Doctor, I appreciate you working me in to listen. The
thing is…I keep having this reoccurring
dream. I am into that sort of thing;
figuring out what they mean…even read a few blogs on the issue…such as flying
and falling dreams…so I kept trying to interpret what this one could mean…maybe
I was stressed at work because I was so busy and I felt two of me would have
been better. Or maybe that my best
friend recently took a job near Kansas City and I was just lonely…but each
night for nearly a week it became more and more vivid until I thought, perhaps
it was a deeply recessed, latent memory of something from my actual past. I
pray it is not, for it is true…I murdered
my twin. The dream goes like this:
When I first open my eyes, I see a reflection of
myself. Of course, I didn’t know it was
a reflection of me as I had no sense of what I looked like…only at a much later
time would I realize this. His eyes are
closed; I say it was a he because we
had the same appendage sticking out between our legs. I would later know this
as a penis and still later, name it Fernando
and have grand adventures. I can tell you I thought him handsome; my
twin...not Fernando. I did have a
sense of what was pleasing to my eyes.
Strong jaw line and nearly a full head of jet black hair. I reach up
to trace the lines of my
face…following along with my eyes on my wombmate’s face, discerning if we
indeed were the same. Moving my finger
to my very pinnacle, the luxurious mop atop my own crown, I discover a
troubling fact, well troubling at the time; I am deformed. Again, what was and
was not normal is
irrelevant when you notice a giant soft spot on your head. My frantic, frail
hand swooping side-to-side…hard
then, shit, there it is, soft; a gaping
gap at the very tip of my
being. I look over at the other fellow;
he is still asleep-although I had no concept of exactly what sleep was. I could
not resist reaching up to feel his
head…hard then soft. The poor bastard is
deformed also. In that instant, we form
a bond, or rather I do, as there he peacefully sleeps unaware of our
misfortunes. Since I do not want to
damage myself, though there would be no way of knowing it would cause damage or
even what damage was, I take my
strong finger…I had five on each hand for a total of ten, even though at that
point I would have not known how to count...the one next over from the odd shaped
one, which I would later discover to be my thumb…I take that finger, the pointer
finger and poke it into the soft spot of my new found buddy. I am amazed at
the fact that not only does he
not wake, but that my finger penetrates all the way in. All the way.
I can now relate it to pushing into a latex glove pulled taunt over a
Mason jar but at the time I had no concept of latex and Mason jars. What I know
is that it is tactually pleasing
and I repeat the act several times. The
repetition comforts me and well it just feels really cool…although recognition
of what was and was not cool came much later in my life when I discovered
Aviator sunglasses.
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