InnocenceWilliam Russell

I would have been called handsomeLongish blonde hair over a pale, clear complexion with blue eyes that shone out under a pale forehead.My hands were soft and delicate, with fingernails a little long. A small pink scar decorated the inside of my right hand, the reminder of a childhood accident with a potato peeler.I would have been called handsome, if not for my brother.He looks exactly like me. We are twins, you see. He cuts his hair shorter than mine. He likes it that way. His hands are a bit stubbier and he has told me that his ring finger on his left hand isnt so good when he types. He prefers short shirts to my penchant for long sleeves, and would rather have broccoli when I would have pasta.The reason that I am not called handsome is because my brother and I are joined together at the back of the head.We are conjoined, or Siamese, twins. We were born back to back, with one skull structure between us. Our brains were smashed against each other a birth, the parietal lobes connected, and a couple of small fractures in our heads allowed us a tiny bit of mobility, only about three- fourths of an inch tilt in each direction.We called ourselves lucky that we had made it this far. Our lives have hard, but we made it through high school and we both work at the same computer company, B.U., or Bit-tech United. We spend eight hours a day sitting back to back in a shared cubicle, copying code from one screen to another, placing in order numbers and charging according to the order and the size.We had worked there for five years, and we are now about 27. We have the same routine, waking up and taking a shower, dressing and eating all in a small apartment. A cab, government sponsored, drives us to our work with us sitting in the backseat, my head looking out the right window and his looking out the left. Always. I saw the coffee shop, the bookshop with the fat, mustachioed man placing books out front. The caf with the couple that always drank tea together. We would arrive at work, and He would lead me to the elevator, usually getting some pitying looks from the guests waiting to be seen by various members of the company. We would get in the elevator, press for floor 2, and hear the ding of us being let through.The security guard at the desk would say Hello Rick, Hello BillAnd we would say, in unison Hello TomTom was blind in one eye and the left brown orb never really looked at your straight on.We would be taken through the gate, after signing in with our ID and walk into the elevator.We step into the elevator. Hullo Bill, Hullo Rick Says Cromwell, an enormous balding man who worked in the cubicle across from us.Hello Cromwell We would both say. Cromwell was having trouble with his wife at home again. You could tell, he was fidgeting with his ring the whole time.We would get off, he would sign us into the room with the single ID badge, and he would lead me to the cubicle. He walked first, and saw everything that came in front. I see everything that happens behind. We walk into the cubicle, a small bench and two computers. We turn ours on simultaneously. We sit at that desk during our break and to eat lunch, only standing up to exit the building, again, by the elevator.Hey Rick, Hey Bill Veronica would say.Hey Veronica Rick would sayHello Veronica I would say. Rick liked Veronica. You could feel it.We would get off the elevator.Good night, Bill, Good night, RickGood night, TomAnd we would go home, shower, eat dinner, brush our teeth, and fall asleep.Sunday was different though. Sunday, we had off work.Rick liked Sundays. I hated them.Walks through the park were just that walks. Rick would be humming and bumbling along while I strutted backwards, our feet in impeccable sync. He would stop to look at a flower and I could tell. The homeless man who drank mouthwash at the corner was always there, asking in a horse whisper if a passerby would spare some money. He never asked us.The thing that irked me about these strolls in the afternoon was the people in the park. Bike riders, Skateboarders, and little children were everywhere. The little boys and girls would all run to their mothers, saying Mummy! Mummy! Look! Its a Chinese twin! And their mothers would take them into their arms, going Shh, Shh, its Siamese, darling. And Rick and Bill would walk along like they never noticed, Rick bumbling and humming while Bill followed along.

