Looking Back At Him

It was a cruel game Bob and Clay had played on their father. Back when they were younger, when they were still the same height and their voices sounded exactly alike (Clay’s voice broke first, Bob ended up being taller), they’d pretend to be one another. It was easy, in the mornings, for Bob to dig through Clay’s duffel bag and pull on some of his clothes. Clay just had to pull a baseball cap on backward to cover his hair, let Bob carry his bass case, and their father never knew.

But in dreams the prank took on a twist. Most nights, once a show was ready to roll, Bob and Clay would have to give themselves up, because they were good actors, but they couldn’t play each other’s instruments.

More than once Scott had woken up to the sound of Bob tossing and turning, moaning and kicking at the sheets. Bob was usually the quietest sleeper of them all, and Clay would kneel beside him, shake him hard, but it was impossible to wake him up.

Because in his sleep, no one believed him when he tried to take his identity back. He was twelve years old and backstage, tapping his foot impatiently, because Dad’s pep talk was the same every night, and Bob just wanted to crank out his twenty-five push-ups and hit the stage. Twenty-five push-ups it was, and then Bob was on his feet. He rolled his wrists a few times to loosen them up, tugged his gloves on, and reached for his drum sticks - only Clay had picked them up and was heading for the stage.

Bob tried to catch his shoulder, protest, but then his father yelled at him, told him to come pick up his bass, because Scott was already onstage. Bob tried to explain the truth, that he really wasn’t Clay, that Clay would completely and utterly ruin the rhythm line, but his father shook him, told him the bass was part of the rhythm section too, and to get out there, because Dan was terrible at stalling a crowd.

Bob insisted - he wasn’t Clay. His father spun him around, tugged the baseball cap off his head, and pushed him toward the mirror.

The face looking back at him was Clay’s.

Bob screamed.

He opened his eyes, and the face looking back at him was Clay’s. He lashed out, tried to break the mirror with his fists, and then Clay had him by the wrists and Dan was beside him, stroking his shoulder and making wordless, soothing sounds.

For the next two days, Bob refused to look in a mirror.

(443 words)