I'm Not My Sister- Chapter One

None of this is true. This can not be true. Oh please tell me this isn't happening. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard I heard Walter Cronkite come over the television set outside of Nifty Thrifty Appliances. His announcement made the heart inside my chest sink to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. In his trustworthy almost sad voice he simply stated that Marilyn Monroe was just pronounced dead and there was not a clear cause of death. My sister, best friend, my everything is dead and nobody knew why. How could I even go on from here?

There was no way possible to go on. Falling to my knees I began crying, begging for this to all be a mistake. Laying in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard, I realized something shady was going on. I pull myself together enough to go to my parent's house.

Upon arriving I can see the line of paparazzi longing to get inside. Oh, this is going to be a challenge. I am thinking that going through the back will be the easiest way to get in but first I have to get through this sea of people and to the back street. I honk a few times, people just look at me. You want to play dirty, I'll show you dirty! Slowly I am beginning to move the vehicle; now people are not only moving, they are running out of the way. That will show you to never mess with a Mortenson
"Mom!? Dad!? Hello?” All I hear is dead silence. “Where could they be?” After completing an investigation, I notice the note laying on the counter.

Sylvia,


Dad and I will be at the L.A. Police Department. Don't worry about us. If you would, please go o



ver to Marilyn's place to check on it.




Love You,




Mom





p.s. Stay strong, everything will be okay.

My head is spinning but I have to go to Marilyn's house. Please don't let there be damage, Mom will be devastated even more. Surprisingly, nobody was around. Parking out front, I shut the car off and just sit. Just go in, all will be fine. I open the car door, take a deep breath and slowly step out. That's it, keep walking, you're almost to the door I'm struggling to find the right key. “Take a deep breath in...One...Two...Three...Let it out... One...Two... Three I find the right key, place it in the keyhole, and turn the key. The door opens but I do not enter.

Instead, I stand there picturing the last time I was in this house. It was just last Sunday at our family lunch. I can see us sitting around the table, discussing the past week, laughing at filming stories Marilyn was telling us, and just being a close- knitted family. I take one last deep breath and make my way across the front hallway.

After what seems to be an hour and half, I step into the kitchen. Ew, what is that awful smell?” Sitting on the stove was a large pot of vegetable soup. Oh, how Marilyn loved vegetable soup I empty the pot, wash it, dry it, and put it away. I am deciding whether the refrigerator needs to be cleaned out. On my way to the hall closet, where the trash bags are kept, a piece of paper caught my eye. Bending down to grab the paper, my footing slips. Upon getting up, I caught a glimpse of water. Looking at the water standing up, I realize that there is a pool of water in the hallway.

Gradually waling into the hall bathroom I find water flooding it. This makes no sense at all, Marilyn never used this bathroom. She thought he room was awkwardly shaped. I look frantically for towels, but all the towels were soaked. Sprinting to Marilyn's master bathroom, grabbing all the towels I can and sprinting back to the flooded bathroom. Where did all water go? There was no possible way for the water to disappear in a matter of seconds. Okay, just breathe. You're just stressing out. You are not going insane Closing my eyes, counting to ten, and taking a deep breathe is all I can do to calm down. Upon opening my eyes I see the water is not returning .Gruelingly, I have begin the walk back to the kitchen.

With all the commotion, I have temporarily forgotten about the piece of paper; I stop and pick it up. Flipping from front to back, I scan the paper for anything and everything. There is only a blank piece of paper in front of my eyes. As I open the closet door, writing appears on the paper.

I'm so very sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Honestly Joe, I still love you. I've loved you since




the first time I met you and nothing will ever change that.

I knew that my sister kept in touch with her ex husband, Joe DiMaggio, but never has she spoke of still loving him. Moments after reading those words, I am experiencing a mental break down. There is no possible way for me to handle all of this. I crash to the ground, lay in fetal position and sob.
“Sylvia...Sylvia Honey...Sylvia please wake up.” As I begin to grasp reality, I start to recognize the affectionate voice of my mother. My vision is on the blurry side but I am managing to make out the face of my father.

“Oh mom and dad, I'm so glad you are here.” I am now hugging both of them having yet to realize the guys in blue uniform standing behind them. “What's going on?” A look of confusion is spreading over my face.

“Honey, I think you should...” my father begins to say in a very somber voice. In all the years, I've never heard him sound so sad and helpless. It is clear that he cannot continue what he was saying.
“Sylvia, you should take a seat.” My mother almost chokes on her words.

Stumbling, I make my way to the kitchen table. A man wearing a blue uniform with a badge sits down to talk to me. The first thing I notice are the bulging muscles on his arms. After taking another look and I see the fatigue and agony in his eyes. Clearly, he is grieving over the loss of my sister, also.

“Ms. Mortenson, I'm sorry but I must do this. I need you to take a blood test.”

“You need a what?” I was not comprehending his words.

“A blood test. It would be the only way to prove that you're not Marilyn.”

“Wait just one second. You think I'm Marilyn?” Growing up we were told we looked alike, but not that often.

“I'm sorry, but we were not able to get a good sample of Marilyn's blood, so we have no idea if you're Marilyn or Sylvia.”

“I promise you I am Sylvia. Ask my parents; they will tell you the same thing.” Anger was building up inside of me, just dying to find an escape route.

“I would love if it were that simple, but I am afraid it is not.” The poor officer just wanted to get this over with.

“Go ahead, take a blood test, but it will only prove that you're wrong. I am not Marilyn!” My anger had escaped, I almost feel bad for saying those words. Yet, I did not apologize.

“I understand that you are upset, Ms. Mortenson, and I am truly sorry. If you come to the hospital with me and have a blood test taken, I can promise you that things will get easier.”

I contemplate this for a few minutes. “Okay, I will go to the hospital with you, but I will drive my own vehicle. You can follow behind me,” I had no idea what I was in for.

My head was spinning the same way it does when you're a little girl and you're twirling around in your ballerina outfit. Only difference was that this spinning wasn't the good kind. I hunt for my keys, eventually finding them on the table by the front door. Walking out the door I have caught the scent of the flowers sitting on the table. These were the flowers Father brought Marilyn just last Sunday. My heart sank even lower. You have to do this. Get it together. Breathe. Whatever happens, don't forget to breathe.

I was sitting in my car, trying to remember how to breathe. Just then is when I realized what exactly happened to my sister.





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