Aaron introduces himself as the fifth-born in a family of seven. Our parents have eight children, but Aaron refuses to acknowledge his twin. He says the existence of a twin destroys the balance of our family. To Aaron, seven is the number of balance. We all know eight is balance on any scale but it is not for Aaron. From the time he could intelligently voice his opinion, Aaron has intentionally tried to wipe out his twin’s presence often referring to his birth sibling as an imaginary friend. Tears flowing from eyes that look exactly like his and parental threats could not sway him. Eventually, they began to carry out separated lives. Aaron twin’s name is Andrew. I am Andrew.

I love my brother because loving each other is what family members do. But it’s hard to love a dude who seems to hate you, which is really like hating himself since I reflect everything of him. Our round face, somewhat large nose and permanently curled lips set us aside from most of our family members. Our height are near matches which is often not the case for twins. Our stocky build feigns fit physiques in just the right clothes. We look the same naked and clothed. Besides a small, pear shaped mole below his right rib cage, the only difference is I love Aaron and he hates me.

Over the years I’ve learned to live with it.

Survival requires me to treat my brother like a distant cousin. You have to be cordial but you don’t have to be close. I watched Aaron soar through the elementary and high school years like he was on top of the world. He was “star” everything. Star athlete. Star student. Star friend. Star lover. And I was Andrew, his twin. While Aaron succeeded publicly, I basked in the low key love of my parents and other siblings who accepted us both where we were.

I was loved. So it didn’t make sense when in the last year of high school I developed a habit of sleepwalking. Adrienne was the first to discover it. My big sis came home from a date one night and found me moving plates from the cabinet to the table. I just about had everything out when she slapped my face.

Dazed, I shouted “Ouch”.

“I been calling you. Are you ok?”

Adrienne looked like she thought I was possessed. Later my parents would be able to label it as sleepwalking but would do nothing more than assign each family member, except Aaron, with the task of watching me each night.

Now I’m 25. And the sleepwalking seems to have disappeared. Moving away for college, against my parents desires, helped. At college I was Andrew. Drew, actually. And no one knew I had a twin. It was a new life, which led me to a great job working with kids as a youth center director. Helping kids see the best of themselves made me happy. Being in my own place made me happy. I was happy until Aaron came by a week ago.

He rang the doorbell like he often visited when I hadn’t seen him in years.

“Andrew”, he shouted and gripped me in a massive hug.

“Aaron…what? A-aron?” Most of my response fell into his wool jacket as he crushed my head into his shoulder.

Pushing me away gently, he said, “Do you mind if I stay?”

The next day while he ate one of my chicken and biscuit breakfast sandwiches from the freezer and sipped coffee he had made for us, Aaron asked, “I thought you were over the sleepwalking thing?”

“I am.”

“Then why were you in my room last night?”

That was the beginning of our week. Today I’m sitting on a highway with an ambulance ready to take me to a hospital and fire engines putting out a blaze on a car.

I don’t drive. It’s Aaron’s car.