Devonne Brown

People transmit emotions,  alternating and direct current, twins’ feelings bloom from those around them, 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 a twin mom, they’ll tell you twins are “different”

I’ve watched this “thing” happen throughout their twenty-some young lives now. It’s sweeter, better, worse and stranger than ever, those are some of the right words. 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 a rift to the other brother. Their brains must be connected by a magic conduit of serotonin, dopamine, or good old fashioned magic. 

I believe their journey is painful much of the time. Separated by doctors, nurses, midwives, and a host of other medical personnel at birth, they never stopped reaching for each other. My premature babies had to grow into their due date age before they came home from the hospital. 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 effete floppy-headed babies in one crib. Support their heads… Their bodies were disorganized, helpless bags of sludge. They could flail an arm, wiggle a finger, and kick a leg. Projectile bodily fluids accurate to ten feet was their best trick, and an “eep” was their vocabulary, sweetest word ever spoken. Yet, put side by side in a baby bed, within fifteen minutes, they had maneuvered so their heads could touch each other’s. A marvel.

“They are so close, 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. They’re psychic in that weird twin way. It doesn’t meld them into one human. Did you notice they don’t look alike?” 

That head bop in the nursery the day they came home from the hospital shored up my belief that they were special. No butchershop chicken could make that maneuver. To celebrate the wonders that came from my body, I took them to the most miraculous place I could think of. What better place to take newborns on their first forays into the world than Stonehenge? It was just down the road and called me to imbue them with all the magic I could give them for their bon voyage into life. It was well and truly right.

Where was the first place you got to go?