Two boys, both around the age of twelve. Identical twins. From their carefully shabby haircuts to the grey socks peeking from the toes of their sandals, they were alike. Their plaid shorts blended one pair into the other as they seated themselves next to each other, across from me, on the train. Their sandy shirts betrayed the faux unique design of each other as the paint on both matched perfectly, splatter for splatter. In turn both boys laid on the ground perfectly alike black swiss army bookbags, adorned with identical keychains hooked on the same zipper handle of each bag. Two slim wrists jangled with slightly oversized silver watches attached to two hands holding two cups, both speared with straws filled with the same pearly orange substance, identical flavors. The only difference between them was the pair of glasses perched on the face of the boy on the left. Otherwise, they were perfectly the same, as far as one could tell from a look at least.
Yet, the longer I took in their sameness the more it was blatantly obvious how different they were. Not just the eyeglasses of the left, though surely that had been a marker used by many people in their lives past and present. No, moreso it was their gazes. Right furrowed his brows as he surveyed the scene of the train car around him, then he busied himself with the cup and straw he grasped in his small hands. He sucked the thick liquid with gruff gulps. Left took a different approach. His eyes were wide and wandered, drinking in every bit of his surroundings. His curiosity was nearly palpable. He noticed me watching them immediately and instead of showing clear annoyance as Right had done, he then took my smile as a clear welcome to watch me in return. He looked about but would always return and watch me as my face was distinctly unable to hide it’s glee at the situation before me. He watched as my toes wiggled and my fingers tapped; as my eyes darted away from the words in the book before me that was very much being forgotten at this point as my mind raced with delightful interpretations. He watched as I pulled out my pen and my pad and he watched as I began to write about him. He craned his neck casually, wistfully trying to get a peek at the words on my pad as his mouth pursed to carefully suck up his drink, almost with a distinct femininity about him. He watched and I watched; kindred spirits of curiosity. And every moment until they left at their mother’s silent beckoning was sheer brilliance.
