My Beautiful Mind

5.

We're running. 

Up and down busy streets, back alleyways, public gardens, and parks. I know Boston on the back of my hand; it's not so hard to understand. Although it can be overwhelming because of the high volume of people, congested traffic, and claustrophobia, it's all I've ever known. Despite the constant smog that escapes car exhausts and smokestacks, today the air is cold and brisk to breathe in, with hints of peppermint and chocolate. There's always something special about the city during the holidays. Wreaths grace the polished windows of the Macy's in Downtown Crossing, carolers entertain shoppers on street corners, and an occasional department store Santa strolls down the street taking a smoke break followed by an entourage of elves.

The sun's about to set; it hovers just over the tops of the skyscrapers, ready to disappear for the day. In a race against time, we sprint for five blocks in the direction of an abandoned factory building, nearly knocking over pedestrians in our wake. As soon as we step foot onto the roof, the sky explodes into bright hues of pink, orange, red, and yellow. I sit down on an old wooden crate and sigh happily, "It never gets old does it, Alex?" Alexander grins and perches himself on the edge of the roof. "I guess the view's not too shabby," he says. But I know he's much more enamoured by the sunset than he wants to admit. His amber colored eyes, exact replicas of mine, intently examine with a painter's close scrutiny the blend of colors in the sky so he could perhaps splash it across a canvas. That is, if there's enough money to spare to buy a canvas...as well as paints.

When Alex looks up at the sky, I notice that there's a smear of dirt on his cheek from when we emptied trash bags from dumpsters for one of our temporary jobs. "Hey, you have a little something on your face. Lemme get it." I lick my thumb and try to wipe it off, but Alex swats my hand away, his cheeks flushed a dark red. "I can clean it myself, dearest sister. Stop babying me, I'm nine minutes older than you," he says embarrassed while rubbing his face violently. I laugh and return to my seat.

For as long as I can remember, it's just been Alex and I, roaming the streets not bound to anyone or anything except to each other. At first, I was convinced that enduring this cruel, cold world with only my brother would lead to a lonely existence, but after years of our exhilarating adventures being chased by the police, doing an odd job here and there, and feeding ducks in the Public Garden, I couldn't imagine surviving the streets with anyone else. We've been through it all: the pain of losing our parents at such a young age, the terror of experiencing life truly on our own, the judgement we received for evading the foster care system until we were legally adults.

As much as I don't like to admit it, year after year I grow increasingly uncertain of our future together. One day, Alex will find another companion and leave me to my own devices, but I don't know if I'll be able to survive it. Maybe I've been too much of a burden for him. Alex gives so much, there are times when I completely forget we're twins. If I show even a minuscule indication that I'm hungry, he's immediately on the search for food. If I shiver, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over my shoulder like it's second nature.

Nowadays, I notice that he's been hanging out with a group of men from a bar; whereas, a few years ago, he'd never talk to anyone but me. I think he's slipping further and further away and not even a police hunt in the middle of the night can create such fear within me that I silently cry myself to sleep every night.

I'm shaken out of my thoughts when Alex gently grabs my hand to pull me up, "C'mon Adela, let's see if we can get a few hot chocolate samples. I saw a free advertisements on our way here." I offer him a smile and follow him down the stairs. From afar, Alex doesn't look like a homeless runaway. With a black trench coat and a grey beanie that he found on a park bench, he appears to be an ordinary young man exploring the wonders of urban living, but I know that under the layers of clothing, his body is marred with scars from years of fights just for a piece of bread to cease my hunger and scrapes from sleeping on the rough pavement while he insists I take our one sleeping bag.