The Greener Side

Do people have weird hallucinations right before they’re about to die? He wouldn’t know because this was his first time trying to commit suicide. And he was quite certain that he could see someone who looked remarkably like him through the noose. 

***

It’s true that Zain was having a very bad day and his head was all over the place for most of the subway ride, but he thought he would have remembered if he had fallen through a wormhole at some point. Even his walk from the station to his building had been uneventful. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary until he got into his apartment and ran into an intruder who looked a lot like him. And what was even more bizarre was that it looked like he was trying to hang himself. 

“What the…” was all he could manage to say. His brain usually froze under pressure and this was a lot to take in. He tried to find the words that would make the guy get down from the coffee table but, in that situation, he felt as if he was the one who needed to be consoled.

Thankfully, the guy untied the rope from the ceiling fan and hopped down on his own.

“Who are you and how did you get into my apartment?” he asked, still holding the rope. His words were lined with anger. His body language, however, seemed unabashedly fluid and normal as if trying to hang oneself was a very typical thing to do on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Not only had he stolen Zain’s face, probably, but he was also stealing his lines now?

“Your apartment?! Who’re you…” Zain trailed off as his eyes took in his surroundings for the first time.

It was definitely the apartment he had moved into during his sophomore year at college. He knew he was on the right floor and the right apartment. That much he was certain; it was an old habit to look at his apartment number on the door before entering. The furniture, on the other hand, unquestionably did not belong to him. They were more expensive, more refined; certainly not items that were bought because they were on sale or were from the flea market. Even the flooring, he now observed, was decadent and opulent, made out of elegant looking hardwood. This was the apartment of a person who lived comfortably, not someone who had $47 in his bank account.

“Wait,” he said weakly. “What’s happening? This is my apartment! I live here!”

“What do you mean you live here?” replied the other guy, coolly. “This has been my place for the last three years.”

Zain felt the world spin around him. “This isn’t real” was all he could think. Had the barista put something in his coffee that was taking effect now? He could see his bewilderment reflected on the guy’s face. He had Zain’s oval face, his deep-sunken eyes, his long nose, and even his moustacheless patchy beard. 

Except, there were a few annoying and glaring differences. While Zain wasn’t fat, he wasn’t exactly the epitome of health either. His lookalike, however, looked as if he never missed a day at the gym. They had the same taste in clothes, but the other guy’s black t-shirt and dark denim fit him better. His hairstyle matched the shape of his face, which didn’t have a speck of a pimple on it, Zain noticed. Yet, the most irritating distinction had nothing to do with his physical appearance. No, it was the way he stood, the way he looked, and the way he carried himself. Even under the circumstances, he seemed to be emanating such confidence that Zain immediately thought himself to be inferior to him. And, of course, that made Zain hate him.

“Is this a joke?” he laughed out loud. “Is this Chang’s doing? I don’t know what kind of prank you guys are trying to pull, but this isn’t funny!”

“There’s no Chang here,” said the lookalike with an air of confusion. And then, as if he couldn’t resist, he asked, “Is that make-up or a bodysuit?”

“It’s the skin I was born with,” snapped Zain. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here but I suggest you leave before I call the cops.”

His words only seemed to startle his lookalike. He did not start faltering or apologizing like Zain expected he would but stayed silent for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he finally spoke.

“What’s your name?” he asked. 

About fifty sarcastic and immature responses went through Zain’s mind, each worse than the last.  Until finally, he decided to follow the guy’s lead and respond earnestly.

“Zain,” he said. “Zain Black.”

The guy nodded as if he was expecting this answer. Then, without saying anything, he reached into his jeans’ back pocket and brought out his wallet. He opened it, pulled a card out, and threw it at Zain. Instinctively, Zain made a grab for it and barely caught it. Hands slightly shaking, he took a look at it. It was a library card and the name on it was his, Zain Black. He did not own a library card but he knew for sure the one he was holding could not be fake.

“This is... You’re not…Polyjuice… ” he was having a lot of difficulties forming a coherent piece of thought. 

“You’d better sit down,” said the other Zain. “I’ll get you something to drink. I’m afraid I don’t have any Polyjuice. What is that anyway?

This brought him back to his body.

“You’re supposed to be me but you don’t know what Polyjuice Potion is?” he asked incredulously. “You’re a muggle?!”          

The other Zain turned away to get him a drink but not before he saw him smirking.

“Oh ha ha,” he said, sitting down on the fancy couch. He hated to admit it, but it was the most comfortable his butt had ever been. “Make fun of the confused, gullible idiot. Very amusing.”

