his is Steff and Kayla in a rare moment without the cannula of technology. No Instagram, no Snapchat, no Facebook – only a contagious awkwardness to dive in their bags and rescue an unread notification. They both celebrate, and shuffle with every hazy bus silhouette – for sitting and being is terrifically irritating. The idea of a tech-free day hatched last night, uncoiling over deep glasses of something-from-New Zealand with friends while broadcasting their mediocre drunkenness. It was a silly dare – to binge on boredom – fraught with turmoil from the beginning. You see, Steff and Kayla are cunning competitors, more so in the audience of friends, charming as vixens. Hands were shook – an accord struck. They are used to sharing ideas and dares, in fact most things – a womb, precisely seventeen years ago.
Steff tersely informs me they don’t share a delivery time – she was born ten minutes before Kayla – enhancing on her blemish of being awarded life’s “second place”. It makes me think parents of twins should take news like that to their grave. Not far from here Steff and Kayla share the crushing unhappiness of being in a house too large for simple desires. Bedrooms with ensuites run tandem through their floor plan. Eight cars give their parents a choice for each season. Parenting as a pastime in their formative years and applauding themselves with dividends, Mum and Dad were cerebral and efficient with screen-time a convenient babysitter. Over the years the internet also brought love, connection and belongingness that prosperity could not afford. Today, full of time and free purpose they are uniquely united to bronze, and surf like goddesses. They will both return when either the sun or surf fade away – their digits newly adapted to aquatic life – pruney and adhesive, and hostile to touch-sensitive screens.