, because we were paralyzed in looking at each other. Sometimes I felt self-conscious, like I was talking to myself in the mirror and someone walked in on me while I was doing so. I was so blown away, it was difficult to remember all of the questions I had for her. Seeing her made me forget everything. On the other hand, I didn’t struggle for something to say, like I had feared. The conversation just went naturally, one question after the other. It made sense. We were talking like two people who knew each other and enjoyed spending time together. It was like building a relationship in an accelerated amount of time. From the outside, it could have looked like a video in fast-forward, but for me, time was suspended. I never wanted this Skype call to end. Never!

“I know this is really strange. I don’t know where to look,” I said to Sam, feeling awkward about looking directly at her.

“OMG!” I heard Sam exclaim. “This is so weird. We’re like
The Parent Trap
!”

“I know,” I giggled.

“What time is it there?”

“It’s midnight thirty,” I told her. “Yeah, it’s daylight for you, and it’s completely night here.”

We went through all kind of subjects—jobs, studies, life, childhood, boyfriends, how I had found her, tattoos (What? Who has a tattoo?), medical information, surgeries, freckles, small hands, food tastes, etc. I’d gone into the call completely exhausted from the long days I had been spending on my designs, but now, I was suddenly energized. I did not want to go to bed for fear Samantha might disappear, or that it would turn out that this was a dream and when I woke up, she’d be gone. On a funny note, I had to go to the loo badly, but I was fighting as hard as I could to hold it, because I could not detach my eyes from her. I will never let her go, I thought.

At some point, my flat mate Rory came home, at almost the same time as Samantha’s roommate Lisa. Rory was a bit embarrassed to be disturbing us, his mouth wide-open as he realized Samantha was on my screen. He tiptoed into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and then tiptoed back to his room, trying not to be noticed. On Sam’s screen, I caught a glimpse of Lisa in the background. She even talked to me for a bit. Sam’s room looked nice, too, but a bit messy. My room wasn’t all that tidy, either. I liked her taste in fashion, too. Her blouse was something I would probably wear in the summer. Then I remembered, even though it was February, it was always summer in L.A. I was so satisfied that I could now picture her much more precisely.

Well, we had to hang up eventually. Sam was going to meet a friend, so we had to end our call. She said she had a headache and was feeling overwhelmed and tired, and I was drained, too. I had completely lost track of time, so I thought it was really cool that we had talked for ninety minutes . . . wait . . . more than three hours? I really had lost track of time. I had had an easier time talking with Samantha for
three straight hours than I often had talking with friends I knew well. We reluctantly said our good-byes but promised to talk again the next day. I went gliding and sliding into my bed, all emotions gone from my body. As much as I wanted to share this experience with my parents, it was almost four a.m., so it would have to wait for morning.

So much was happening in such a short time, eliciting all sorts of new emotions I had never felt before. I couldn’t even describe them, but my life had just changed, and any fear I had of not being able to make a connection with this stranger disappeared. There was no reason to be scared anymore; even though I didn’t have absolute proof, I had found my sister.

I had no idea what would happen next, but I felt I had just reached a huge turning point and was waiting to see how the elements would come together. My world was completely turned upside down. I had no landmarks, and I had just talked to my possible twin sister, at the other end of the planet. It was almost the next day in London, and she still had an afternoon to go through. Time and space did not exist. We were not just connected electronically anymore; we were humanly connected now. We had just proven to one another that we were each real, existing and breathing, moving around the same dimension and not living in parallel worlds at all. What was she doing next? Where would she go now? What would she eat? How was she feeling about all this?

At least now I knew I was not dreaming. As I let myself fall onto my bed, I was thinking . . . Right . . . so I am definitely not schizophrenic . . . I pinched myself a few times to be certain I was not fooling myself. I was sinking into my bed and was waiting for something to happen, my body to charge,
my brain to load. It was like a video game . . . LOADING . . . you have just refilled your lives and are ready for the next level. Talking to Sam was like talking to someone you had just fallen in love with. After just three hours, I knew I loved her already.