#i just can't stop thinking about the two of them navigating two entirely separate childhoods without ever knowing how

[mrcspectr]

Sometimes I think we forget the gravity of the choices Marc made for Steven. We say it and we write about it but we see it through the lens of an adult, from the perspective of a man who had a very specific understanding of his world and his place in it, however flawed that may have been. In his mind, his worth and what that means to him were set in stone, the only part of his identity that felt.. concrete. A man that carried his childhood like an anchor, letting it drag him down to a depth that no one could truly follow.

But what about the boys?

We see them as children for a very short amount of time, and we connect to that innocence because we were all children once. We were all naïve to the world before we were taught how to live in it. But there was no one to teach them how to share a life, a body, a place in that world. It was something they were forced to navigate together, but in tandem, somehow, alone.

How afraid Marc must have been, how his hurt grew into anger and a disobedience that explodes out from him, that drew more violence to him. That enraged Wendy and made her worse, made her a cruel specter still. How Steven must’ve stirred in the night, looking around to wonder where he was, what day it had been, why he didn’t recognize the posters on his wall or the toys on his floor. The way Marc would shrink back at his father’s expression, his concern and fear so clear-cut and raw each time he came to with a start, the sound of Steven’s voice still rattling against his skull until it ached.

All either one of them ever wanted was for someone to hold them close and tell them they were alright, that they were real and loved. Two boys, two brothers who shared the same life but knew nothing of each other. Backs pressed against a mirror, calling out to nothing but silence in return.

How many times did Steven believe he was only sleeping, watching this boy who looked just like him behave practically his opposite? How long was his list of questions, if only the next night they’d finally meet, in a different dream, and he got the chance to ask? How many times did Marc find himself beating his tiny fists against a mirror, reaching out without really knowing how, seeing a boy so familiar and wanting desperately, more than anything, just to be his friend?