Have you ever been mistaken for someone else?
I’m an identical twin, of course I have. Jimmy and I used to take advantage of it when we were kids. You know, all the predictable cliché scenarios where you pretend to be your sibling to pull one over on someone else? We’d do that. I used to take his math tests for him and he’d sit through study hall twice. I think that’s probably normal, kids do stupid stuff as a rule anyhow and hey, if you had an easy way to mess with people, why not take advantage of it? (And to appease my parents, no, it doesn’t make it right. It’s still dishonest and wrong, but that’s how we learn, right? Make mistakes and grow…)
There were also plenty of times where I don’t know that I’d call it “mistaken” for Jimmy or him for me so much as people are rude and lazy. You know, they’d call me “Peter-or-Jimmy” because they couldn’t take the time to get to know us as individuals. Even identical twins have differences. Family and friends could almost always tell us apart just based on facial expressions or attitudes. Other people wised up and realized that freckle placement was a dead giveaway too. It just took a little bit of effort to see me for me and Jimmy for himself. I guess that was just expecting too much of most people.
Here’s a doozy for you: I’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m sure it says more for my state of mind at the time than anything, wishful thinking or maybe just really needing Jimmy to still be here. It wasn’t too long after Jimmy had died; too long…I say that like any amount of time is acceptable. It isn’t. One day without him is too long. Two years is-it’s still unimaginable even though I’m living it. Anyway, my point is, he hadn’t been gone very long and I was just sort of going through the days like some sort of Peter shaped thing.
I walked down the hall at home, past this huge mirror we have near the staircase, and I saw my reflection. Well, it was my reflection. What I saw was Jimmy standing at the end of the hall looking at me. I raised my hand and waved at him. It wasn’t until I saw ‘his’ left hand rise and wave back instead of his right that I realized I was looking at myself. I was alone. This was as close as I was ever going to come to being the Peter half of Peter and Jimmy. I still don’t make eye contact with myself when I move past that mirror.
I don’t really like talking about this but you know, if Adam can use it as a sob story to get chicks, I guess I can use it for Internet fodder, right? (And yes, the little jerk actually told my thesis advisor about the mirror thing. Chris still hasn’t stopped looking at me like I’m some sort of damaged puppy.)
There were also plenty of times where I don’t know that I’d call it “mistaken” for Jimmy or him for me so much as people are rude and lazy. You know, they’d call me “Peter-or-Jimmy” because they couldn’t take the time to get to know us as individuals. Even identical twins have differences. Family and friends could almost always tell us apart just based on facial expressions or attitudes. Other people wised up and realized that freckle placement was a dead giveaway too. It just took a little bit of effort to see me for me and Jimmy for himself. I guess that was just expecting too much of most people.
Here’s a doozy for you: I’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m sure it says more for my state of mind at the time than anything, wishful thinking or maybe just really needing Jimmy to still be here. It wasn’t too long after Jimmy had died; too long…I say that like any amount of time is acceptable. It isn’t. One day without him is too long. Two years is-it’s still unimaginable even though I’m living it. Anyway, my point is, he hadn’t been gone very long and I was just sort of going through the days like some sort of Peter shaped thing.
I walked down the hall at home, past this huge mirror we have near the staircase, and I saw my reflection. Well, it was my reflection. What I saw was Jimmy standing at the end of the hall looking at me. I raised my hand and waved at him. It wasn’t until I saw ‘his’ left hand rise and wave back instead of his right that I realized I was looking at myself. I was alone. This was as close as I was ever going to come to being the Peter half of Peter and Jimmy. I still don’t make eye contact with myself when I move past that mirror.
I don’t really like talking about this but you know, if Adam can use it as a sob story to get chicks, I guess I can use it for Internet fodder, right? (And yes, the little jerk actually told my thesis advisor about the mirror thing. Chris still hasn’t stopped looking at me like I’m some sort of damaged puppy.)