From the Morris twins of Kansas with identical tattoos to the actress Olsen sisters, twins stick together. Only in Hollywood Horror do we find the "evil twin" theory. Yet perhaps there is a reason the theory was birthed. As a former evil twin, I'm pursuing the investigation.
My sister and I once shared a womb, a tricycle path, a bunk bed, the same long hair, and enough of the same outfits that sometimes we were mistaken for identical twin girls. Being called "a girl," is enough to become an evil twin. Beyond the quest for masculinity, a profound loneliness sent me on a hunt away from my twin. I was in search of an identity lost on a stormy sea she would soon bear the brunt of.
I can't say I ever had a shining moment as a twin. I remember entering our old steel station wagon on a hot day. After I shut the door, I was perplexed when I saw my sister screaming in agony outside the window. I slipped across the car seat and jumped out the other door. Then I walked around the car to see what in the world was wrong with her. I stood frozen as I noticed all of her fingers latched inside the closed door. Fortunately my mom opened the door for her. Yet through it all, I was silent.
Another time, I remember watching her blow dry her hair. Suddenly her hair got caught in the motor and smoke began bellowing from her head. She was screaming in terror. I thought I was in a horror movie. What did I do? Unplug the blow dryer may be? Cry for help? Tell her, "It's going to be okay?" No. I slowly backed away until I was out of the room.
What was wrong with me? I was a far cry from the loyal compassionate twin you would expect would be by her side.
Starting in middle school, the distance between us began to grow more rapidly. Memories of her in 7th and 8th grade are few. Somehow by high school we were closer to enemies. We would cross paths on the side walk in between classes. My sister would attempt to greet me with, "Hi Mark!" I would abruptly and defiantly turn my head the other direction as if she was not there. She would even take lead roles in school plays that I would not acknowledge. She graduated, but I was not there.
Before my twin left for college, our last conversation was in the midst of a late night drunken rage at my mother's house. My Mom was out of town and my sister was having a small gathering of high school friends. My friend and I, on our on partying path that night, decided to crash her gathering. I started a fight with one of her friends, threatening his life. Entering back into the house, I was screaming profanity and punching holes in walls. My sister was completely horrified. She screamed in panic, uncertain of what I was capable of doing, knowing my past violent outbreaks. She knew about my Mom's furniture I had destroyed smashing against our rock wall. She knew I had totaled the engine in her car, in a road rage across town. She knew I had broken my hand in several places smashing my girlfriend's windshield and then my own with my fist. She now saw the madness in my eyes and ran for cover.
Meanwhile, I sped away in my Mom's car with a friend. No doubt, I was living the story of the worst evil twin.
A few hours later that night, my Mom's car was towed away. After freakishly doing a 360 in the middle of an intersection, I ending up smashing the front of a gas station, destroying one whole side of the car. As I was trying to leave the scene of the accident, a squad car arrived to the scene. I was arrested for a DUI. My friend managed to walk home after watching me get hand cuffed and be put in the backseat of the squad car.
I had returned late that night. My girlfriend's Dad ended up posting my bail at the police station and dropped me home. A long letter sat on the counter from my sister. One word in her note stuck that next morning. "Disgusted." She was "disgusted" with me, my vulgarity, my anger, my drunkenness, and all of my deliberate denials of her existence as a sister and a person. My reckless hunt for life had severed our twin-ship.
She went on to college. I had resolved to that being our last interaction . . Alicia would have no other chapter in my life. . . or so I thought. . . .
Alicia's 4 children with our 4 kids this year...
