The Family Photo Album Showed A Little Too Much

I know the stereotype of identical twins is that they can barely be recognised as separate people. They usually look and think alike, forming their own little languages and all that jazz.
Simon and I had never been like that. We were similar ten years ago during university, but things changed as we continued to share a small apartment. He was outgoing and masculine, I was reserved and lanky. I became addicted to painkillers and weed, withering away. We never had arguments, but there was nothing to talk about when we were so different. He got all the best attributes and I got the opposite.
I moved to a different city after university and that’s when things changed. Perhaps I was finally free from his shadow. I got out more, made friends, and slowly came off the medication.
People were always surprised when I said I had a brother. “But you never speak about him†and “oh my god, you’re twins?†were phrases often said. I feared the people I was close to meeting him. I feared I would recede as a human if he came and disrupted my new life. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t an ******* or anything, but I wasn’t myself around him. Being with my twin made me sick, while other twins get sick if they’re apart too long.
We came together again when our father went into hospice. He had had Alzheimer’s for the longest time but was no longer able to live in our childhood house even with a caretaker. It was very distressing to see him so frazzled, so hollow of memories. I think it really hurt Simon that he called both of us James—my name. He couldn’t tell us apart even if we were both standing in front of him. His final words to Simon were “I don’t know who you are.†Simon took it pretty well, but he went and grabbed a drink at the bar when I started on cleaning out our house. My father hadn’t written Simon into the will. Only me.
Had I missed something in our childhood? Had I been the favourite? It didn’t feel like that was the case. How could Simon be so normal and I be a walking wreck if I was the favourite?
Maybe it was Dad’s death, maybe it was being around Simon for so long, but those leftover pills in Dad’s medicine cabinet were looking pretty good. I threw them in the toilet—only way to stop myself.
I broke down sobbing when I found the photo album. I hadn’t seen it in years. I remembered decorating it with dried pasta and crayons. It was an ugly mess, but it was my ugly mess.
“The Capcrass’s†spelled in macaroni, a misspelling of Capgrass. I ran my hand over the cover, accidently knocking off the macaroni apostrophe.
I put the book on the dining room table. I wanted Simon to look at it with me. I want us to act like real brothers.
I had made very little progress on the house besides unpacking the attic and staring at objects of old memories. During that time I went to my old bedroom. It had been turned into a study. It was the first time I realised that I could not remember where Simon slept. Did we share a room? No, I specifically remember the setup of my room. No second bed, no bunkbed. Maybe the TV room was his old room? But I remember watching VCRs of bad slashers movies in my tweens in there. The guest bedroom? No. Mom used to sew in there. We were never allowed in because that’s where the glass cabinet of Hummel Figures were. Then where did Simon…
Speak of the devil, he walked through the door. He did not look drunk which was a relief, but perhaps a little sombre.
“Check this out,†I said, tapping the table.
He cocked an eyebrow, confused.
“The family photo album.â€
“Ah.â€
He opened the fridge first and pulled out Dad’s grape juice—there wasn’t any alcohol in the house. He poured me a cup as well and took a seat, the chair creaking under his muscular weight.
We went through the photos, trying to guess which was which son—the joy of identical twins.
“No, no, that’s me,†I argued.
“No ****ing way you won player of the month,†he countered, laughing.
“I did! I remember because Mom and Dad took me out to Tim Horton’s after I got that ****ty plastic trophy!â€
Simon almost snorted his grape juice. We were both laughing which was nice despite the circumstances.
We continued to browse, guessing who’s who. It seemed there were more photos of me, but only on the grounds that I had better memories of the circumstances. It was honestly too hard to tell just on the picture alone.
Things fell silent when we reached the final page. It was a family portrait. Three people. Mom, Dad, and one of us. There had been no photos of Simon and I together. We had never been shown at the same time.
“That’s impossible,†I muttered, not talking about the photo.
It was too absurd to consider, but maybe it all made sense.
“Simon,†I began cautiously. “I don’t… remember you being around when we were kids.â€
He looked at me, hurt.
“What the ****?†he asked.
“I’m just saying, Dad didn’t remember—â€
“Oh **** you! Sorry the Alzheimer’s cook didn’t remember his least-favourite son, I’m sorry they took only photos of their favourite boy.â€
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I literally have no memories of us together as children, and there’s no room for you in this house.â€
He stood up, making me flinch. Taking the photo album, he placed it on the stove and started the element.
“Simon!†I screamed, getting up. “You ****ing *******!â€
He was already heading for the door. I managed to hit the element off, but the photo at the back—the photo of the three of us—had taken some damage.
We didn’t speak ever again. He didn’t come to the funeral. Because of that, I started to ask old family friends about my childhood.
“Do you remember my brother?†I asked the woman who had been our neighbour. “Simon?â€
She cocked her head side to side.
“I mean, no, but if he’s your twin maybe I kept seeing one of you at a time,†she said, laughing.
I stopped telling people I had a brother… because I wasn’t so sure I did. Simon never called me. He deleted his Facebook and all other social media presence. Friends had no idea where he went. I couldn’t control feeling guilt about how we ended things, but that felt misplaced. It didn’t make sense he wasn’t in my childhood and that somehow I have no memory of him suddenly appearing. Mom and Dad were no longer around for me to ask them. Our family was ever shrinking, I was the only one left. Now I knew what it felt like to lose a twin. There is a gap in my heart where he was. Not because we were close, but because the parasite ate so much of me that I don’t feel like my own human anymore.


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