"Most people think that shadows follow, precede or surround beings or objects. The truth is that they also surround words, ideas, desires, deeds, impulses and memories."

-Elie Wiesel

Back when I was a kid, barely in kindergarten, I remember finding my mom's high school yearbook. She never really told me about her past before, probably because of what happened between her and dad, but I remember seeing for the first time what she looked like when she was younger. But most of all, I got to see that she played volleyball, varsity at that. Eventually she found me and scolded me for digging in her things, but she glanced at the yearbook sentimentally, and I think I saw a tear run down her cheek as she lifted me up.

When I was a little older, I asked why she had played volleyball. She said something along the lines of "Well, my friends played it so I wanted to play with them," which, as a kid still, I didn't push any further. If I had known, maybe I wouldn't have picked up volleyball in the end.

"Would you ever consider playing it again? Maybe with me, mom?" I asked, my childhood curiosity flaring. She turned to look at me, and in that moment her eyes glinted pain, but quickly changed to show motherly love and happiness.

"If that's what you want to do, Carson. I might have a volleyball stored somewhere we can play with." She replied as she moved past me into the hallway leading off into the back of the house. I simply waited, hoping with all my heart that she'd find a volleyball, or even just a similar ball, to play with. I had never really played a sport before, my mother too busy to allow me to do such, so I was beyond ecstatic to play.

Eventually my mother returned, volleyball in hand, prodding and pressuring to see if it had enough air in it. "I think this should be fine to play with, Carson. Let's head out into the backyard and I'll teach you a little bit of volleyball." She said. As a kid, I didn't pick up on the slight sadness in her tone. We played with the volleyball for what felt like hours, and in that passing time, I learned one important thing:

I loved volleyball.

When I was nine, I decided I wanted to play volleyball on a team. After telling my mother about my desire to play, she wasn't surprised. "I've known you have wanted to play since the first time you touched the ball. I think there's a children's volleyball association downtown, maybe we can sign you up there, Carson!"

I remember jumping onto my mother, her yelp of surprise, nearly collapsing her and myself onto the kitchen floor; it was all so vivid. As well, I felt a sensation in the back of mind, like a memory trying to resurface, but it never came. It seems like a dream now, but back then, it was the start of a new beginning for me, a beginning I haven't forgotten.

The following week, my mother and I traveled downtown to the youth group that hosted volleyball for children. Most of the kids there were girls and I wasn't entirely sure this was the right place, but, my mother made sure I knew this was it. The man at the counter, his brown, shaggy hair covering his face as he looked at a sports magazine. On the cover was a woman, whom I couldn't read the name of, with a volleyball in hand and a net behind her. I stared for a while, the air silent as the man didn't notice our approach.

"…Excuse us." My mother said to the man. He looked up, his hair following the movement and landing around his face. "Is this where we sign up for youth volleyball? My son here would like to play." My mother continued as she pointed to my still staring self.

"Uh, yea, this is where you sign up. What's his name, ma'am?" the man asked, dropping the magazine onto the counter, my eyes still following it childishly. He began shuffling papers and scavenging for a pen to write down my name.

"Carson. Carson Aliere."

"And yours?"

"Lea Mayson."

It didn't strike me back then that my mother took a different last name than I had. It didn't actually strike me until I was much older, when I realized the hard truth that dad wasn't in the picture anymore, and never would be again. We weren't a normal family, and I was probably never normal either.

I played volleyball with the youth group for months, never really getting any better. I was usually the last one to get picked for teams when it came to handpick. Otherwise, I usually sat out when we were doing competitions, only going in to play when a kid was too tired to continue. When my mother got time to watch me, I'd look to her and she'd just smile and mouth "They'll put you in soon, I promise." Little did I know, when I wasn't looking, she was glaring daggers at the youth coach to put me in.

When the youth group let out for the year, the youth coach took us out to the park a few blocks away. There, a kid from the youth group came up to me, a little haughty bounce in each step. The kid was the most picked, if I remembered correctly, but I know he excelled more at the game than I did.

"Hey you, loser." He started. "How come after all this time you still can't do much? That's probably why you're never picked until the very end!" he finished and started laughing.

"I'm.. I'm not a loser! Not everyone can be good at a sport right away…!" I cry out, tears slightly welling in my eyes as my face scrunches up in anger and sadness.

"Even the kids that aren't good at the game are better than you, loser!" he retorted, more laughter filling the air. As his laughter increased, so did the kids surrounding us. One by one and two by two they appeared, all wondering what was going on. "Look at this loser everyone! Remember how he sat on the bench all the time!" he started again.

His words pelted me, like cold rain in the winter. Some kids started to laugh with him, and some even joined in on the banter. My mind became a jumble of words and laughter, and I covered my ears with my hands.

"He could barely get the ball in the air!"

"I don't think he ever scored a point!"

"Why did he even keep coming if he was never gonna play!"

My eyes began flowing hot tears, my cheeks resembling a windowsill during a rain shower. All the while, the kids kept going on about me. Laughing and pointing, laughing and pointing, laughing and pointing…

Eventually, it all just stopped. Everything just, stopped. I heard nothing for what felt like a long time, and then, suddenly, a single voice calls out.

"Hey. Hey Carson? You're not a loser, you've got me."

I couldn't identify where the voice was coming from. As I opened my eyes, all I saw before me was darkness. The playground, the kids, the cityscape behind it, all gone and replaced by a void of darkness. The voice calls out to me again.

"Carson. Over here, Carson!"

