#forgottenwars

My father was one of those wildlife photographers, but I never thought I’d wind up like him. Someone who was constantly on the move, following this animal or that, and getting paid to see things that you could hardly believe existed unless you saw them in person. Sometimes I went with him, just on the shorter trips, because I wanted to know what he did. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy the traveling or seeing foreign lands or strange animals. That stuff, that was my dad’s stuff. That was his thing. And I was his, too, so I wanted to follow him around, even if it meant hopping on a plane for twelve hours. But I didn’t have any personal interest in following in his footsteps. If anything, I was a temporary protégé. It turns out I like taking photos more than I thought, but my subjects tend to be more talkative.

           I thought my brothers would be jealous of how much time I spent with our father, or at least Harlan. But no, he’s not like that. He’s so happy for other people that he never even thinks to wonder why he wasn’t invited along. There was no real reason, anyways. I’d asked and he hadn’t. Living with Harlan was like a constant competition, entirely self-inflicted, but still exhausting. Har himself wasn’t even aware of the way I measured us against one another, again and again and again. It didn’t even matter what it was – archery, hunting, fencing, school. Maybe he didn’t notice because he usually won. Not all twins are competitive, and even in our case it’s more like a one-sided rivalry. It kills me how I can never one-up him, and it kills me that I can’t help but try to out-do him at every turn. Most people package twins together. It should be Ophelia&Harlan. But instead it’s Ophelia vs. Harlan, at least inside my own head. I can’t shake it. I do love him though, don’t get me wrong. I love him more than anyone.

           Well, I used to.

           They say, or at least I think they say, that the person you wind up with finds you when you most need them. If they do say this, they probably say it more poetically, but I’ve never been good at that. Words aren’t exactly my area of expertise, romance is definitely not something I’ll ever be proficient at, and understanding other people is still harder for me than it is for most. I try, just not hard enough. It’s likely that I fell in love with Jack because I didn’t have to try. I would have tried for him, though, if I had to. I still would.

           But it’s gotten to that point with us where I know him a little too well, not that he seems to mind. The part that I’m still working on accepting is him knowing me better than I’ve ever wanted another human being to know me. Some people think I’m cold, I know that, whether they tell me or not. It’s not a misconception on their part. Closing myself off from other people has always been my way of coping with things. I’m just not very good at caring about how anyone else feels. There are exceptions, the list exceedingly short and only including my family and Jack. Even then, I can be insensitive. At least I can say that I’m working on it.

           For example, I’m currently sitting in a tiny house that would probably more appropriately be described as a shack, but I know the look Jack would have on his face if I called it as much. It’s not a good look, in fact I hate that look. I also might hate Cameroon, but I haven’t decided yet. We’ve only been here for a day but the heat is more than I can stand and we’re set to stay here for at least the next two weeks. I’m pale mostly by choice, even if I do love the outdoors. I hug the shade wherever I can find it. Unlike Jack, I burn and then burn more and then burn even more until it hurts to breathe, let alone bend any limbs. I’m not capable of simple tanning, and not being able to move for days isn’t how I want to spend this trip, or any trip. My father used to always bring a gigantic container of sunscreen and waste most of it on me.

           Jack is kind of like my dad. All the traveling, all the animals, but no camera. Trust me, you wouldn’t pay a cent for one of Jack’s photos. His finger guest stars in at least half of them and whatever he’s shooting is out of focus, anyways. I can’t help smiling at his terrible photography skills just as he walks into the sha—house.

           “What are you smiling at?”

           “Nothing. Just wondering if we might frame some of your photos from the Maldives.”

           He drops his stuff by the door and pulls out the chair next to me, turning it sideways so he can look at me with his arms crossed over the top rail. This place is so small that we don’t have a couch, just a table and two chairs. The table has to function as both a desk and a place to eat. Jack is one of the least organised people I know, so this doesn’t work out very well, but thankfully I’m good at keeping things in order. I know I’ve never exactly been essential to any of these excursions, but sometimes I’m almost positive that he’d be dead by now without me around to look out for him.

           “You’re mocking me.”

           “Am not. I really loved that one of the blue fish where you can’t quite tell if it’s actually a fish or just a very colourful rock.” I only know for sure that it was a fish because I was next to him when he took the photo, but I’d dare anyone else to properly identify the blue blob in the bottom left corner.

            He sighs and hunches over the chair, giving me a pointed glare. “I’d like to see you do better.”

           “I could have my eyes closed, one hand tied behind my back, spun around twenty times ‘til I’m dizzy, and still—”

           He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He always kisses me when I’m picking on him. Maybe that’s why I always do it.

           “Sometimes I wonder why I invite you along on these trips.”

           “No you don’t.”

           Jack wrinkles his nose at me, one eye almost closing. “You’re right. Why are you always right?”

           I grin before getting to my feet. “Same reason you’re always wrong, I imagine.”

           “Where you going, Phe?”

           My eyes dart around, assessing all the things I need to gather before leaving the house. Sunglasses, hat, sunscreen… “Going to explore Cameroon so I can decide whether I actually like it or not. You coming?”

           I can practically hear his brain working, the gears fixing together and turning in double time, trying to figure out a way to say ‘No, I just got back and why didn’t you come with me this morning?’ but instead he simply says, “Of course.”

           As I step outside, I can’t help thinking about the last time I was in Africa. Completely different part, I think, but truthfully I don’t remember the trip all that well. I was nine and my dad brought me on an assignment. It was only a week long, but dad wanted to make sure we did as much as possible. Those trips always made me so tired. It might be because I’m older now, but I don’t find myself exhausted at the end of everyday anymore when I travel. And it’s not that Jack and I don’t do things. If anything, his work allows more freedom, so we spend a lot of time wandering around foreign lands and getting lost. Or Jack getting us lost and me letting him.

I hate the idea that I might be playing into the ‘you marry your father’ concept. Nobody wants to think they’d ever marry anyone like their dad, even if I happen to think mine is pretty great. The whole reason Jack and I got along in the first place is because we both love animals, but that’s also where the similarities between him and my father end.

There’s also the fact that Harlan doesn’t always seem to like Jack. I wouldn’t say he dislikes him, more that he’s not completely trusting. I’ve never really understood why, but maybe he’s finally jealous of somebody. Now that I’m done with school and out on my own, I don’t see my family as much, but that’s made even worse by the fact that I’m usually off somewhere far away with Jack. Sometimes I think that growing up means picking sides.

Squinting into the sun, I try to remember which way leads to the nearest town. Jack emerges from the house, closing the door behind him. He takes my hand and leans down to say, “Follow me.”

Oddly enough, it was a paint roller down the back of his old college t-shirt that brought him back to the present. Travis had a way of getting lost in his thoughts like that, but Nissa noticed. She always noticed. His worries about their future melted away at the warmth of her laugh as she spun away from him, fearing a retaliation. Instead of trying to cover her in the light blue from his own paint brush, he dropped his brush to the newspaper-strewn floor and grabbed her around the waist. She dropped her paint roller, more from surprise, he suspected, than anything else.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" She apologised between laughs, which of course completely invalidated her apology.

He was laughing too, though he'd hardly even noticed. "Don't be." A smile barely ghosted across his face before he leaned down to kiss her, one of his hands pressing into the small of her back. Travis laughed at the feeling of a hand on his paint-coated back, effectively breaking the kiss. "I guess that's my revenge."

Nissa wrinkled her nose and lowered her arm, sticking her tongue out at him before hurrying to the bathroom to wash off her hand.