Stop-Please!

This place hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. My parents would take us here for summer vacations. The boardwalk is longer now, and there is a restaurant at the end, but the water, the beach, even the tall bridge carrying cars high over the waves while allowing boats to pass through on their way to the sea, is the same. The other thing that hasn’t changed much is me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve matured physically and mentally over the last twenty-five years, but my ten-year-old self is still in command every time I step onto the boardwalk. The water swirling around me on all sides generates the same terror I felt all those years ago. It’s the irrational fear of a ten-year-old boy being relived by a thirty-five-year-old man. I should know better, but I can’t control it. The fear is why I avoid this place like the plague, but tonight I had to come.

On this date twenty-five years ago, I watched as my twin Ronnie fell from this boardwalk and slipped beneath the waves, never to return. Everyone said it wasn’t my fault, but I knew better. I was the one who came up with the stupid game to see who could get closest to the end without falling off. The original boardwalk had no railings, so it was easy for us to place our heels on the edge of a plank and balance until one of us had to step back. On our last night there, we snuck out to challenge each other one last time.

Thick fog had rolled in off the water, coating everything with a thin layer of dew. I reached our destination first, but as I ran onto the first board, my sneaker lost traction on the water-soaked plank, causing me to lose my balance momentarily.

“Hey Ronnie, these boards are slippery! Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“Don’t be a wuss, Rickie. Are you going to let me win that easy? Watch this!”

I watched as Ronnie sprinted onto the boardwalk and dropped into a slide like he was trying to steal second base. Unfortunately, there was no base to stop his slide, and he slipped off the end of the walkway, plunging into the fog-shrouded water. Rescuers searched for two days, but they never found Ronnie.

That was twenty-five years ago. Tonight, I’ve come to make peace with everything that happened and move on with my life. Of course, that’s easier said than done, but I have to try. What’s making this reconciliation more difficult is the psychic bond between twins; it feels stronger now than it did all those years ago. How is that possible?

A cool breeze sends a shiver through my body as it blows past me. Although the night is clear, the compact figure of a young boy, partially wrapped in a shroud of fog, now stands five feet in front of me. Shifting fog distorts parts of his body as the boy gleefully races away from me. I raise my hands and shout, “Stop—Please, Ronnie, stop.” He turns to face me while still moving away. “No, Rickie, this time you come and catch me. You’re not a wuss, are you?”

Before I’m able to move toward him, I feel a hand on my shoulder, followed by a woman’s soft voice filled with concern.

“Please wake up, Mr. Harris. You’re having another bad dream.”

With a substantial amount of effort, I force my mind back into the here and now. My eyes flutter open, and I scan my surroundings, searching for the boardwalk and Ronnie. Instead, I see a hospital room and a woman in scrubs looking concerned. My head is bandaged, and various monitors are beeping rhythmically by my headboard.

“I almost caught him this time.”

“I’m sure you think you did, Mr. Harris, but as you can see, there is no boardwalk and you are an only child and have no twin. According to the doctor, the person you’re chasing is your younger self. Delusions like this are common in patients with severe head trauma. Just try to relax. You’re doing much better than most people with your type of injury.”

I thanked the nurse and scanned the room once again. Leaning against the opposite wall, partially shrouded in fog, was Ronnie, grinning at me.