I turn towards what I perceive as the source of the voice, and, I falter. My eyes fall upon a figure, slightly shrouded by the darkness, but I can see the face. The face… That can't be right, there's no way that's right…

"Who, who are you?!" I shriek in panic at the familiar. The figure moved out of the darkness and into a light I didn't know was there. Fully illuminated, I can see, that whoever this is, is…

"I'm you, Carson, but I prefer to be called Alex, if you don't mind." Alex said, his voice, my voice, seeming to be far too calm for the situation at hand. I stared in disbelief as he stood there, in all his identical glory, facing me. Eventually, he began again, "I know, I know, this is really, really weird. I'm you and you're you, but isn't there only supposed to be one you? Well, technically, there is only one you, Carson, and there's only one me, Alex."

I continued staring, words refusing to be formed in any coherent way. Seeing that I was still distraught, Alex continued, "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, but it's the first time I'm able to talk to you, Carson. The kids out there? They don't know about me, they only know about you, Carson. I want to play for you, Carson. It's strange to me too, but, I seem to know a lot about volleyball, and you don't."

"So, I'll cut to the chase; I want to offer you this: let me play volleyball and you can do everything else. Deal?" Alex asked, extending his hand towards me.

I, I didn't know what to say to that; I didn't know what it even meant. He gets to play volleyball, but I get to do everything else? What? I close and rub my eyes furiously, hoping I'm just imagining all this. But to my dismay, I open my eyes to see Alex still standing there, his hand extended towards me.

"I… I don't get it. What does that even mean?" I ask, still trying to grasp even a straw of meaning from his words.

"Well, Carson, we're one and the same. I'm part of you, but, I've been locked away in the shadows. Now, I'm free. I've been watching volleyball and playing volleyball with you since you played volleyball with your mom, but, now, I think I can play! Just, let me do the work, ok? I swear I won't do anything else!" Alex exclaims at the end, flashing my smile at me.

He really is me, but, why does he seem different? His whole personality is different from mine, but, he's me, right? And what does "let me do the work" mean? How do I do that?

"I'm even more confused than when you started…" I sigh, exhaustion starting to rack my brain.

"Don't worry, it will get clearer sooner or later. Once I do my thing, you'll understand." Alex explained. "Just, leave it to me, Carson!" As he said that, the light went out and his voice began to echo behind me. The darkness slowly faded back into the playground I was in before. All the kids still laughing and pointing as if none of what just happened… happened.

The next thing I know, my body moves on its own. "You know what! I challenge you to a match, kid!" my voice resounded. Wait, I didn't say that, or did I? Is my imagination going haywire again?

"Hey," I hear inside my head, "don't worry, it's me, Alex! I told you just leave it to me!" I feel even more confused as to what's going on. So, Alex was real? He's really me? Is he controlling my body right now? My mind is a flurry of questions, but, my body and voice seem to be resolute.

"Oh, really? The loser wants to challenge me to a match? Where are we supposed to play, loser? We don't even have a ball either!" the kid yells back. I feel embarrassed for these actions. I can't beat him in volleyball, there's no way.

"I'm gonna ask the coach to take us back for one more match! This will be the final match and I will win against you!" Alex says through me, his passion and determination radiating so heavily even I feel it. Maybe some of the other kids felt it too since some start to back away, the laughing and pointing coming to a complete end.

"Fine!" the kid says, his arms crossing as he turns to walk to the youth coach. After beginning to walk towards the coach, I feel exhausted suddenly. But despite my feeling, my body keeps going, and eventually, I lose consciousness.

Apparently, from what my mother, and Alex, told me, I won the match.

Since that day, Alex has played volleyball for me, and I've done everything else. Just as our deal stated. With Alex playing, I made the varsity boys in middle school, well, Alex made the varsity boys. I just made sure my grades were good enough to keep playing. Alex really enjoyed volleyball, so I did too.

Originally, I had wanted to be a setter, having learned that my mother played that position in high school. However, Alex didn't want to be the setter, something about "his/my talents weren't in being a setter." Instead, Alex played as a libero, since "our talents were in speed and receiving," which I brushed off. Alex did well his first year on a team, bringing the boys team to the championships. However, in the final match, Alex and I hit a limit.

The third, final set of the match, 23-21 with our team leading. Usually during matches, I lose consciousness and Alex has full control, but for this match I fought against not seeing our, most likely, important victory. I remember my body aching all over, my muscles screaming to stop my movements, but Alex and I pushed through because we wanted to win. But when one of our teammates didn't receive the ball properly and sent it out of bounds, I fell apart.

"No…" Alex whispered, however, I believed he meant to scream it; in that fleeting moment, he had retreated back into the depths of my mind, consciously or not. In turn I had full control of my body, but, its limit had been reached. My legs gave out from under me, and I plummeted to the floor. I tried to catch myself, but, my head hit the floor and I passed out.

We lost that game, and, Alex lost himself.

By the time I was at the end of my middle school career, multiple schools had tried to recruit me for my, Alex's, abilities in volleyball. I refused most of them, mainly because my mother and I couldn't move away without aide, which none of the schools offered. Every time I declined another school, in my mind I could hear Alex yelling.

"Why are you staying at such a trash school?!"

"You don't have friends here so what are holding onto?"

"Why won't you let me play on a REAL team!?"

"Why, why, why, WHY?!"

Eventually, Alex stopped yelling, but with that he became more active in my life. He'd come up while I'm sitting in class, urging me to do something drastic, dangerous, thrilling. He'd start whispering while I'm at home to throw a fit and yell at my mother, try to get me punished. Eventually, he even tried to take over a few times and cause the ruckus himself, but, I persisted against him.

My growing paranoia and strange behavior led my mother to take me to a psychiatrist where they diagnosed me with Dissociative Identity Disorder. That day my mother cried for the first time in years, I believe, and I… I just sat there, Alex pounding me with insult after insult as I stared ahead. My mother dared to look into my eyes, and her cries grew louder.

"That's not my son! Those eyes aren't his! They used to be full of light and happiness! Now all they are, are shadows!"