The twins are two men I’ve stumbled upon during my daily outings. Well, not literally. They’re always safely stored within the confines of a 1980’s Nissan Vanette and are looking at me like I have no business looking at them.
But let’s be fair about that and break down the facts:
- They drive a 1980’s Vanette. I know I’ve already mentioned that, but I think it’s worth mentioning again.
- They are grown men who always sit in the front and passenger side seats. This seems like a non-issue except for the fact that…
- …they’re twins and wear the exact same outfit.
- I always see them as they’re going in the opposite direction of me, which means I get a full shot of them practically being the same person, wearing the same outfit, and sitting in a van roughly ten people on this planet have ever actually owned.
- They wear expressions on their faces as if they are any other people who don’t look exactly the same, roaring through the side streets of our sleepy little area in a machine that takes me back to the days of fanny packs and crimped hair. It was a simpler time.
Another fact: they only ever didn’t wear the exact same outfit just one time. It was the first time I saw them after my dog passed away. I like to think it was their way of grieving with me.
I told Ava about The Twins. She didn’t believe me until she fortuitously saw them cruising towards us one afternoon. She was in disbelief.
“I don’t know, Ava. I just don’t know.”
And then there was Matt who is used to my natural gravitation toward fancy. But Matt being Matt didn’t blink twice the first time he saw them.
“Looks like that thing’s running pretty well,” he choked out, solidly ignoring the fact that two grown men roughly his age were coming at him in matching v-neck sweaters with white undershirts slightly peeking out.
“I’ll say,” I said, stifling a mini panic attack.
I think about The Twins way too much. They’re an anamoly. A weirdness to my day that would only be made weirder if they didn’t exist. I know in roughly a few short hours, I will see them careening toward me on Dixieland as I head to the gym. I am already mentally preparing myself to keep my face straight and eyes somewhat on the road. And I’m ignoring the short conversation they’re probably having with each other this very second:
“Time to go see that weirdo in the maroon Honda Civic.”
And everything is as it should be.