A Twin Like Me...cont'd.

Continuing with my prior posts, I thought I'd share an excerpt from one of my essays titled: The Birthplace.

     I don't remember that day, the day of my birth, obviously. However, my mother has often recounted the experience to me and my twin, my sister and I, whenever we ask. It would be another twenty-one years, before my sister and I would, or could, return to that hospital. At over twenty, it occurred to us, after we gained access to the building, which was now closed, we trespassed government property for this experience. But, the call, the urge, the need to stand in the room of my birth, our birth, drove us with such strength, we ignored the "no trespassing" signs, jiggled the locked doors until we found one broken and gained access.
     There, on that hot summer day, my twin and I stood alongside my older brother (of thirteen months), within that now abandoned circular room filled with dust and dirt from the nearby desert. Staring up at the large windows, I contemplated the image of the then packed pandemonium platform above us. What thoughts ran around the heads of those who watched this miracle birth? Had breaths been held, or gasps released at the screaming cries of Baby B? Immediately after entering my mind, the image evaporated.
This room, this spot we stood in, marked the beginning of my life as a twin. I would never be alone in life, as long as my twin lived. Sometimes I believe even after her death, I won’t be alone. So, it began on that day, a life of not I, but us. Not me, but we. No mine, but ours. We really began together. Would the day come in which we ended together? That’s a thought I avoid contemplating.