Emil

[turtlepins]

Emil/Turtlepins/Chapter 1

Loss. It haunts us, breaks our hearts, and changes us in subtle ways of which we are not even conscious. Not at first. If time heals all wounds it will take an eternity to heal ours.

My family moved to America when Evelyn and I turned fifteen. Evelyn is my twin sister. Our father, Adam Colquohoun was an artist of note, a photographer, and most famous because he shot only series of photographs depicting a story. His job paid well and until our move we lived happily in Scotland in a drafty old stone mansion in Kilmarnock.

Mother was Dame Cassandra, a pianist of note in the UK. Over the past 20 years she taught music in Glasgow, and played with various philharmonic orchestras in Scotland, Ireland, and England. Mother loved children, observed by the fact that she birthed eleven of us in a 10-year period of time.

We had the same nanny over those ten years, a beautiful young woman named Elspeth, who married a local Vicar two months before we moved to America. We all cried when she left, even Mum.

I was the only boy born into my family and growing up with ten sisters seemed quite natural to me. Perhaps that is why many people mistook me for a girl. I looked like my sisters, and we were beautiful children. Everyone says that, especially us.

Mother had hair the color of spun gold, large beautiful vivid blue eyes, a straight nose and lips that formed a perfect cupid’s bow. When she smiled it was like the sun suddenly appearing in a dreary day, the clouds parting showing clear blue skies, with the promise of warmth and delight. I loved her to distraction because she loved all of us to distraction.

Father had light brown hair, which none of us inherited. Like mother, his eyes were vivid blue and he was ruggedly handsome. He kept himself in great physical shape, running five miles every day, jumping rope, and lifting weights three days each week.

He trekked all over the world taking photos and converting them into books that usually made the best-seller list quickly. Father was tall, nearly six-feet two-inches in height, and Mother was tall, standing five-feet nine-inches in her bare feet. Slender of build she was shapely in all the right spots, a beautiful and talented woman full of joy, laughter, and fun.

Arabella was the oldest child whom we all loving referred to as Bella. Like Mother she was a talented musician, one of two sisters to inherit musical ability. She was 20 when we moved to America, a student at Glasgow studying music.

Belinda was born a year later, with a birthday in the same month as Bella. We all called her Belle, and her talent was voice. Her voice was lovely and she was studying opera in Glasgow when we moved. Both Bella and Belle looked the most like mother, and were often mistaken for twins.

Mother did have twins next, Calista and Celena whom we lovingly called Lissy and Lena. If it was possible, they were even lovelier than Bella and Belle. Identical twins they inherited the best qualities of Father and Mother. Both had flaxen hair and hazel eyes that turned from light blue to green depending on what they wore. Shorter than Mother by three inches they were vivacious buxom blondes.

Daffodil was born two years later, probably the result of Mother’s ten-month tour that kept her away from Father. We called her Daffy. She was an inch taller than mother and as buxom as Lissy and Lena. Daffy was the perfect cheerleader and when we moved to America she proved that by making the squad and helping lead them to a national championship. Her hair was golden, curly like Father’s, and her eyes a beautiful shade of blue. With full pouting lips she was a beauty!

Evelyn and I were born a year later, sharing a birthday with Daffy. My name is Emil. Evelyn looked like a shorter version of Bella and Belle. I looked like a four-year-old. A rare genetic disorder that showed up occasionally in Mother’s bloodline showed up in me. I was three inches short of four feet when I stopped growing. Evelyn was normal in every way.

There were other issues with my condition. My arm and leg muscles did not develop normally, and as a result I had pudgy arms and legs with no muscle definition at all. That aspect alone made me look more infantile than anything else. As a result I broke limbs easily and never developed the ability to walk far.

Evelyn and I were identical twins and both as lovely as Lissy and Lena. Mother kept my hair long and I became so used to it that I never thought of trimming it. When Evelyn and I looked into a mirror together we looked much alike and I was fine with that. We both had Daffy’s pouting lips, and beautiful shiny silky blonde hair like Mother. Everyone called me Baby Em, and Evelyn, Evie.

A year later Mother gave birth to Flower, whom we all called Flo. She was of the same height as Mother, and had her features, with Father’s most endearing feature. When she wanted to she could change her facial features to mirror the emotion she wanted to portray. Her forehead wrinkled in a delightful way, especially when she raised both eyebrows. With strawberry blonde hair and vivid blue eyes she was beautiful in an ethereal way.

Ginger was born almost a full year later. She looked like a remake of Daffy, though she did not grow quite as tall. In our family she was known as Ginge, pronounced with a soft g both times. Vivacious and full of fun and laughter Ginger kept us all in stitches and seemed the happiest among us. She was also the meanest.

One year later Hermione graced our family. She was named for the Hermione in J.K. Rowling’s books. It was almost as if my parents were prophetic, because Hermione was our family genius. Hermione could easily have skipped grades and been in college by now, but she didn’t want to do that. It was her decision to grow up in a normal fashion.

Of all of us, she was the only one who inherited Father’s nose, and on her it looked absolutely adorable. Father hadn’t liked his nose and when he was old enough and had enough money he’d had plastic surgery done to make it more masculine. Hermione, with her slightly upturned nose and almost mystical beauty kept her child-like appearance and seemed often to be in a daze. Her whole demeanor made her appear as one would picture a true Fairy or Pixie.

Iris was the last child to be born, because when she came into the world Mother suffered a torn uterus and was given a hysterectomy after the C-section delivery. She was also the only girl with green eyes in our family. Her hair was full and for some reason she always had every hair in place. Even when waking in the morning she looked as though she’d spent an hour brushing her hair.

