I chose this pic as I have had some relationships in the past with twins and thought I'd like to write about that common-share, same-thought thing they seem to have.
IT’S A TWIN THING
There are only two copies in the whole world.
One, never having moved from its bleak Armley home in Leeds, is dully reflected in a crooked mirror, fallen crumpled in its battered frame. It lies barely visible and forgotten in a grotty corner of the dank, canal-side terrace.
The other is hit by a shard of bright morning light bouncing off the New York skyline. Leaning next to a stark white bookcase which sports trendy texts and funky objects d’art, it promotes an illusion of funky sophistication without belying its heritage.
Giles found himself staring purposefully at his this morning, something he never usually had occasion to do. He looked different, not well. The dull unease that had woken him was beginning to form itself into a sense of foreboding. His breathing shortened as he stared and his heart began to pound. He shook his head a little, turned to look at the Chrysler and Empire State buildings blinging in the sun, took a deep breath and moved off, still naked, into his glass-walled kitchen to make his first espresso of the day.
Standing on a wet Armley footpath, Stewart tried knocking again on the weatherworn front door, harder now and at the same time checking if he could see in the front window. It was unusual for Tim not to answer. Despite his paranoia and reluctance, Tim normally accepted the hot meals with some semblance of gratitude. Checking further along, Stewart determined the neighbours weren’t home either, or the properties were vacant, it was never that easy for Stewart to guess at occupancy of these back streets, everything looked equally derelict. It was policy to report back if someone missed two meals in a row and Stewart hoped Tim would answer the door tomorrow and save him from all the palaver that another missed delivery would bring.
In his sharp kitchen Giles finished his coffee and hi-fibe breakfast biscuit, showered and hung the towel over his shoulder while he shaved. Again he stared at his reflection, he was looking positively grey today. He felt fine though and continued to scrape the foam from his jaw line. After splashing his face and toweling off the drips he noticed a small blood stain at his temple. That’s strange, didn’t shave there, must have knocked the head off a zit or something. The towel would not remove the blood at first but then it was gone. Giles walked into his wardrobe and selected a sharp mauve double button from the dozen or so folded and hung business shirts, picked out a particularly edgy narrow silk tie and returned to the mirror to make sure the knot was straight in the collar. Staring back at him from the mirror his eyes, yellowed sclera surrounded cloudy irises which looked out blankly from lifeless sockets. A blink and a rub and his eyes, normal again cast around with their usual piercing blue interrogation from healthy white backgrounds. This was very weird, he felt his pulse and forehead, all was well and he set off, grabbing his jacket from its hanger on his way.
The deli on the corner of W58th and 7th was spot-lit by the morning sun streaming across Central Park.
“HeyYa English!” yelled Tony from behind the counter. “One espresso, one salmon bagel comin’ right up!”.
Giles enjoyed the recognition more than the hassle it would take to tell Tony he would once in a while like a different bagle. This morning again though he happily accepted the order, slapped a fiver down in front of Lucy and grabbed the coffee and bag in the smooth move of a week day morning.
‘You’re looking fine today Mr. Giles’ Lucy grinned, her ultra white teeth gleaming up at him as she rang up the sale.
“Feeling fine too thank you Lucy” was the automatic reply as he left. Then he caught his image in the shopfront window and almost dropped his coffee. Sunken cheeked, a massive smear of dried blood from temple to chin, and that gruesome blue face. A involuntary hand swept to his forehead and the image snapped to a smartly suited urbane accounts manager with a shocked face staring into a shop window on 7th Ave New York. Giles closed his eyes briefly, re-checked the image and entered the building foyer less sure of his day than he had ever felt in his twelve years in America.
‘Jesus H Christ!” spat Stewart the next day when he again couldn’t raise Tim. “If you are not dead in there mate I’ll bloody well kill you myself’ he muttered as he dialed the depot.
“Yeah, Stewart Draper here, Round twenty nine. Resident Tim Naden, 58 Lockside Road Armley. Yeah, Lodging a Second attempt - no contact report” He waited for the usual stream of process to dribble down the line and replied “Yeah, I’ll wait for the cops, How long before someone collects the rest of my deliveries?” This was going to be a tedious wasted day.
Over the next three hours backup arrived and took his remaining delivery list, he made two follow up calls to the depot and smoked nine cigarettes. When the police finally arrived they went, grave faced directly to the door and knocked, completely ignoring Stewart.
“He won’t answer that, You’ll have to break it down” Stewart called as he walked up.
“Who are you Sir?” was the unexpected response.
“I’m Tim’s care provider, I’m the one who called you here”
“Sorry sir, we are here on other business. I will have to ask you to step aside”
“No, look, there is some confusion here, I asked for access support for a suspected fatality, I think Tim is dead”
“No Sir you are confused, there has been a fatality but we are here to advise “Mr Naden, as next of kin, of the death of his brother Giles today at his place of work in New York.
