D.R.S.

So, today during my tutoring session I was helping my tutoree/friend/(not sure of the correct term here) compose a piece of writing. 

I was desperately searching for my old English portfolio, but couldn't find it anywhere. I remembered a piece of writing I did the fall semester of my sophomore year of college... my favorite piece of writing to date, and decided to show it to her as an example.

Quickly after reading it I was reminded how much I loved this piece of writing and decided I wanted to share it with you. 

(Disclaimer: Some of the details are not completely accurate, so don't hate on me if I've written something wrong, please!) 

Life as a Twin: Learning to Share

            It’s cold and windy outside as I force the door shut behind me. School was boring and I was ready to be home. I walk in the kitchen and my brother sits at the table with his laptop.

            “What’s up?” I said.

            “I need help writing this essay,” he said, “It’s my application for Ohio State.”

            The coldness I just recently had experience was gone as blood rushed to my face.

            Ohio State…Columbus… that’s almost three hours away. Reality – it hit hard.

You see, my brother isn’t just my brother, he’s my best friend, he’s my twin. September 5, 1990 Dustin Ryan Shreve came in to this world at 4:16 a.m. Exactly six minutes later I came following, which is pretty much how its been my whole life.

            I regained composure with tears in my eyes and sat down next to him. “Okay,” I say, “What do you need help with?”

            We sit there as I read over his words, poetically written, but sprinkled with grammatical errors and a few punctuation mistakes. I was always jealous of his ability to put such powerful sentences together. I had been writing since I could remember. I loved to write. I joined newspaper my sophomore year of high school and made it my passion and of course encouraged Dustin to join. Our junior year he became our sports editor. I’ll never forget how moving his articles were. I’ll never forget any of them actually, since he had me copy edit every one of them. Come to think of it he’s had me copy edit about every paper and article he’s ever written. I loved having this job, I love being his editor.

            I add a couple commas and reword a few sentences. “So, you really want to go to Ohio State?” I asked.

            Who was I kidding, this kid was the biggest Ohio State fan in the world, I was sure of it. He knew every player, coach, stat, record, and award that had anything to do with the scarlet and gray. His room covered from the block O mural on his wall to his bedspread, lamps, light covers, and Woody Hayes book that sits on his night stand. Yeah, he definitely wanted to go to Ohio State.

I, as well, love the Buckeyes. It’s in my blood, since my dad was raised on the outskirts of Akron, Ohio. I’ll never forget my brother’s first Ohio State game, mainly because he chose to take me with him. His face had the most excited look I’ve ever seen as he took in the busy streets of downtown Columbus. We got to the Horseshoe two hours before the game started to see the team walk in. As I stood there watching boys a little older than my brother walk in to the field and the honorable Coach Jim Tressel move only feet away from us, I was so happy for my brother. And so honored that he let me be part of that experience with him. I loved being his friend.

            Caught on a wordy sentence I refocused my attention on his essay as he walked to the refrigerator and took out a can of Pepsi, sure to have been his fourth or fifth of the day. He never did have a good diet. Oh, the miserable dinners of our childhood! My poor brother, although older, was so small. At the age of three I shot up and it wasn’t until our junior year of high school that he was taller than me. We would sit for hours at the dinner table. Mom would make huge meals for Dad; mashed potatoes, corn, green beans, biscuits, and so on. Dustin liked pop, Slim Jims and hotdogs.  My dad wanting nothing more than to see Dustin grow to be a strong young man would fill his plate for him; mounds of mashed potatoes, and vegetables and those dreaded biscuits Dustin still despises.

            “Don’t get up from the table until your plate is clean,” Dad would say.

            Mom would clean the table and dishes and I would sit there.

            “Come on Bubby, you can do it. Two more bites,” I’d encourage. I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t just let him sit there alone. On more than one occasion I would take his plate and eat his food for him soon after yelling, “Dad! Dad! Come look at Dustin’s plate!” He would get approval and we could go on about the rest of our night. I loved this. I loved being his surrogate stomach.

            The last few paragraphs of his essay reflect on his home town and the one thing that brings this town together: football. Dustin was the star of our football team. Well, maybe that’s a little biased, but it’s what I thought. He was not the quarterback or the star running back, but he was the only player who received “First Team All-State” honors two years in a row. He was also one of the only players who knew how to get low, wrap his arms, and lay a hard hit on someone. It was more than just that, though. My brother was a leader on the field and more importantly, he was smart. He could read a pass or predict the way a play would go before anyone. Our sophomore year my brother and his teammates finished their regular season 8 and 2, losing only to Sissonville and our dreaded county rival, Tolsia.  It was the third round of playoffs and the winner of this game would go on to the state championship. We played Bluefield High School, the team that always seemed to be our final game. They beat us miserably a few years ago in the state championship and they surely didn’t care to do it again on our home field. I was in the very front of the student section as the final minutes were ticking off the clock. Two minutes left and we were up by six points. Bluefield had the ball on their forty-yard line. One touchdown and it was over.

