When we were growing up my twin brother Frank barely smiled. The only glimpse of hope he ever had was when mother would take us out shopping. Every dress, sequined top, or hat I bought, he had helped me pick out. It wasn’t until we were twelve, that flashy fashion sense evolved into more than just an eye for color. He started acting differently; at least, that’s what I noticed. Instead of getting a type of maturity most boys’ experience, his mind started working more and more like a girl’s. By the time he was 14 he was practically a glamorous woman (inside, anyways)! His mind continued to grow like this to make up for what his body could not.

Then, one day when I was reading in our home lounge, there came a big CRASH from my bedroom. I jumped up and went to investigate. It looked like an acid trip in there. Makeup was everywhere, creating this huge explosion of color from floor to ceiling. My vanity, that had been completely dissected, had fallen over. Suddenly, from the bathroom I recognized my brother‘s, then 16, voice softly mutter, “Sorry.” The person emerging from the bathroom did not match the voice. Underneath the curly black hair, tight leather, and glam-tastic makeup, there was just a bit of Frank I could rightly see. I glanced at the calendar; it was not at all near Halloween. Frank had finally snapped.

I had no time to think, to get mad and yell at him, to question his motives because what happened immediately next almost brought me to tears. A smile had rested itself upon his face. Not one of those fake ones he had always put on to please everyone, this one was the real deal. The glorious twinkle in his eyes got me smiling too, and before I knew it, we were in laughing, hugging, and weeping hysterics. My brother had reached being genuine by being completely fake. Only he could make an oxymoron look good.


Later that night, my brother told me he had to leave home. He assured me he’d be fine and wanted me to tell our parents not to worry. His purpose for leaving, he said, was to help others reach the pleasure and happiness the way he had. Frank wanted people to stop being afraid of themselves, and would aid them in whatever way possible so they could conquer those fears. I trusted him so greatly right then, and my faith in him was restored forever. We said our last “goodbyes” and I sent him off with food, plenty to drink, and some of my clothes and makeup. All this self realization going around had left me exhausted. Before falling off into sleep, I felt something rough underneath my pillow. It was a note, written in Frank’s handwriting, with my Avon Rose Gold Lipstick. “Don’t Dream it. Be it.” it read. My brother had found the key to success in his own life and would inspire others to do the same by simply putting on my clothes.