Jenn i love you for all the trouble you did to get adams story in the paper!
heart Jenn (no last names) knew when her twin brother was lying. She could see it in his eyes.
And that day last November when she confronted 21-year-old Adam about iTunes downloads that had been purchased with her credit card, she saw through his denials. And she was furious.
She was angry because Adam had run up a sizable bill he couldn't pay. She was even more upset because it was Adam, who she trusted implicitly and loved unconditionally, who did it.
And here he was trying to lie to her?
"He started to cry," Jenn, of Mount Joy, remembered. "He was upset because he saw me crying, and he saw how much he hurt me."
Within a few days, Adam left his mother's home in Bainbridge for Porter, Texas, where his father was recuperating from a fall and an aneurysm.
"I can't remember even if I said bye to him," said Jenn, tears welling in her eyes.
Best friends
Most of their lives Jenn and Adam, born 14 minutes apart, had been inseparable. Their bond was second nature during a childhood of frequent moves around Perryville, Md.
Jenn said they often romped in the woods and played by the river. They built treehouses in the summer and forts in the snow. Adam once got the idea to squirt ketchup and mustard into snowballs. Neighborhood kids joined in the colorful melee that followed.
Though they usually were in separate classes, Adam and Jenn ate and played together at lunch and recess.
Their mother loved dressing her twins the same, and she took them three times to the annual Twins Day celebration in Twinsburg, Ohio. They came home in 1994 with a medal from a look-alike contest.
But the similarity in the twins' appearances was deceptive. Jenn and Adam were different in lots of ways. Jenn was assertive, independent, persistent. Adam was soft-hearted, easygoing, vulnerable.
Jenn remembered the time when a kid got off the school bus and started pounding Adam. Adam just took it, but Jenn jumped in, grabbed the attacker by the neck and pulled him off her brother.
Lanky and dark-haired, Adam had loner tendencies, struggled in school and finally, in ninth grade, refused to go any longer. He turned to video games, skateboarding and raucous music as escapes from a world he just wasn't ready to face.
"It was hard to get people to understand him," Jenn said, and she made sure any boyfriend she had got along with her brother.
Though Jenn at times became exasperated with Adam, she never loved him less. She appreciated his zany humor, full-throttle enthusiasm and nonjudgmental nature.
A life too short
And then, suddenly, he was gone.
Jenn's mother got the phone call Aug. 12 from the twins' father. Adam had died in his sleep, he said.
Investigators have yet to establish a cause, but they ruled out foul play.
Jenn said Adam's death makes her feel as if "I lost a part of me."
She took for granted that Adam would come home. She would forgive him for the iTunes episode — she had long gotten over her anger — and they'd be best friends again.
She took for granted that Adam would be her touchstone for memories good and bad.
Now she takes nothing for granted.
"Things I worried about before are nothing now," she said. "It's almost like his death gave me glasses to see life differently."
Jenn looked over dozens of snapshots spread over a coffee table. Photo after photo had little Jenny and Adam together. In one, they were Raggedy Ann and Andy. In another, they were Bamm-Bamm and Pebbles.
The photos weren't helping.
"I feel alone," Jenn said, "so extremely alone."
And that day last November when she confronted 21-year-old Adam about iTunes downloads that had been purchased with her credit card, she saw through his denials. And she was furious.
She was angry because Adam had run up a sizable bill he couldn't pay. She was even more upset because it was Adam, who she trusted implicitly and loved unconditionally, who did it.
And here he was trying to lie to her?
"He started to cry," Jenn, of Mount Joy, remembered. "He was upset because he saw me crying, and he saw how much he hurt me."
Within a few days, Adam left his mother's home in Bainbridge for Porter, Texas, where his father was recuperating from a fall and an aneurysm.
"I can't remember even if I said bye to him," said Jenn, tears welling in her eyes.
Best friends
Most of their lives Jenn and Adam, born 14 minutes apart, had been inseparable. Their bond was second nature during a childhood of frequent moves around Perryville, Md.
Jenn said they often romped in the woods and played by the river. They built treehouses in the summer and forts in the snow. Adam once got the idea to squirt ketchup and mustard into snowballs. Neighborhood kids joined in the colorful melee that followed.
Though they usually were in separate classes, Adam and Jenn ate and played together at lunch and recess.
Their mother loved dressing her twins the same, and she took them three times to the annual Twins Day celebration in Twinsburg, Ohio. They came home in 1994 with a medal from a look-alike contest.
But the similarity in the twins' appearances was deceptive. Jenn and Adam were different in lots of ways. Jenn was assertive, independent, persistent. Adam was soft-hearted, easygoing, vulnerable.
Jenn remembered the time when a kid got off the school bus and started pounding Adam. Adam just took it, but Jenn jumped in, grabbed the attacker by the neck and pulled him off her brother.
Lanky and dark-haired, Adam had loner tendencies, struggled in school and finally, in ninth grade, refused to go any longer. He turned to video games, skateboarding and raucous music as escapes from a world he just wasn't ready to face.
"It was hard to get people to understand him," Jenn said, and she made sure any boyfriend she had got along with her brother.
Though Jenn at times became exasperated with Adam, she never loved him less. She appreciated his zany humor, full-throttle enthusiasm and nonjudgmental nature.
A life too short
And then, suddenly, he was gone.
Jenn's mother got the phone call Aug. 12 from the twins' father. Adam had died in his sleep, he said.
Investigators have yet to establish a cause, but they ruled out foul play.
Jenn said Adam's death makes her feel as if "I lost a part of me."
She took for granted that Adam would come home. She would forgive him for the iTunes episode — she had long gotten over her anger — and they'd be best friends again.
She took for granted that Adam would be her touchstone for memories good and bad.
Now she takes nothing for granted.
"Things I worried about before are nothing now," she said. "It's almost like his death gave me glasses to see life differently."
Jenn looked over dozens of snapshots spread over a coffee table. Photo after photo had little Jenny and Adam together. In one, they were Raggedy Ann and Andy. In another, they were Bamm-Bamm and Pebbles.
The photos weren't helping.
"I feel alone," Jenn said, "so extremely alone."
