Word: morgan
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...imposter is my niece, Morgan. We share a first and last name, as well as some unsettling physical similarities. And our exchange took place in what was—for 18 glorious years—my bedroom. The room and its inhabitant, however, are currently unrecognizable. As I stood surveying the damage, I realized it was total destruction, no trace of the room’s real occupant left among the debris. My clichéd Einstein posters were replaced with haphazardly-hung drawings and finger-paintings. My trophies were relegated to “storage” upstairs...
...Morgan and my brother moved in with my mom a few months ago; the relocation meant that pseudo-Morgan needed a new room and a new elementary school—both of which turned out to be my formers. Last week, I drove her to her first piano lesson from my old piano teacher, and she’s using one of my old softball gloves for summer T-ball. This all has one conspicuous consequence: she is quickly replacing me, pushing my legacy to the margins of my family’s memory...
When my mom first noticed that I was suffering from this variant form of sibling rivalry, she laughed and sighed, “Oh, Morgan. Don’t be silly—you don’t live here anymore.” Instinctively, I shot New Morgan an accusatory glare; luckily, she was engrossed in a Disney movie (probably mine), missing my embarrassing display of childish resentment. I turned back to my mother, the traitor, who just shook her head and smiled...
...summer, I know that this strange jealousy phase is fading. It is me who will soon become negligent in calling home; before long, I’ll become absorbed by my work, my social life, myself; and it won’t matter to me that the new Morgan is making my room her own or that she’s stolen all of my old monogrammed belongings...
...course, Little Morgan deserves none of my ire; she is adorable, funny, smart, and sweet—she does have good genes, after...