Synaptic

For her final project, Peyton chose to write a piece of memoir expressing the complicated notion of “twinhood” through the lens of competition. Peyton’s experience of racing against her identical twin sister functions as a maypole around which she skillfully braids her childhood memories, research into the science of twins, and passages of reflection. As a piece of memoir, Peyton does a fantastic job of transporting the reader into the world of her upbringing through concrete imagery and intricate details. Meanwhile, the researched passages provide important context to help us appreciate the complexity of competition with someone who is “identical” to you, and her use of figurative language in reflective passages adds depth and meaning to the raw emotions depicted in her memories.

-Dr. Lance Dyzak

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The gun shot off and the smoke disappeared into the air. I was surrounded by hundreds of high school girls, all sprinting towards a narrow path that led into the woods.

Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.

All of the 99 girls clumped into a blur around me, but I was able to keep a clear sight on one of them.

 

My twin sister.

***

From birth, humans, just like other wild mammals, are born with a genetic code to compete against others for survival. All people experience different forms of competition at some point in their life. Unlike most people, my competitive drive began before I was even born. On January 10th, 2002, at 5:16 pm, my mother birthed two identical twin girls, each one minute apart. We were born two months early from our due date because we did not share food very well with each other. I was the second born, the second to see the world, the second to breathe in oxygen, the second to see my parent’s big smiles, and second to my twin sister.

***

We had not reached the mile mark yet and I was right behind my sister. I matched her footsteps to keep the same cadence. I could hear my dad’s thundering voice vibrate through my eardrums, “GO, GO, GO!”

***

In our two-story middle-class home on Fillmore Street, the pavement was covered with a blanket of white; the brisk wind trying to seep through the window. I slowly crept out from under my sheets until I felt the individual fibers of the carpet touch the tips of my toes. I tiptoed my way to the bedroom door, only stepping on the parts of the floor that did not creak. I slowly closed the door shut behind me, trying not to wake my twin sister who was still sound asleep. My goal was accomplished. My legs flew down the stairs when my gaze caught the most beautiful sight of the year, a mound of presents under the Christmas tree. I propped myself up against the couch, catatonically staring at each present glowing with its own radiance. The calm silence of the snow falling allowed my mind to wander until I heard footsteps approaching. My sympathetic nervous system kicked into overdrive as I knew exactly what she was going to do. My sister jumped for her stocking that was hanging down from the fireplace when I yanked on her shirt to stop her. I was not one to open presents before my mom and dad had woken up. My sister squealed and hollered until my parents came running down the stairs. After a long chaotic moment of arguing, they finally got us to calm down enough to start opening presents when the rest of my family arrived.

I crawled under the tree, the needles scraping the side of my face as I slid the presents behind me. Normally, my sister and I would pass out the gifts first to make a pile, scouting out who had the biggest and most numerous presents. Taking turns, my sister and I would unwrap our gifts one by one, hoping that I would not be the one to run out first. It was no surprise that the present I opened would be the same item but in a different color when my sister opened hers. After all, we are the same person, which means we both like the same exact things. After I ripped open the present, I put on my best performance to keep the room entertained.

As a child, I never questioned the concept of receiving the same exact things as my sister, even though I wanted to have the “better” gifts. I had never known anything different; all of my things were my sister’s things. My birthday was her birthday, eventually, all of my Christmas gifts were her Christmas gifts. It was like we were a married couple having to share all of our things and being treated as one person. Our competition began as soon as we were born and so did the fight against our likeness – we wanted a divorce.

***

Mile 1.

My muscles were burning as I continued to concentrate on the back of my sister’s head. We had slowed down a little since the start, but we still held a faster pace than usual. Her braided ponytail whipped around with no patterned direction, like one of those tall blow-ups in front of a car dealership. It felt like this race would never end, but I had to keep going.