The other Zain came back from the kitchen holding two beers and sat down right across from him. Zain noticed that he had decided to leave the rope behind.

“Hey, I’m in the same boat as you,” he said, tossing a can at Zain. He caught it a little more gracefully than he had the last time.

“You’re taking it way better than I am,” he said, cracking the beer open. 

“Trust me, I am still not sure if I’m awake,” said the other Zain, following his suit. “But even if it’s a dream, it’s not so bad that I’d mind. So, I’m just going with the flow.” 

Going with the flow… some things never change, Zain thought ruefully. He took a sip of the beer. 

“You er… got a nice place here,” he said awkwardly. Was he supposed to ignore what he had walked into? The guy was currently showing no signs of being suicidal.  

“Complimenting yourself? Don’t you live in an apartment similar to this?” said the other Zain.

Zain snorted. “My apartment has the same layout but it’s not nearly as nice looking as this,” he said. “And I have a roommate who isn’t exactly a neat freak.”

“I’ve never had a roommate,” said the other Zain. “I’ve been living here by myself for a while.”

He’s lonely, Zain thought. If I had a place this great, I’d never feel lonely. Chang can go live in a dumpster like he’s meant to. 

Both of them stayed quiet for a while, drinking their beers, trying to process what was happening. Zain hoped for his sake that the other guy’s brain was coming up with better explanations than his; all he could think of were mushrooms infused with dark magic.   

Again, the other Zain was the one to break the silence.

“So, you’re me,” he said.

“And, you’re me,” Zain replied. 

“From a different world or time?”

“The world looks the same to me. How old are you?”

“I turn 25 next month.”

“Me too.”

“Wait, you’re my age? I thought for sure you’re from the future.”

“Say that again and I’ll make sure you never get to your future.”

Zain regretted his words the moment they escaped his mouth. 

What am I thinking, giving death threats to someone who probably wants to kill himself, he berated himself. To his relief, the other Zain didn’t seem to think much of his tactless comment. If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Sorry,” replied the other Zain. 

In unison, they took another sip of their beers. 

“Any chance you know why any of this is happening?” the other Zain asked.

“Magic mushrooms?” Zain shrugged. 

To his surprise, his double burst out laughing. He couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to his own laugh and involuntarily felt a weird form of kinship with him.

“I was thinking the same thing,” chortled the other Zain, wiping away tears from the corner of his eyes. “So, tell me about yourself. I’m very interested to know what my life could have been like.”

“I doubt you’ll find it interesting,” Zain replied. “By the looks of it, you’ve seen as much success as I’ve seen failure.” 

“C’mon, tell me,” pressed the other Zain.

Zain hesitated. The truth was, he didn’t want to depress him with his sad sob story. He probably had a lot on his plate himself. On the other hand, Zain had been hoping to come home and unload some of his anger on Chang. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” Zain asked.

“What do you do for a living?” asked the other Zain. 

“Ugh, you had to start with that one,” said Zain. “ I’m a writer, which is a nice way of saying I’m unemployed and make zilch a week.”   

The other Zain looked startled. 

“I’m a writer, too,” he said quietly.

“Wait, what?” exclaimed Zain. He looked around at the apartment wildly. “Man, this is what I get to live like if I make it? How many books have you published so far?”

“A few,” he said, with a sad smile “So, I’m guessing you studied English in college?”

“Nah,” Zain replied. “Parents wanted me to become a doctor, so I went to medical school. Dropped out after my third year. Funny how studying to save lives makes you want to kill yourself.” 

“You had no formal education in writing and yet you wanna become a writer?” asked the other Zain in disbelief. “Why?” 

“You’re starting to sound like my parents,” said Zain defensively. “You know the Japanese concept of Ikigai?” 

The other Zain shook his head.

“Well, wanting to become a writer is what helps me get out of bed every morning,” Zain continued. “It’s what I love doing. People have told me that I’m good at it, and I am trying to get better every day. The world needs good writers. And hopefully, one day, I’ll get paid to write. I’m just paying my dues right now. Just today, I had a meeting with an agent who told me my book isn’t sellable. It was a hard blow, sure, but I have another meeting with another agent next week, so I guess I’ll see what happens.” 

The other Zain didn’t say anything for a while. He had gone very quiet, submerged in his thoughts. Zain watched him, silently in anticipation. 

Then, “I always knew I wanted to be a writer,” said the other Zain. “My parents didn’t care much about what I studied. So, I majored in Journalism. I signed my first book publishing deal right after my graduation. It sold okay, I guess. It wasn’t until the third book that I started getting noticed and praised. I was happy for a while, or at least I think I was.”