The huddles broke. The whistle blew. The ball snapped. Bluefield’s quarterback threw a perfect spiral over the line and as soon as it approached its target a hand knocked it away from the receiver. The ball clumsily fell through the air and the same hand that had knocked it away grabbed it before falling on the ground.

            “Intercepted by Dustin Shreve!!” burst through the loud speaker from the same familiar voice that has announced my brother’s name since he was five years old playing midget league football.

            I went nuts. I grabbed my poster board, which I was known for, that proudly boasted, “That’s my brother!” I held it up as I stood on the railing shaking trying to keep balance. The crowd was on their feet, people cheering, some hugging, the old men shaking hands. Then there was me, standing on the railing bawling my eyes out. I was so proud of my brother. We went on to beat our county rivals in the state championship that year. The first football state championship our school has ever won and my brother helped us get it. I loved being his cheerleader.

            “Are you almost done?” Dustin asked.

            I looked up, eyes slightly misty and finished scanning over his final sentences. “There is no reason you shouldn’t get in. Good essay,” I said.

            I got up from the table and walked away. I sauntered down the long hallway that had been extended when we were ten years old. All four of us had slept in the same room that summer the addition was being put on the house. The hallway is one big shrine to Dustin and Casey, with huge 12x9 pictures of us at six months, one year, and so on, we were inseparable. Eighteen years of togetherness and never once had I ever thought about what it might be like when the day came for us to finally go our separate ways.

            I reached my room and turned with my back facing it, peering in to the room directly across from mine. My brother’s room, though the décor is slightly different, has never really changed. His bed was messy; his Xbox still on; his basket of clothes rummaged through; his little league trophies on display above his bed, right beside his first squirrel he ever shot, which Dad mounted even though Dustin blew the entire ear off. It’s those little things that illustrated my brother perfectly.

            I entered my room and slumped on my bed. I could handle this I thought to myself. I would be okay, but how would Dustin make it without me? For as long as he’s cared he’s been coming across that same hallway to approve outfits for school, or an important date. I am always the one he comes to when deciding whether to wear the hat or don’t wear the hat, or boots or sneakers? Who would he ask about girls when he was trying to win over the right one? And who would hunt down the evil girl who dared to break his heart? These were all my duties as his sister, friend, and twin. No, he couldn’t go away to college. He needed me for too much. I would be fine, but he couldn’t make it without me.

            The essay was typed and printed, folded and stuffed, stamped and sent to Columbus, Ohio. All that was left to do was to wait. Each week passed and I watched my brother looked through the mail each evening, nervously hoping that the letter showcasing his acceptance would be in one of those envelopes. Finally, my mom came in the kitchen for dinner one night and she handed him a letter. His eyes widened. He tore in to the letter. I tried to read his face as he scanned the words inside the letter, but could decipher nothing. Finally he lifted his head. ACCEPTED. His childhood dream granted in a single envelope.  But he couldn’t go away to college. He needed me far too much. I would be fine, but how could he make it without me? I wanted more than anything in the world to ask him this question, but it was obviously the farthest thought from his mind. Not sure what to do with the emotions that swirled inside me, I just did the only thing he wanted me to do: “Oh my gosh, that’s awesome. Congratulations!” And that was it.

            My twin, whom I love more than anything in the world had just achieved one of his biggest goals in life and I was sad. Where was the cheerleader that I had always been? Where was the one who had always encouraged him to be whatever he wanted? The one who reassured him that he could do anything he put his mind to?

            

I realized in that moment, I was being completely selfish. My brother had accomplished something he had worked for his entire life and I had secretly hoped against it. What I didn’t take the time to think about through this entire process was that I had a childhood unlike most people in this world, because he was in it. While most people search their whole life for their “other half” I’ve had one since birth.  I was blessed beyond belief because for my entire life I got to share literally everything with the person that I was closest to. It was only fair for me to realize that I would eventually have to share Dustin with the rest of the world sooner or later. It was just sooner, rather than later for me.  And in doing that I would be sharing the greatest part of my life with the rest of the world. 

I always get asked what it's like to be a twin, and to be honest this is the closest I've ever been to putting it in to words I was pleased with. I hope you enjoyed. 

(Disclaimer 2: He didn't end up going to Ohio State and still lives across the hall from me! YAY happy ending! )

(And bless you if you read that entire thing!)