born fully bearded.

“No, it did not strike me as unusual. A thing like that just happens, I guess. Nothing wrong with it. Time is relative, they say. John was starting school when Peter wasn’t even one. And James was in 4th grade already. They came four or five years apart. Almost ten years between the youngest and the oldest. We lived in a loft on the top floor of what once had been a warehouse. Lots of space, barely any furniture. Their mother visited every… every once in a while. I never interfered. The boys were growing up very – independently. When Peter graduated from high school, he threw a party. I remember my good friend, Meg, asked me, “So which one is Peter and which is John?” – they were so much alike, both splendid yet quiet, hard to tell them apart. But it wasn’t only Meg who was confused. Dan, our building superintendent, congratulated John and not Peter for graduating with honours. They were so much alike. And a few years later, when James got married, well, there was a crowd, it was quite a wedding. Not that I’ve been to many, but that one certainly was impressive. Anyway, people, even family, approached me over dinner and then during the night, telling me how blessed I was with my sons and how happy they were for John and the bride. “Oh, excuse me,” they said, “James and the bride.” And then, “Sorry, must be drinks. Peter and the bride, right?” When it was over in the morning I was no longer sure which one of my sons had just got married. But then, did it really matter? Life at the time seemed a fortunate coincidence on various levels. Choices were of little consequence, things were falling into place, or so they looked. Flow was what we all wanted to go with. Deliberation will wait, we reckoned. When my grandchildren were born, I never knew which son they were from. I could no longer distinguish my boys, let alone their babies. So, no, it did not strike me as unusual in any way. The police report says the three of them were going on a fishing trip, driving to the lakes. A brothers’ reunion of sorts. The car swerved hard, no one knows why, and fell off a 200-foot cliff. And their IDs, collected on the crash site, duly logged and verified, clearly stated the exact same date and place of birth for all three. “Triplets die in horror car crash,” was the title of the newspaper article on page 2. Nothing amiss there, if you ask me.”