“Soon, I started to become aware of something. No amount of money, fame, or success made me feel excited. It’s like there’s this hole in my chest and the more I try to fill it, the more I take away from it. I hate myself for feeling this way. I have what a lot of people would kill for, and yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. And the worst part is, I don’t know what it is that I’m missing.”

“You must think that I’m a terrible person,” he added with a smile.

It was now Zain’s turn to go quiet. He decided to slurp down the rest of his beer to make it easier for him to say what he was about to. He, then, set the empty can on the coffee table.

“No, in fact, I think I like you more now,” said Zain, finally. He saw a look of surprise flicker through his other-self. “I thought you were this proud, perfect dude who I’d never get along with usually. It’s good to know that you suffer like the rest of us. Makes you more human, you know. Don’t get me wrong, I do feel sorry that you’re hurting so much. And trust me, I get it. This was what I felt like when I was in medical school. And it’s that feeling that made me think that enough is enough. In a way, I’m grateful for that feeling. It compelled me to find something that made me feel like getting up in the morning. I’m not making a lot of sense, I know. I promise I write better than I speak.”      

“You’re… grateful for feeling that way?” he asked, horrified. 

“Absolutely,” Zain replied. “If I hadn’t felt that way, I would have never dropped out. I would have gone on to become a doctor, a terrible one. And maybe, someone else would’ve paid the price for it.”

“Can you honestly say that you’re happy with your situation right now?” the other Zain asked.

“Of course I’m not happy,” sighed Zain. “I wish that stupid agent would trip and break an arm or something for ruining my day, but I’d rather break my arms than give up on my dreams. On second thought, I’d rather break my legs; I’ll be needing my arms to write.”

“So, what about me, then?” asked the other Zain. “I am doing what I’ve always wanted to do, and yet, I feel this way. Why can’t I escape this void as you did?”  

“I honestly can’t answer you,” Zain said, uncomfortably. “I’m no therapist. And even though it appears that we are the same person, the fact remains that we’ve had contrasting life experiences. I don’t know you that well to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.”

He looked at the person sitting opposite him, looking disheartened, and felt a surge of sympathy for him. This was him, all those years back. No one had been there to tell him what he needed to hear; the words that would have set him free. Instead, he had to fight and claw his way out of his void. It made him stronger in a way that made rejections like today’s seem more bearable. If the Zain in front of him didn’t have the strength to do the same, maybe he could lend it to him. He clenched his fists.   

“But,” Zain said. “You are still me. So, I can say with absolute certainty that you’ll find the answer to your question soon enough. And if you need any help along the way, don’t hesitate to reach out to the people who’re close to you. The worst thing you can do right now is pushing them away.”

The other Zain shifted a little guiltily and glanced at his phone in his pocket. He had been ignoring his agent’s calls since last night and, well, was going to flake on their meeting today, too.  

“Trust me,” Zain said with a smile. “A lot of people’s lives are better because you’re in it. And it’s because of some of those people, your life will get better too.”

Without warning, the other Zain quickly got to his feet. 

“I have to be somewhere in thirty minutes,” he said. 

Zain got up too.

“I understand,” he said, grinning. 

“How will you er... get back?” the other Zain asked. 

“I don’t know,” Zain replied. “When something’s broken, I usually try turning it off and then on. Maybe, I’ll go out of the door and then come back in?

“You’re kidding, right?” said the other Zain.

“You got a better idea?” asked Zain.

He grinned and shook his head.

“Before you leave,” he said hesitantly. “Thank you for… you know.”

He extended his hand.

“It’s aight,” said Zain, shaking it. “And thank you for showing me what my life could be like. If I have to work a little harder to live in an apartment like this, it’ll be so worth it.”

He gave him one last smile before turning and making his way to the door. Holding his breath, he opened it, walked right out, and slowly closed it behind him.  

***

Zain watched as his other self left through the door. As soon as he heard the click of the lock, he hurried to it and pulled it open again. He felt his jaw drop; the only thing before him was an empty hallway. 

It took him a moment to realize his phone was vibrating in his pocket. Mouth still slightly open, he got it out, gave it a glance, and then answered immediately. 

“I’m sorry,’ he said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

The next day Zain woke up and lay in his bed, replaying the events of the last day in his head. Had it been a dream, he wondered. Absent-mindedly, he reached for his wallet on the bedside table and checked out the card slots. He smiled. 

His library card was missing.