When we moved to America she had the most trouble making the adjustment, and we all decided that if she survived her adolescent years she might live. It didn’t help that we experienced our first devastating loss shortly after we moved to America.

Mother had received a position at Julliard in New York, and so we moved from our drafty old mansion in Kilmarnock to a four-story luxury condominium overlooking the east end of Central Park in Manhattan. Mother and Father spent a great deal of money on our new domicile, attempting and succeeding in reminding us of home everywhere we went. People who came to visit our house were enchanted by its simplicity and rustic beauty.

Evie and I shared a room that was decorated much like the room we shared in Kilmarnock. The motif was obviously feminine with pastel pinks, yellow and white paint, and Evie’s princess bed. I slept in a crib, so that I would not fall out of bed and break any bones, and had done so for so long I rarely thought about how different that was.

Our bedroom had its own bathroom with a separate laundry. I still wore diapers because I was incontinent. I’d never been out of them. In that room was a set of shelves that had hundreds of gauze prefold diapers stacked neatly. In our bedroom another stack was neatly arranged under the changing table. Next to the changing table was a dresser that contained three drawers of vinyl baby pants, mostly made by Gerber, and my T-shirt collection.

One drawer was dedicated to my high-backed bib overalls with inside-leg snap-fasteners. The bibs were powder blue, pastel green, pastel yellow, pastel lavender, and pastel pink. There were three pairs of bright pinks too. Mum or my sisters rarely dressed me in the pinks.

A smaller dresser on the other side held my socks, denim shorts and jeans, and onesies. The onesies were all in pastel colors or white. All the denim pants had elastic waists and were designed for kids in diapers. I’d never worn anything else. I never would.

Evie had the closet, a large walk-in affair, with her dresser in there among her clothing. She was neat and orderly and our room always looked like it had recently been cleaned.

Bella and Belle shared a room with two walk-in closets. All the bedrooms had their own bathrooms. Lissy and Lena shared a room. Daffy had her own room. Flo and Ginge shared a room, and Hermione and Iris shared a room. Father and Mother had the largest and most opulent room on the second story.

It took some time to learn that the first story was not really the level above the ground floor in Manhattan. At first we described our house as a three-story, but were soon corrected that it was actually four. Half of the ground floor was taken up as the garage, reached by driving through an alley on the north side and turning into a turnabout from which one could access the inside parking.

We bought American cars with the driving wheel on the wrong side and everyone learned to drive on the wrong side of the road. Other adjustments were made, usually with laughter at our own inabilities.

Our accents were declared delightful to new friends and acquaintances, and the girl’s beauty made them instantly popular at their various schools. Bella was attending Julliard, and Belle was going to Columbia University. The rest of us were in a private school near where we lived.

Ten months after our move to America Father died. He was doing a series of photographs along the Amazon River systems when he contracted a disease that killed him before he could get home. I remember the day we received the announcement and the shock that followed.

Somehow we managed to get through the grief process one step at a time, leaning on each other, and helping each other to the best of our abilities. Mum was particularly strong during that time, because she had to be. Her children and her work at Julliard kept her busy and, in her words, sane.

I was sixteen when Father passed. Because I rarely spoke and watched everyone closely I saw things that others missed. There were times when a sister was close to breaking that I would climb into her lap, hug her fiercely, and cry with her. All of them did better with a little one in their laps.

We did a lot of hugging and crying during that first year. Mum’s sister had lived in Manhattan for many years, and she was a regular visitor during that time. We all came to love and cherish Aunt Candle. And yes, her name actually was Candle.

She became pregnant during that time and we all looked forward to the birth of her first child.

Candle had come to America ten years before us, a new bride, married to an Air Force Pilot stationed out of Mitchell. During her pregnancy he was sent to the Middle East. When Candle was six months pregnant she received news that her husband’s helicopter crashed and the crew and pilot were killed.

Once again we suffered loss, and grieved with Aunt Candle over Uncle Roger. Three months later our family was thrust into yet another loss. Complications in the pregnancy and distress during the delivery were too much for Aunt Candle. She and the baby perished.

We all thought that we had suffered enough. Mum seemed the most disconsolate of us and we all pitched in to help where we could. A week after Aunt Candle passed I indicated to Mum that I wanted to wear one of the bright pink bibs. They’d been Evie’s favorites, with cute little bunnies and teddy bears in lavender and yellow on the bib pocket.

I was, at the moment, wearing my usual two diapers and Mum had pulled pink baby pants over those. Maybe that’s what gave me the idea. Somehow I knew that seeing me in that outfit would please Mum, remind her of her little girls, and ease her pain.

Mum automatically picked the best T-shirt to match the outfit, a pale pink one with puff sleeves. She pulled it over my head and then pulled the bibs over my head, sat me up, and snapped the legs closed. Evie came over and started brushing my hair, and when she was done she gathered it into two cute pigtails and tied them with lavender ribbon.

That had never been done before. Knowing what I was doing Evie had taken the next step. My beloved Evie didn’t stop there. She added a wet-look long-lasting lipgloss to my lips, and brushed some rouge on my cheeks. Mum watched with a funny expression but when she gathered me into her arms I flung my arms around her neck and hugged her tight.

It was a school day, but I didn’t care. Mum needed something to take her mind of the tragedy. My choice did the trick. She hugged me almost desperately. Then she moved me back so she could look at me.

“I was going to give these to Candy. Did you know?

[Johhnny18]

please continue I love this story very much.

[Nia]

I agree. Please keep the story going, it's really good.

[the diaper mike]

Please continue

[diaperpt]

Thanks, Turtlepins. Another wonderful one.

[LtBaby]

more plzs. Also I miss you and your stories.

[nini_diaper]

I love this story, please continue it, its a master piece.