Soft, dirty blond tresses floated to rest on the floor, and I looked back and smiled. I watched my sister with relief. Finally. I took a deep breath and relaxed, listening to the rhythmic snips of scissors against hair.

“Keep your head straight.” The hairdresser pulled my locks in a bunch behind me. It fell just past my shoulders in a chestnut wave, slightly bleached by the sun.

“Just a trim for you this time, hun?” I nodded. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hairstyle had been the same for a while now; bangs, no layers, just straight. My eyes stared back at me, shiny grayish-blue orbs that blinked upon inquiry. Freckles dappled my face, even onto my button nose and apple cheeks. I gave myself a smile and my dimples showed. It’s weird to think that there was another person in this world who looked almost exactly like me.

“So, what do you think?” my sister appeared behind me, grinning into the mirror, stroking her new hairstyle. My hairdresser untied my cape and I stood up next to Grace. I was a good two inches taller than her. Her hair swished just above her shoulders in a nice bob. She looked at me with her icy eyes and gave me a small smile.

“It’s good.” I responded truthfully.

“So do you think they will tell us apart, now?”

“…Not likely. People don’t really care who’s who. They’re just obsessed with the concept of looking alike.” I nonchalantly replied to my sister, but it bothered me. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders. No matter how she and I tried to be different, juxtaposing each other, whether it is my pink highlights against her blue streaks, or her bleach-blond to my pitch black, no one could ever tell the difference. The exception being our parents and our closest friends, who came to learn that, our personalities weren’t even on the same wavelength.

The weirdest thing is that we aren’t even identical twins. We each had our own egg, our own sperm, and our own space. We just happened to be born at the same time. When people look at Grace, they see me. When they look at me, they see her. Looking at my sister, I don’t see myself. She’s not a mirror to conveniently glance at to see if every strand of hair is in its place, nor an excuse to stay home from school and send her instead. If I don’t do my homework, I’m the one who gets in trouble. When she sprains her ankle, she’s the one who gets hurt.

People don’t realize how offensive it is to think that it’s okay to mix up two different human beings. One of my teachers actually called us Twin A and Twin B. I confronted him after this continued, telling him that this is unfair and prejudice, and his response was,

“It’s okay. I’m a twin too.” It does not make any sense to me. The paradox of twins is that they never want to be the same, while everyone who is born as a regular individual wants nothing more than to have their own clone. When asked,

“What’s it liked to have a twin?” I am perplexed at where one would get the idea to ask such a thing. It is the same as asking “What is it like to have brown eyes?”

“Well, what is it like to NOT be a twin?” I have never known any different.