Reflection
I can’t help but wonder: Did I make the right choice?
Thinking back on it, I can’t decide if I did. Was it due to self-preservation? Or to continue a dream that would have been lost? Or perhaps some other motivator for what I did.
We grew up in an orphanage, together, my twin brother and I. We only had each other to count on, never far apart. My brother, he had a dream, to be a legendary racer. He loved the idea of racing, took to it like no one else ever had as far as I knew. And I loved my brother, he was my world, my only constant. My own dream? Only to help my brother achieve his. So I worked hard, became a “genius”, a mechanic. To always be there for him.
When we were old enough to actually go underground for street racing, my twin was a natural. He lived and breathed the track and speed and danger. Me? All I did was make sure his car was as capable as the driver. Still, he never denounced me or claimed it was all him. He shared all of his accomplishment with me. It was nice, even if I just wanted to fade away from it all.
He was happy, driving. I took to coding in my spare time, learning the ins and outs as well as how to manage money better. My brother always said he wasn’t smart enough to do any of these things, said he loved that I was his other half. I could see it, his positive to my negative. Nothing could separate us. At least, that was always the thought.
Yet one day, that horror filled day, we were. A party he was insistent I go with him to. And surprisingly, he wanted me to drive. To “experience” the thrill. I had just chuckled at his antics, giving in. I always did with my twin. It wasn’t the first time I had driven for him either. I wish I had declined.
It was all fine, as we headed out of the busy city. Just a night out for the two of us. We were going to go into the minors soon, a celebration. Then they came. I didn’t know who or why at the time, but they came and drove us off the road. I vaguely remember the crash and rolling, down a mountain. I don’t know how long I had blacked out, but I came to with a gasp, coughing.
I can’t remember the details, only the car on fire and trashed, of getting out and pulling my brother with me. He was so still. I shook him, trying to wake him, throat burning as I called his name. And he did wake up. Coughing blood, body a wreck. He reached up to my face, placing his palm against the side, caressing my cheek. He told me it was all his fault, that they were coming for me. His breathing was labored, tears fell from my eyes onto him. I begged him to save his energy. His rasping breath told me to live for us both. And his hand dropped. I shook him, I begged him, don’t leave, I needed him.
But he was gone.
Everything kind of blurred at that point. Maybe I passed back out or maybe none of it mattered. I do remember waking up in a hospital. The doctor there told me I had complications due to the crash. My throat was risky to fix and I would have breathing issues going forward from something happening to my lung. I, admittedly, didn’t pay too much attention. It was after, when someone I had never met approached me, telling me this is what happens when you anger the wrong people. They called me by my twin’s name.
Didn’t they realize I wasn’t him? That I never could be. He was so full of life. I was only a shadow. Still, the world moved forward. I barely noticed. I kept hearing his voice telling me to take care of myself. A congregation of others came by, saying they had prepared all the funeral needs. They wanted me to look it over.
The funeral itself was rained on. How fitting. I didn’t really know any of them. All of his friends and fanbase. I stood numbly by as everything proceeded. I wished the grumpy old owl was there. Sure we had only met and chatted once a long time ago, but he always stood out to me. Chatting from cars to personal lives during one of those conventions. We both were rather hermit like, neither of us really interested in socializing, yet brought together through a passion.
Everyone had left a long time ago as I stood there. Staring at the gravestone. Did I make the right decision? He told me to live for us. Was it self preservation? Or a desire to keep his dream alive? Or something else? I don’t know. I just stared at the grave. His body rested below. My name decorated the stone.
I chose to become him. To make his name a legend in the racing world. So no one would forget him. My brother, my world, my life. All buried at that mound.
My twin’s name? My new name?
Axle.
