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“You’re not Neil,” he recalls hearing this many times. Objectively, it’s the truth. Lyle Dylandy isn’t Neil Dylandy.
It isn’t that the truth bothers him… it’s the look of disappointment that comes with it.
“Of course I’m not Neil.” His response is swift, quick. Too quick, even.
Children are surprisingly cruel, the moment they pick up on the fact that something bothers you, they’ll relentlessly push on it. Over, and over, and over again. Like picking a scab when the skin isn’t done healing, peeling it off, laughing about it and then leaving it alone until they feel like repeating the process all over again.
That’s why Lyle must be crueler.
“To begin with, who told you that I was Neil? No one’s said anything like that. You just went ahead and assumed it all by yourself, so, it’s your fault if you’re disappointed.” He attempts to appear bigger as he speaks – even though this is stupid. This argument serves no purpose.
Regardless of whether he vents out his frustrations now… or holds it all in.
It won’t change his dissatisfaction.
It isn’t that he wants to be Neil, what’s so good about Neil, anyway? They don’t know him the way he knows him. The Neil that everyone outside of their family knows is the Neil that’s perfect, calm, composed, kind.
He knows this Neil, too – of course he does, these are great qualities his brother has – but he also knows the Neil that snores, the one who smacks him on the face with the back of his hand whenever they’re forced to share a bed, the one who’d put him on a headlock and drag him around.
Lyle is kind too, and he can be composed – it’s just difficult when everyone seems to try and get on his nerves by talking about nothing but Neil.
By the time he breaks away from everything and everyone… he thinks that’s it. That finally, his life as Lyle Dylandy can begin.
He doesn’t realize until much later just how terrifying becoming your own person truly is. Unspoken bonds between twins that transcend space and time have always been things that Lyle never understood, after all – the twins never seem to have been able to look at things at eye level. Neil never understood his struggles (or maybe it was that Lyle never wanted to share them with him) and having someone who looks so eerily similar to yourself is something that can be terrifying.
They say that in the world, there’s at least seven people who look exactly like you. Does that apply to them, too? Do those seven people multiply simply because there’s two of them? Are they already included in the count?
“Listen, Lyle…”
It’s during a freshmen party that Lyle’s attention is stolen away. He doesn’t like places like this, he comes to realize… but he’s desperate. When your sense of self is so weak, you’ll do anything to establish yourself. It works for a bit, he just has to put up with it enough that he’ll attract some attention, cement himself as the guy who’s always there.
The alcohol helps.
And people remember his name, even if he still doesn’t quite feel like he belongs. That’ll come with time (hopefully), the fact that they approach him to invite him to these outings should be enough proof that it’s working.
“Something really weird happened today.”
He doesn’t even have to listen for the most part, all of these conversations go the same. Chicks, cars, complaining about how the assignments are piling up, and then laughing it all off when they remember that they’re out here, in a party, instead of tending to their responsibilities. The secret is that he has to nod, sip on his drink and laugh, chiming in with some insightful commentary like that’s how it is and you know how it goes. Foolproof.
“I saw this guy walking down the street, man, when I tell you he could’ve passed off as your twin! I thought it was you for a second, but then it hit me – I’ve never seen you wearing red.”
The world stops spinning, what? Did he seriously forget he had a twin brother? It isn’t like he forgot, really… it the wording that takes him for a ride. I thought it was you. To have someone think about Lyle Dylandy when looking at Neil Dylandy is a concept so alien to him that he feels sick.
Somehow, even when the world feels like a blur, he manages to laugh it off and excuse himself after a brief talk. Maybe it’s the alcohol going to his head, he feels lightheaded, dizzy, sick.
Tomorrow’s hangover will be legendary, he attempts to comfort himself as he fumbles with the keys of his dorm.
It feels like the balance of his world has been disturbed, he doesn’t even realize how hard he’s frowning until he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He wonders for how long he’s looked like this. It’s one thing when you’re the one being constantly compared, did he get used to it? Is his sense of self so void that he can’t process the situation?
He never wanted to be Neil. He figures that Neil feels the same way. He’s never wanted to be Lyle (and he doesn't have to be, he doesn't have to pretend, unlike himself).
He never wanted to be Neil, and yet, he’s the calm, composed and kind voice of reason. He’s the reliable friend that’s always there, helping whenever you have trouble with an assignment. He’s doing all the things that Neil used to do whenever they lived together.
The realization floors him, or maybe it’s the alcohol.
“… Of course he’s not me,” the chuckle is dry, he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care as he kicks his shoes off, slicks his hair back and fishes for the open pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He wonders if Neil smokes, if he drinks.
He realizes that he doesn’t want to know.