***

Identical twins are monozygotic, meaning one singular egg is fertilized before it then divides into two. These two eggs contain the same sex and share the same genetics. Twins share the same space with a diameter of a foot and receive the exact same diet for nine months. To be exact, twins are 99.9% genetically identical; the only variable being the environment to separate us into two totally different human beings. There is no diversity, which is needed in an environment in order to improve survival, but we are the exception. Twins are very dependent on each other, dependent enough to have a closer bond than anyone else. A bond strong enough that will not budge despite the high tensions that exist when two of the exact same people are living in the same space.

***

Our competitive drive only became more aggressive once we reached middle school. The hallways were filled with musty sweat and pubescent youth, who somehow managed to find their way to the bathroom and not to their next class. All of the lockers were the same pale blue color and in alphabetical order, so naturally, my sister’s locker was right before mine. We were not in the same classes, but we made sure to fill each other in on what we did during the day. Yelling over the sea of 7th graders strolling by was the only way to communicate.

It was a special day. The end of the second quarter meant that report cards were handed out at the end of the day. The adrenaline pumped through my veins as the clock on the classroom wall ticked closer to 3:20 pm, and my anticipation grew. I was determined to have all As each quarter ever since third grade when I was grounded for my bad report card.

At the end of the day, we both ran home excited to tell our parents what we had received. My sister and I ate our yogurt at the kitchen counter while we raised our voices over each other. My mom just nodded her head as if she knew exactly what we were going to say. We scanned our report cards, lining them up side by side for optimal comparison. As my eyes shifted back and forth between each one, my body sunk lower and lower in my chair. My heart rate slowed, and my eyes began to feel droopy. My sister was rustling in her seat with joy, but I slumped up the stairs. My bed was the only thing that seemed inviting, my face sank into the pillow, and I began to weep.

Getting overpowered by my sister began to diminish my confidence, not only against her but against everything I did. To most people this was nothing out of the ordinary, some students got better grades than others. However, the disappointment I had in myself was far more than my parents, teachers, and any adult. In middle school, my life was surrounded by being better than my sister, when no one had ever told us to compare ourselves. No one had ever told me that if I did not get better grades than my sister then that meant I was a failure. So why was I so focused on not losing to her? We were supposed to be the same and I was different from her. I was worse than her.

***

Mile 1.5.

Halfway there. My legs flew through the air and crashed on the sandy path. The hill at 1.3 miles created a little distance between my sister and I. She caught back up to me and positioned herself in the exact same spot she was in before. My mind wanted to get in front of her, but it was too soon, I had to be patient. Just like in everything else that we competed in, if I went ahead of my sister she would eventually catch up to me, and beat me. She always had to be one step ahead.

***

The transition from middle school to high school is not easy for any teenager. It is a weird concept considering that you are going to school with people who can vote for the next president, and people who have yet to learn how to drive. This may sound surprising, but my sister and I were involved in the same sports: basketball, golf, cross country, and track.

We had been running together since we were too young to fit into a pair of shoes. Growing older meant that we could run farther and faster. Practice was just as intense as competing in cross-country meets. Running well in practice did not matter unless I was faster than my sister. A personal record did not matter unless it was faster than my sister’s personal record. The competition of the whole girls cross country team was no match for the competition of my twin.

Just like any other long day after our high school classes, my sister and I, along with other people on our team, set off for our five-mile run. My sister and I were the first pair in line on the sidewalk, setting the pace. My feet landed on each line on the sidewalk to propel myself faster along. My sister, as usual, a half a step in front of me, her heavy breathing made me clench my teeth harder. The way that her shoes hit the pavement, a tempo faster than mine, filled my head with annoyance. My brain wanted to shove her off the sidewalk and into the next bush, but I continued to push the pace. My lungs gasping for air after 40 minutes of trying to sprint ahead of one another, I finally had enough and halted to a stop.

“Are you just trying to annoy me?” I yelled as the steam diffused from my ears.

Since we had stopped running, the engines of the cars whizzing by were louder, creating wind that made my muscles work harder to stand straight. The rest of the girls in the running group were unphased by the outburst. I could hear the faint giggles in the background, my sister trying to keep a straight face.

***

Mile 2.

