“Who is your best friend?” new friends ask. The question appears straightforward, promoting a healthy, insightful conversation. I find it offensive.

“Do you mean besides Brent?” I reply snarkily. Brent and I share a close physical and emotional bond as fraternal twins. Twins are unique. Despite our individuality and physical separation in college, our relationship conveys one entity.

“What’s it like having a twin?” they interrogate. I crave to avoid vagueness, but my thoughts deviate into abstraction.

“Nothing compares. Imagine living with your best friend your entire existence. Now try to perceive the attributes of closeness shared. Magnify that to unquantifiable degrees, producing homogenous thought patterns and ways of perceiving life, along with quirky, mimicked habits and you’ve only begun to conceive what it’s like to have a twin,” I spew, acknowledging the inevitable muddled gaze in response to the esoteric nonsense. One might as well ask a fish to describe water.

Maybe I should qualify my statement, but qualifying serves polite means to suppress the arousal of jealousy. I find formulating a concrete analogy cumbersome. Symbiosis in nature gives mutual benefit. Domestic partners form relationships built on mutual attraction. Transcendence straying from tangibility produce few associations. A shadow creates a strong, commonplace association without deviating into abstraction and metaphysical concepts.A shadow resembles a twin, presuming it could independently think and interact. 

Shadows represent individuals, obstructing light to project an exact, mirror of your movements and yourself on the immediate surroundings. From birth to death, your shadow never leaves you, though it is not always visible.
I continue to notice identical characteristics, despite a life spent together. This became apparent during a recent visit to the chiropractor.  My mind wandered as I sat quietly in the bright orange waiting room. Thoughts ranging from the office’s odd, neon orange decor to the pop music playing in the background passed without much energy. My attention turned to my brother’s characteristically poor posture. He sat like a Woody doll, strewn in the chair without care. His back was severely rounded, receiving little comfort from the cushioned backing. His shoulders slouched. And a leg crossed over the other, presenting an altogether unattractive appearance. A sharp discomfort arose in my lower back, growing into heaviness in my weary neck. I aimed to alleviate the painful sensation by setting my feet firm on the ground and arching my back like a cat. Interesting how I feel such a real sense of  Brent’s achiness. Oh. We had the same unappealing posture.

The doctor, a diminutive, Asian man, who looked to be in his early fifties, appeared and led us into the examination area. The congested room, which required careful steps to maneuver around the examination table. Walls held posters varying in topic from praise to God to a comprehensive diagram of the spine. Disheveled counters inadequately contained an outburst of the doctor’s tools, which flooded the floor with clutter. I lay insecurely on the table, and his examination began: neck, shoulders, spine, hips. My winces were met by the doctor’s hardly discernible mutters.

“Tight pecs, causing rounded shoulders,” he explained with his thick Asian accent. He continued muttering something I couldn’t understand, and I was unexpectedly assaulted by a crackle of my vertebrae followed by an austere “Lumbar out of place. Okay--done for now.”

I sauntered to a chair, my chronic tension dissipating into tranquility. The doctor started in on Brent and began snickering. His laugh transmogrified into an inquisitive expression, and he began feeling Brent’s hip instead following of the neck down progression he had used with me. His laughter returned.

“You two same. Ha--I never seen such a thing.”

We had indistinguishable muscle tension, astonishing the seasoned doctor. This would have been more expected had we been identical twins, though for fraternal twins we do look a lot alike. Our likeness in stature epitomizes our connection as if our bodies were physical projections of each other.

While we carry the same physical demeanor, propinquity promotes emotional intimacy. I pity the poor only-child who knows nothing of the relationship one shares with siblings. They are forced to base their entire concept of friendly bonds with people at a greater remove. Emotional closeness for them equates to sharing laughs and discussing little dramas. These friendships can exhibit near perfect awareness of one another, where one can anticipate and understand how the other feels. But even the closest friendship does not compare to mine with Brent. Even more misguided are the people who think they understand twins’ bond because they have a close relationship with their siblings. Siblings raised together perceive life alike, but nothing matches savoring jubilation and enduring adversity with someone at the same stage of life. We don’t need to talk or even be around each other to know how the other feels. Our bond runs deep enough that we have an understanding of each other without needing to engage in dialogue. I know when he’s upset. I know when he’s happiest. Even when we are apart, I can sense his moods.

Our personalities parallel one another in peculiar manners. I am rife with idiosyncrasies. One that stands out is the infatuation with an anonymous musician or an obscure D-III college football player. Regularly, Brent independently discovers my infatuations and is equally enamored. Coincidences extend to our fashion choices. In preschool and elementary school it made sense that we would come out matching, or twinning, because we would purchase the same clothes. The trend continues, occurring 2-3 times a week. I’ll be sitting at the breakfast table, trying to brighten the day’s outlook with a warm, dark cup of coffee. Brent enters the kitchen wearing a familiar red shirt and tan cargo shorts. It’s familiar because I’m wearing the same combination. So I set off to select a new shirt.
“How do you get along though?” everyone questions. It takes little to argue physical resemblance but the emotional connection takes more convincing. They fight with their siblings and hear acrimonious anecdotes of twins. They contend that twins struggle in their relationship as if each twin tries to catch their shadow. You cannot control it or live up to its height as dusk approaches night. We do not try to control our shadow or conquer its height as dusk approaches night. While some twins do butt heads, Brent and I do not fight or feel competitive. We occasionally feel bitter and bicker like an elderly married couple, resulting in mutual laughter at our absurd nature. Overall, though, our relationship resists the temptation of trying to conquer or defeat our shadow counterpart.
College has challenged us with a foreign concept. Separation. Previously, separation occurred infrequently in our lives, only in short-term trips, lasting less than two weeks. Living in separate dorms at Arizona State serves as the first time that we’ve ever been so consistently physically apart from one another, reminiscent of being alone in the midday summer heat. The sun blares heat on your face and arms, inviting sweat to form on your brow. Respiration provides no solace as the foreboding, dry heat attacks your lungs. The concrete reflects and magnifies the light. Squinting, you raise your hand to reduce the brightness. It serves as a quiet plea for mercy, but also beckoning a welcoming wave of shared agony. You turn away; no one’s there. You look to the ground, hoping to find consolation in your shadow, and it’s gone.