I remember that Easter morning, jumping out of the car just after Easter morning Mass, beginning to unbuckle car seats and help my mom herd little Sarah and Emma into the house.               

   “Hey Rachel!” Megan beckoned me, “I think this calls for some Easter selfies.” I laughed, agreeing, and skipped over to where she was in front of our house, pulling the camera app out on my phone. I was wearing my favorite yellow dress and my mother’s nice denim jacket, and Megan had on her new peach and white patterned one. Thinking we’d be funny, we leaned in towards each other, trying to fit us both on the screen, and Megan started firing away, rapidly shooting pictures of us, black and white, colored, the camera tilted every which way, while we struck ridiculous poses and made the funniest faces we could think of. I remember there was one photo that was distinct from all the rest, not because of a stark difference in the way we were standing or how we took the picture, but just from the way the camera caught the light and manipulated us. We looked what I considered beautiful, a word my parents had always associated with my sister and I, and something that I only believed in Megan’s case. Until I saw this photo. 

Megan took the picture of course; I couldn’t be a photographer in a million years. We stood near each other, shoulders joined, and the camera tilted in such a fashion that I looked several inches taller than her, something which was true until very recently, when she finally hit a growth spurt and jumped ahead of me. This was one of the few pictures in which we weren’t making duck faces or other assorted psycho murder death stares at the camera. Megan, standing on my right, had a bright smile, her eyebrows raised in the signature look they had come to acquire while smiling. Light danced across her striking eyes, which appeared more on the watery-gray side of the spectrum today, rather than and electric blue or green like some days. A light grin played across my lips, and tendrils of short, dark curls were flying in my face. The rest of my hair was styled in a side-part, leaving it free to fall in rich ringlets. I had a calm expression, my eyes gazing steadily into the camera, while at the same time sparkling metallically, giving me a distant look. Easter Sunday was one of the few occasions in which my mom and sister could force me to apply a faint layer of makeup, camouflaging all evidence of acne or rough skin. However, makeup always failed to remove any trace of freckles that speckled the bridge of my nose. And however much Megan might have dreamed for it, could not cover up her freckles either. Some days I still puzzle over why she wears makeup at all! Besides those few freckles, she has crystal clear skin, which she would always coat with primer and foundation to compliment the mild red lipstick she would apply on special occasions like this. A curtain of thick brown curls fell long past her shoulders, and a dimple was dashed on her left cheek. Through the narrow gap between our heads one could see our backdrop of the vivid green bush that stood in the corner where our house joined the garage.  

We took literally fifty pictures that morning, idling around outside until it was time for the Easter egg hunt to begin with our younger sisters. I recall scrolling through them afterward, giggling riotously with Megan at how stupid we looked in the majority of the photos. I laughed at the good ones too, even the ones that I liked, because that had been the whole point of taking those selfies with my twin- to make fun of the habits of today’s stereotypical teenage girl, taking pictures of herself on her phone and considering it a matter of great importance. And it was fun, laughing with Megan; we always managed to find the most trivial thing hilarious, while seldom understanding the jokes that others would tell to try and elicit a laughing reaction from everyone. Regardless of how I outwardly responded to those photos though, there was something mesmerizing to me about the way the camera caught the wind picking up my hair and the sunlight reflecting in my eye. I looked pretty in that picture, a foreign thought that completely rattled my mind and changed the way I looked at the world. And it was a wonderful thought, a thought that left me craving for another chance to look as graceful as I did in that picture. There had been times before; sports banquets, confirmations, high school dances, and there will be times after; parties, graduations, weddings, that I will look dazzling, as will my friends and sisters. Each time I will be drawn back to that one Easter morning in my front yard with Megan, the prettiest girl I know. And I now have this photograph, saved on my phone, which will forever serve as not only a memento of selfies on the front lawn, but will be a reminder that I have a beautiful twin sister, and she does too.