Devonne Brown

People transmit emotions,  alternating and direct current, twins’ feelings bloom at the same, for the same reasons, from different sources.  I don’t know what kind of magic is in a twin, but I know there’s more power in it than science can explain. Ask other twin moms. 

I’ve watched this “thing” happen throughout their twenty-some young lives now and it’s worse and stranger than ever, I think that’s the right word, worse. I’m not sure they enjoy it all the time. One life goes along so well, but a bump in one brother’s life sends rift to the other brother. Their brains must be connected by a magic conduit of serotonin or something. 

I believe their journey is painful much of the time. Separated at birth, they never stop reaching for each other. My premature babies had to grow to their due date age before they came home from the hospital, so they were as strong as trussed chickens from the meat department, and about the same size. At five weeks old, they were still not considered newborn age, and I couldn’t understand how those powerful kicks in the womb, buoyed by amniotic fluid could have come from the useless baby bodies in the crib. They could flail an arm, wiggle a finger, and move a leg.  An “eep” was their vocabulary. Yet, put side by side in a baby bed, within fifteen minutes, they had moved to touch their heads together.  A marvel.

“They are so close, it’s like they’re one person,” said a dumbass one day. 

“No. They’ve been different since conception. I could tell who was punching whom in the womb. Don’t even go there. Because they’re kind of psychic in that weird twin way, it doesn’t meld them together.” 

That head bop in the nursery the day they came home from the hospital shored up my belief that they were special. No butcher shop chicken could make that maneuver. So, I took them to the handiest magical places I could find when we ventured on their first outing. I took them to Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge to imbue them with all the magic.