You and I Are Twins

My name is Lance Mason and I existed for four minutes on February 13th, at least that’s what my birth certificate says.

In the hands of an obstetrician, I looked up and saw myself for the last time, and the first, in the way he greeted me. It’s not my brother’s fault I haven’t seen my face since then. It’s not my doctor’s fault either. It’s mine. I’m the twin that was born first.

I’m 23 or 24 now, (depending on when you get to read this). But none of that matters, you just want answers don’t you? At least that’s what a question implies. Cross examine me about the murder of my personality that took place when my twin was born. Maybe then you’ll understand how it feels to be a part of the “worst generation ever.”

But when you put me on trial, use the questions written on my forehead.

It must be written in permanent invisible ink that twins can’t see. The kind that only the nurses who cradle the first twin have access to. I can’t see the writing in my reflection, but I know it’s there. Because I always get these questions in the exact same order. Ask me if I can feel it if he stubs his toe, gets a papercut or something else just as ridiculous.

Ask me if telepathy is real. ​

It must be. Because when I look in the mirror, I know what my generation is thinking.

My life is a petri dish. My tenure as a twin, a millennial’s port in a storm. Ask me how it feels to not know who I am. It is strange, because pointing out watersheds is de rigueur to ending a conversation with a twin. I point out my scar in conversation but it didn’t always exist. The real Lance doesn’t have a scar, or braces. Lance is just confused, and in jubilant spirits. But we’re all tennis players aren’t we? Running back and forth returning serves. Trying to bridge the gap between who people tell us we are, and who we want to be.

It’s no secret, there now exists, a hunger pain which gnaws at the stomachs of my peers. A pain that has the same effect on the vigor with which life is lived, as malnutrition has on those who suffer from it. A lack of energy, and a snuffing out of the lust for life. I suffer from it too. The hunger to know myself.

What’s the best thing I’ve read this week? The face of a Millennial when I realized, my peers and I are twins.