The End And The Beginning

            I was 42 years old when I discovered I once had a twin. Vanishing Twin Syndrome. It’s when one twin dies in utero, and the surviving twin absorbs them. If not for that damn 23andMe test, I might never have known at all. Two strands of DNA trapped in one body.

            Yep, at 42 I found my VTS, but I’d known something was wrong with me my whole life. How? I knew because whenever I royally screwed up and a parent, teacher, or, most recently, my boss would ask “Why would you do something like that?” I never had a clue. Hell—I couldn’t even remember doing it.

            Thanks to those little blackouts, my life had been nothing but a series of failures and I was at my breaking point. My finances were, to say the least, not good. Losing another job wasn’t an option and I often awoke in the middle of the night, paralyzed by the fear of where I might end up. The lack of sleep was changing me too, because that’s when his voice started talking to me.

            I convinced myself I wasn’t a schizoid because I knew I shouldn’t be hearing voices when I was alone. Yet it was there. Even worse, he cared for me.

            Don’t worry, Timmy… We’ve had some bad luck, but I’m gonna get us through this. I love you, brother. I got you.

            Uh-huh, even before the DNA test, he claimed to be my brother. Everything became very clear. All the blackouts. The lost time. Every goddamned thing plaguing me when I couldn’t remember doing them. It was never me. It was always him.

            Wanna hear something funny? In the beginning, I wanted to believe I was going crazy. Things got so bad, Pops even convinced me to talk to our pastor. The church could give me direction.

            “Sounds like you’re just trying too hard and sabotaging yourself,” the pastor told me confidently: “Take a step back. Let Jesus take the wheel. He’ll never steer you wrong.”

            Except, I was convinced neither Jesus nor I had a hand on the wheel during the bad times. It was always him. Worse yet, the more he steered us into walls, the more he’d want to drive. I kept worrying one day, I’d never come back. Then, I didn’t…

            I found myself without shape. Drifting while the world around what used to be my body kept playing on like some movie I couldn’t interact with. I screamed for someone to help me, but the only response was his.

            Quiet now, Timmy… I’m going to make everything right for us. I figured it out, see? The problem is I’ve only been there for part of the time. Things just kept falling apart after letting you back out. I’m not doing that anymore… Besides, you’ve had over 40 years… It’s my time to live!

            If only that was the worst part of my tale. I wish I was the only one affected by my ghoulish twin, feeding ravenously off the rotting carcass of my life. Unfortunately, others were taking notice too. People like Vic.

            “What the hell is wrong with you, Timothy?”

            “No, it’s Timmy!” He insisted.

            “You see…” Vic said, impatiently, “That’s what I’m talking about. Six years you’ve been working for me, and you never let me call you Timmy, T, or tiny fucking Tim for that matter. It’s always had to be Timothy! Now, you want me to call you Timmy? It’s almost like you’re someone else entirely. A goddamn body snatcher or something!”

            Timmy didn’t like that. I could feel it. Years of viewing life from inside us and never actually experiencing it in person; Timmy didn’t know how to process it. I was scared as hell, but Timmy? I could feel his rage.

            I felt something else too. I felt our hand grabbing a paperweight from Vic’s desk. Timmy tested the heft of it as Vic continued berating us. I was only scared before, but now I’m terrified…

            “Timmy NO!” I shouted, or at least what felt like shouting to me. Louder than the sound of what was surely Vic firing us, Timmy’s voice was wrathful.

            I’m not TIMMY… You are! You’re also my brother, and we NEED this job!

           “No, brother. I’m Timothy. Just Timothy. That person… the life you want. That’s you Timmy! The reason things never seem to work out for us is because we keep pretending you don’t exist and you’re dying to get out! You’re right, though. I’ve had my time. Too much…

            “What you’re considering, though… It’s not the way, Timmy. Your emotions are getting the better of you. They’re new and confusing, and I get that. Let me help you… I’ll be your Jiminy Cricket. Remember Jiminy?”

            Timmy sat motionless, even as Vic screamed, “Hello? Anyone home in there?!”

            So, I’d be Pinocchio?

            “No, you’ll be Timmy. A real boy, and we won’t even need a blue fairy. Just let me teach you how to deal with the heavy stuff. At least, until you get the hang of it all.”

            “Hello!” Vic droned, spraying spittle on our face. He was too close. Close enough for Timmy to clock him with the paperweight, and if I’m being honest, I was tempted to let him do it. Vic could be such a prick.

            Then, Timmy returned to the outside world. The paperweight thudded to the floor and he stood up calmly. Vic had to back away to avoid knocking heads with us. Timmy smiled at Vic sweetly and stuck out his hand.

            “It sounds like we’re at a place where my employment isn’t working for either of us any longer. I suppose we should just shake hands and go our separate ways.”

            Vic oggled us like we were some kind of alien. “Get the fuck out!”

            We did. It was the best experience losing a job I’d – no we’d ever had. It was the end and the beginning. Together, Timmy and Timothy would be unstoppable.