The Cab Drivers

My brother-in-law coined this phrase, and I want to make sure he gets credit.

You gotta know something about twins before I explain anything else.

Sonja’s (twin) husband calls us the cab drivers. Always on the horn, one AirPod in, talking to each other at all times, including and especially at 5:45 in the morning. Not about anything. Just on the phone. Breathing. FaceTiming with each other’s overhead lighting. Saying hold on one second, getting in the shower, and then coming right back. My husband gets a “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Sonja” most mornings before he has even fully entered the kitchen, and to his credit, he has never once made me feel bad about this, which is either a sign of a very secure man or a man who is not listening.

We shared a womb. Then a room. Then a college.

I want to be clear that we are not one of those twin situations. We are not finishing each other’s sentences or feeling each other’s pain across great distances or dressing alike. (Although she did text me at the exact moment I went into labor with my son Leon, and asked if I was ok at 1:45 am.) We are just two people who happen to need to be in constant contact, including at dawn. Very normal. Not codependent at all.

Anyhoo.

This is what makes moving to San Francisco the hardest part of everything.

We’ve done long distance before; I lived in Mexico City for three years, we both studied abroad, and we survived it, and maybe even convinced ourselves that it was good for our twinship. But we were younger, and I think we didn’t know yet what we were giving up by being far from each other. We also didn’t have kids yet. You don’t fully understand what someone costs until you’ve had to go without them for a while. Now I know. I know exactly what it costs, and I’m still doing it anyway, which stinks a very specific amount.

The other day, I was at the park, and I saw two boys, maybe four years old, and I knew immediately. You can always tell. (Probably because they are about the same size and kind of look alike.) I had to ask. I always have to. It’s a compulsion, I can’t help it, it’s like hearing someone speaking a language you know in a foreign country and just needing them to know that you know it too. Are they twins? I asked the mom. She said yes, and I said I’m a twin too, and she did the thing people do where they smile and say that must be so special, and I said it is, and I meant it, and then I stood there for too long watching those boys run around the playground, hoping the mom wouldn’t notice that I was crying.

The time difference might work in Sonja’s favor, honestly. I am a 5:30 am caller on a good day. The two-hour buffer is a gift I’m giving her. She should thank me. Her husband definitely will.

When I told her we were moving, she was quiet for a second, and then she said it was right for my family, and we’d still have the phone.

She’s right. We will. And we also have airplanes.

Two cabbies, age 5.