They’re Them

The two of them are always together no matter the time or day, the weather or the conditions. If one is about, the other is close by, at least within a visual block. If I were to start speaking to one of them, the other would pop out of somewhere to join in, even if s/he never opens their mouth to say a word. Just being there is enough to get a point or idea across. But that’s what makes handling an encounter with them so dangerous as well. Not getting the idea or the point can be rather fatal for me, especially if it’s a crucial piece of information they’re trying to remind me of. When it comes to the people I speak to in my head, the twins are some of the few who I can openly say are here to help me. The two small children have helped me survive multiple occasions that could have gotten me seriously injured if not killed.

There was an incident in the ocean when I hadn’t quite learned how to tread water, an accident with a power saw in one of my old woods classes after a teacher had asked me to do a demonstration – something about having the steadiest hands – a slight issue with a freshly painted room, sealed windows to keep out bugs and dirt and a door that was jammed while no one else was home… A nearly endless list in which they had always shown up to give me the way out. If my memory is right, they were the first ones to appear, and the only ones to remain with me without complaint.

Somehow, it feels like that says quite a lot.

Now they sit patiently across from me in the empty lobby, playing with one of their many puzzles that they wear on their wrists or on the loops of their pants. Rubik cubes, mingled circles, prisms and the like are scattered across their figures in one form or jewelry or another. And their dull blue eyes go through them at rapid paces, refusing to look away for even a moment regardless of how intently I may stare. Maybe something has gone wrong and there’s no way for me to fix it?

Like a switch, the two finally look up at me, smiles on their faces.

“How smart you can be.”

“Why don’t you keep thinking, now?”

So this would be one of those other conversations where neither of them is constantly quiet. Wonderful. And that's genuine delight, by the way.

A light sigh escapes me for the idea. “Because that would mean giving in to whatever you think is coming after me. I’ll pass on the idea. Thanks anyway, though.”

“Would you like us to tell you the possibilities?”

“You might want some paper if you do.”

Shifting my gaze between the two, my mind inwardly debates the offer. But there’s so many others arguing about it at the same time that no real answer comes to me except that there’s no paper around in the first place. My backpack is back at my dorm room, gathering dust because I’ve ceased to find carrying it around useful, and any notebooks I might have brought with me are stuffed full of notes to the point that writing several pages worth of possible fatal or maiming incidents would be impossible. And no matter what these two have to say, there’s no way anyone is getting me to drive all the way the store to pick up a new notebook to write it all out in. That would be a waste of my time and money and the two of them would probably forget most of what they would say in the first place during the trip.

“I’ll pass, thanks. How’s the mountain?”

“Boring since the bears stopped showing up last month.”

“When are you coming to visit?”

Oddly enough, they switch their roles around, even their eye colors shifting. The two of them are often color coordinated, either as opposites or exact copies. Today seems to be a copycat day, their clothes and accessories varying between gray and black with rainbows in their hair. Between the two of them, the only real difference to be spotted is the green and hazel eyes that mark just how active or reactive they’ll be. Usually the one who asks questions is the one with the green eyes and the one with hazel is the commentator. To my immense annoyance, the difference can switch back and forth between them depending on how they choose to communicate with me. Which often leads to a major headache on my part.

Leaning back in my seat, hoping to relieve some of the pressure already gathering in my head by backing away at least a little, I eye the two carefully. They’ve never given me names, only said that they live on a mountain surrounded by oceans and floating forests and some weird bubble of pink stuff up in the sky. So far, that particular area in my head remains unseen. It’s probably a very deep level of my subconscious that might take years of meditation and practice to reach. Meaning I may only ever see it once in my lifetime and quite possibly when I’m bleeding out from some ridiculous accident.

“I’m not entirely sure. Your home isn’t exactly easy to get to,” I remind them. “How many times have you tried to drag me there?”

“A lot. My last count was at 37.”

“Should we try again?”

The thought sends a shiver down my spine – what little of the trip I've seen usually isn’t pleasant. “No. I’ve got quite a few things to do after this and I’d rather remain out of a coma, if you don’t mind.”

Both shrug, indifferent expressions taking their faces as they lift from their seats. With vague, emotionless smiles and waves, they wander off into random directions to disappear around just as random corners. Knowing the two of them, following for any length of time or reason would be a bad idea, especially since they’re two of the few who can spontaneously appear and disappear because of some ridiculous excuse of not being me. Now if only they gave me real names to go with their eyes, at least, the two might not freak me out quite as much. Though they probably enjoy confusing me that way when speaking with me.

Leaning back in my seat, I note that the lobby has vanished while staring up at a cloud that oddly resembled a bunny. Instead of sitting on a couch, my legs crossed over the edge of a soft cushion, I’ve settled back into a plastic patio chair on the deck of an old looking house. This, of course, means that someone else will probably pop up soon. But my head is currently hurting from the recent debate on questions so I push up from my seat and leave the area behind me. As much fun as speaking with another person from my head might be, a walk through a quieter part of my head is bound to do me a great deal more good. For starters, fresh air always helps aching temples and peace and quiet never hurt, either.