The Louis Twins

Walter and Alex were a year ahead of me in high school. They looked almost identical, but once you knew them, they didn’t any more. So I can’t say for sure if they were. I know they weren’t the exact same height. Walter was 6’7″, and Alex was 6’8″. Oh, and did I mention they were tall? Yeah. They were really tall. They were also attractive. Their intelligent eyes shone with fun that had learned to submit to discipline. It made you want to find the combination to the lock that would loose it. Their smiles made you want to be witty enough to earn one.

They both played basketball. Some tall boys are gangly and uncoordinated, but Walter and Alex were true athletes. They were the stars of our team. Everyone loved them and cheered for them, screaming their names. Alex also played baseball. He pitched. Tall pitchers have an advantage when they are also good. And Alex was very good.

Tall, athletic, attractive twins may not be all that amazing or rare. But Walter and Alex were also humble. Soft-spoken, gentle giants. If one of them received a nomination for any honor, the other would refuse to compete for the same honor. Everyone respected Walter and Alex. We all kind of stood in awe of them. You could say we looked up to them. It would be a cheesy pun, but it would be true in every sense.

My height hovers somewhere just above 5’2″. Ever since ninth grade I’ve been striving for 5’3″, but I still haven’t attained it. Once, at a church youth group meeting, I was standing between Walter and Alex. I felt like a small child lost in a forest. So I did the only sensible thing. I stood on my chair. Voila! I could finally see eye to eye with the Louis twins. (I could see lots of other things, too. It makes me want to go clean the top of my refrigerator right now.) Of course, to keep my balance, I had to take each one of them by his well-toned arm. They rewarded me with priceless smiles, and delightful twinkles danced in those mysterious eyes. I don’t remember anything else about that youth group meeting.

I admired Walter and Alex. I thought they were amazing. But then a weird thing happened. Alex starting being extra nice to me. In fact, in many obvious ways, Alex made it clear he liked me a lot. At that stage of my life, most of my relationships with boys consisted of me making them laugh. Under my outward extrovertedness, I was actually shy. With boys, anyway. I was a junior in high school, but I still felt so much like a little girl, and I felt like a puny midget next to Alex. So I pushed him away. But he asked me out anyway. And I said yes.

Alex and I went to a movie. As we were walking up to the theater, I saw our reflection in the glass doors. I realize now that all my self-consciousness was stupid, but at the time I only knew I felt so, so small next to him. I just couldn’t be comfortable. Alex was funny, smart, interesting, talented, respectful. Everything good. But all I could see was the foot and a half difference in our heights. So, that night, when he took me home, I pretty much knew I wouldn’t be going out with Alex again. He said good-night at the door, and he kissed me. It was very sweet, and Alex had the nicest, happiest look on his face. Even though I did manage to notice these things, all I could really think about was how far he had to bend over to kiss me.

So, after that night, I just kept pushing Alex away. Like a stupid, mean, immature girl who doesn’t know how to say what she’s really feeling. I hate it now when I think about it, because he deserved so much better treatment. Alex finally gave up on me, and our friendship was never as strong after that.

Walter and I kept in touch. He went to seminary and became a missionary, got married, had a family. My admiration for him only grew.

I also learned from another friend that Alex had gotten married. My first question was, “How tall is his wife?” I guess I was still too pathetic for words. They had three kids. Then, years later, I heard one of his children died. I think it was leukemia. I ached for him, for his wife, for Walter and their whole family. Suddenly I wished with all my heart I could go to Alex right then and hug him and say, “I’m sorry I was such a stupid jerk years ago. I was cruel, but I know that’s nothing compared to the pain you’re feeling now. If I could do anything to ease this heartache for you I would.” But I didn’t go. And I haven’t seen Alex since then.

That was probably ten years ago. Just last week I heard news of Alex from a mutual friend. One of his kids is in law school and the other is in college. It was that news that dredged up all these memories. I still wish I could apologize to Alex.

Alex, if you’re out there, I’m sorry.