It was not time yet. I still needed to follow in my sister’s footsteps. We passed a large crowd huddled by the second-mile marker. My parents yelled something at us, but all I could hear was the loudness of my sister’s breathing. It was so loud. She was getting tired. I was getting tired. Each footstep felt harder to pull up, like someone was adding bricks to my shoes.

***

Almost three years later, my sister and I ended our day by doing homework together, 183 miles away from home. Somehow, we found our way to the same college studying the same major, but playing different sports, on different teams, and with different schedules. Nostalgia filled the room as our nightly homework studies have been a part of our routine for many, many years now. My thoughts wandered back to the past, and I asked my sister one question,

“Why do you have to always be one step ahead of me?”

Tapping her foot against the rug that did not feel any softer than the tile floor, she remarked,

“It’s simple, I want to beat the .01%, “

Both of us knew about the .01%, the sliver of difference present between us. The odds were against us. A number that is barely greater than zero is what we were fighting against, some may think striving for the difference is pointless. It may be pointless unless your whole life revolves around that tiny number.

***

I noticed every little thing about my sister but did not worry about anyone else. The little things that annoyed me about her did not annoy me in other people. Why was I so critical of everything she did? It was unfair of me to judge my sister so much. The competition drove us to repel each other. I did not want to be the same as her athletically when I already looked like her. I thought that if I was faster than her, I would stand out by myself, and not be labeled as a twin. The competition made us better athletes, both being nominated for the student-athlete of the year, emphasizing the word BOTH. The more I tried to be unlike my sister, the more that people saw us as the same person. We both had the same hardworking, striving-for-perfection attitude that allowed us to grow and get better at the same rate. However, the exception was when my sister and I trained the same, but she would beat me in races. I questioned why she was running faster than me when we were supposed to be the same. At the same time, I wanted to be different from my sister, but I also used the excuse of us being the same. I wanted the two of us to be different, yet nothing made sense when we did not perform at equal levels.

Many people throughout my life have coined the term “alpha and beta twin” to describe the power we had over each other. By default, I was the “beta twin” because I was born second, to be specific, one minute later. There were only a few moments where I got to be the alpha twin.

When other people call us the beta or alpha twin they meant it as a joke. However, the sound of my sister being called something above me was not music to my ears. The more people called her the alpha twin, the more I started to believe it. My confidence slipped away from me every time a friend group voted that she was the alpha twin. On the other hand, this raised the confidence in my sister. As we have grown older, she has acted like the protective older sister, the one who knows all.

***

Mile 2.5.

The finish line is so close. I was even with my sister now; we were the same. My strides were longer than hers, and my head bobbed side to side. Her strides were short, but she maintained a straight posture. We both simultaneously ducked under a tree branch and began our ascent up the final hill. She quickly turned her
head and grinned at me. The time was up.

***

My sister was the one who got a boyfriend first in high school. In college, she had been through different relationships whereas I had not. When I first started talking to different people, I could feel the protectiveness looming above my head. Her judgment against the people I was talking to made me question if I even liked them. She told me that she needed to approve of the boy before anything. She was my twin sister in an older brother’s body, waiting to strike a male in the face if I was ever hurt.

It made it hard to even talk to people when I was always compared to another person. The possibility of them thinking that they got the second-best twin was uncomforting, I did not want not to be the 2nd choice to anyone. Always striving for the alpha position, so that one day I would not have to worry about being the second choice.

Her power over me made her the more beautiful one, the more confident one, the one everyone liked better. Even though we look the same, we were anything but. The tension between the competition of our appearance grew. It grew so far that we would never wear the same clothes. Each strolling out of our separate dorm buildings, I looked across the road, still blurry from my morning eyesight, to see my sister wearing a pastel blue shirt from high school. I peered down at my shirt and tilted my head back in frustration. This instance had happened millions of times before, but it still stopped us mid-stride. “Go change.” Each of us not moving a muscle to see who would break first, who would be the alpha twin that day. Eventually, one of us would give up or lose to the stare-down and go back to change into different clothes.