Our routine was interrupted the day the police came. There was a knock on our apartment door, two men in black uniforms with shiny caps and black ties stood there, flashing shiny badges in our faces and asking who was who. I told them that I was Bill, and that He was Rick. Than the police told us that their names were Officer Sullivan and Officer Fief. Officer Sullivan as a big, red, robust man. Fief was a small, dark man. They told us that Rick could say anything in court that he wanted to, and that he had the right to remain silent, and that he could get a lawyer if he wanted to. Rick nodded; I could feel the sweat trickling down both our heads.Officer Sullivan handcuffed Rick behind his back, pressing his trembling hands into my spine. Officer Fief looked at me after a while, and then hesitantly placed the handcuffs on my hands, arching our backs as they lead us out the door and towards the car. We could not get in, as we had to face the different ways, so they called an ambulance to take us away. On the ride there, I was facing right, and He was facing left.We arrived at the police station, and Rick was fingerprinted. I was not. We were taken out of handcuffs and put into a small cell. Rick was crying. I was angry. Officer Sullivan was on the phone; you could hear his thick Irish brogue in undertones talking about what we should do with the innocent one. I sat on one half of the chair, feeling Him occupy the other half, him staring at the toilet to the left, and me staring at the single bunk on the right. Officer Sullivan walked in. Alright, I just had a call with the people above me, looks like your staying here for a little while Bill. He nodded and closed the door. Rick cried some more.What do you do when you are innocent, but the guilty party has dragged you along? We could not be separated. That would mean the death of one of us. He could not be set free. He had stolen money from the government and corporations, pocketed it. And I could not have seen it, because I only saw what he did not, and I could not see what he did.We sat in that cell for a couple days, and we both worried. It was as if I was a guilty as he was. You could hear him cry into the night. I knew he was crying for himself.We did not sleep much that night. A fat man was brought in kicking and screaming; blood splattered down the front of his blue button-up shirt. Later a man was dragged in, and we could hear him vomiting in the cell next to ours. A crying woman was also brought in. We could hear her sobbing quietly.I could feel Rick tense up, his hands clenching and unclenching, I felt the skin on the back of my head stretch as he flexed his jaw over and over, shivering.Officer Sullivan walked in and reintroduced himself as Officer Sullivan, as if he did not do so the night before. He talked about legal preceding and all this other gibberish before giving Rick some papers to sign. Rick sat dead in his seat; he did not move an arm when the pen was given to him. I might have mistaken him for sleeping but for the constant locking and unlocking of his knees and his jaw, working up and down as if chewing on a sock. His knuckles were white against the seat, which had been turned sideways so we were awkwardly perched on half a seat each, our backs sore from having to hold on for so long. Officer Sullivan sighed as Rick stared at the papers, refusing to sign. He stood up and stared at him, and started screaming. You could see his reflection in the shiny white paint on the walls, his hands whipping back and forth in a controlled rage. He took a deep breath and removed the papers from the table, and we were escorted back to the cell, where we sat listening to the young man vomit every half-hour and the fat man snore quietly, although it must have been almost noon. We did not hear the woman.Rick screamed and slammed his head down on the table, lurching me up as if somebody was pulling my hair, my back cracked and I cried out in surprise. He stood up, grabbing the bars and slamming his head into them, I felt my own face rattle as he mauled the bars with his forehead. His slams were forceful, the metal bars were sturdy, and the pain was unbearable. Soon I felt flecks of hot blood against the back of my shirt, Rick screaming in rage. I grabbed his hands and pushed all my weight forward, yelling for help. Rick was shivering now, his jaw clenching back and forth. By the time the officers arrived, he was unconscious and I was feeling nauseous from his assault on himself.

It was three months since we were separated, his disease could have spread to my brain and caused me trauma. Apparently he had smashed in his own frontal lobe against the bars, and it had gotten infected, the bacteria eating through his brain as I laid next to him in the hospital bed. They cut us apart, and I was placed back in my home to live a normal life. Today was the day I started work again.I outside after a shower and breakfast, noticing that the cab that was usually there was not. So I hailed one, having the strangest feeling to lean the back of my head on a headrest, instead of against one. We drove until my block, when I gave him some money and he drove off, leaving me to walk in.There was a new man at the front. His eyes were bright and new, not the old dull eyes of Tom. I flashed my ID and he pointed me towards the elevator.Cromwell stepped in behind me. Hullo BillHullo Cromwell I noticed that he no longer wore his ring.I walked into my cubicle, it was strange to be walking front-ways, and I lurched rigidly into the cubicle and sat down, starting up the computer. I ate lunch at my desk, as usual, and exited the building at 3:15. As I stepped into the elevator, Veronica stepped in next to me.Hi BillHi Veronica I noticed that she had not put on makeup or jewelry today, and her clothes were grey and black.I decided that I must walk through the park. It was getting dark, and I walked briskly, the cold air whistling my tie up and around my neck. I passed the sparkling pond, the teenaged couple on the bench, and the old homeless man. As I passed, he turned to me.Spare some change, my brother?I looked at him, reached into my wallet, and pulled out a five-dollar bill. This is for my brother. I placed it in his cup, and walked away, noticing all the things that you can see from walking forwards, not backwards.