***

There was a psychology article “Identical Strangers,” of two twins who were separated at birth, for a nature versus nurture study. They were unknowingly both raised by different families while being across the country from one another. Once they got older the two twins found each other, being very spiteful of the scientist who held them apart for so long. The twins did not beat the .01%, nature was the winner. They found their taste in books and music was the same. Interestingly, both of them also saw the same personality in the other person. They felt as if they had never been apart even after 35 years.

***

In my mind it is easier to compare us when we have the same clothes on – we stand out more. Being a twin was somewhat embarrassing because we were not like ordinary people. When we dress the same, the stares from people become more intense. Instead of people noticing we just look alike, they are focused on specific facial features and body structure when everything else is already the same. It is easier to not stand out when we look less alike when we do not look exactly like twins. My sister and I have lived our whole lives as twins, and wearing the same clothes just reminds us more of how much we look alike. If someone spends their whole life doing the same thing every day, would they not want a change?

It is easier for my sister and I to spot differences amongst ourselves than other people. My sister has a slightly wider face and squinty eyes like my dad. Her hair is an inch and a half longer than mine. My sister’s muscles are more prominent with a stronger, taller stature by two inches. Her ears have one more piercing than I do. Her resting face is more welcoming than the stern-looking expression on my face. If you hear her talk, she is louder and more confident in her voice. She is less worried about what everyone thinks, so you may hear her say something idiotic across campus. Hence, this is why everyone asks us for differences between ourselves when they want to tell us apart.

Twins are competing against each other at the exact same level. Fraternal twins may be of the opposite gender, have different hair colors, different heights, the list goes on. Regular siblings have all sorts of different variables that cause them to be very different, not living under the same conditions. My sister and I grew up exactly the same, in the same environment, playing the same sports, taking the same classes, and having the same type of style. Our likeness has driven us to try to be more different or independent, however, it is not enough. We still depend so much on each other for competition, to keep improving and growing in our lives. We strive not to be the same when our drive to win is only creating convergence between us.

***

My sister and I no longer live in our middle-class home on Fillmore Street. We moved to the city nearby, where we have lived ever since third grade. I arrived at my house after being away for three consecutive months at college. I slid the glass door open to the backyard, my bare feet felt the grooves on the wooden deck. My two dogs ran under and between my legs, dashing down the hill. The yellow and orange leaves created an autumn tornado in the backyard right around our old tetherball pole. The poor yellow ball had gone through so much in the past 12 years. Some of the yellow leather was ripped, and the ball crinkled and deflated. This tetherball pole brought the whole neighborhood into our backyard.

When I was younger the tetherball in our backyard was like a neighborhood shrine. A three-hour competition after school would leave me exhausted by dinner time. I could still feel the rope burn on my forearms and the sting of my palms trying to hit the ball. Even though I was drained after three hours with the neighbor kids, my sister and I continued to play, until my mom was screaming at us to come inside. We were both very good because we played so much. I smacked the ball with all of my force and the ball hit my sister square in the nose. She immediately bent over, and tears rushed out of her eyes. Before I could help her, I had to make sure the tetherball went around the pole completely. I wanted to be able to boast about my win after her pain eased. Even after my sister was attacked by the tether ball, she was back trying to beat me five minutes later.

I went back inside to carry my bags into my room, all the stuffed animals that I had accumulated since I was younger were scattered on my bed. On the opposite wall, I admired all of the trophies and medals I had won, thinking that my sister has the exact same ones. We no longer run against each other in races or play in golf meets together, but the competition between us has never stopped, and it may never end. Sitting on the white floating shelves, the awards coated in dust were not just because of my talent, but also because of the help of my sisters 99.9%.

***

Mile 3.1.

My sister and I sprinted down the flag-lined path that led to the finish line. I was falling behind, with no more energy to spare.

My sister yelled to me, “Come with me, c’mon.”

She pulled my hand across the finish, her foot crossing .01 second before mine. I collapsed on the ground, the grass itching my skin. I could not move, but all I saw was my sister with her hands on
her knees reaching for my hand. I groggily got up, stumbling over my own feet, and I gave my sister a weak hug.

It was only .01 of a second. A .01% chance of being different.