One of us

There’s nothing much you can do when you are ambushed in your own home by yourself. When you wake up to your disgruntled face and you think your aunt was right when she said your nose was too big for you face. There is nothing quite like having a midnight episode with your clone, both battered and confused, ready to eliminate the other. That is what I was doing, wrestling my clone onto the floor, as one does, on the dark, dense morning of the first day of the new year.

“You’re making a mistake, Der. I am the real one.” Der number two, declared quite conveniently to my face, as if we didn’t look exactly alike, down to the cheap Armani knockoff suit with a rip on the sleeve. I pressed his shoulders down harder. This is not how I envisioned my new years going, but then again, this incident might make me rich and famous in which case I’m all for it.

“The thing is, I can lie, you can lie but we both know my gut doesn’t lie!” I laughed through strained breaths. I made a mental note to fish out my ancient gym membership again, since my dear friend on the floor, I found, could be held down by a sack of potatoes.

“Your gut? That old thing? You must be kidding me if you think you’re making this decision on a whim.” He yelled, which propelled the man to rise up and push me down instead. The gym, Der, the gym.

The fake Der grabbed me by the collars and shook me hard, maybe hoping to hear the rattle of a lie inside my head.

“Come on!” I screamed. “Everyone knows about our legendary instincts. Who is the star of family baby showers, huh? Remember how we predicted aunt May’s baby’s gender? A girl it was!”

“She ended up having twins, you twat!” The fake Der grabbed hold of a ceramic mug as he yelled. The smooth white surface glittered menacingly in the yellow light as he raised it in the air.

“Well one of them was a girl!” I screamed with the full power of my lungs, just like a man who was about to be knocked out by a coffee mug because that’s exactly what happened.

When I opened my eyes again, a shiny orange sun was peeking its head out of a crown of clouds. Ah, a bright new day. A bright new year. My new year resolution was anything but being tied down to a rocking chair with shoe laces but what can you do?

I looked around the condo, sweeping my neck from side to side but my arch nemesis was nowhere to be seen. I had heard stories of people flying off the handle and hallucinating things. I didn’t know which was better, your clone hitting you with coffee mugs or you imagining your clone hitting you with coffee mugs. Either way, maybe writing an inspirational book was still an option. That put rich and famous back on the table perhaps.

“Cornflakes or oatmeal?” Came a voice, my voice, from the bedroom. The shmuck was having a restful sleep in my bed, wearing my pajamas, while he left me out to dry. This bit would be in bold letters in my book, I decided.

Der part two began fumbling with the toaster and the jug of orange juice on the counter. The same juice my mom had brought over the other day. Looking at his chubby little hands all over my precious juice made me want to throw around a few mugs myself but instinct told me to play it cool.

“Cornflakes then?” He asked again, holding up the box. He had a sweet smile playing on his lips, as if he had been waiting for the day when he could tie up his twin in his living room. He flipped the button on the radio and the worst song I’ve ever heard flooded the room. He seemed to enjoy it though.

“How about this? Put on some Lady Gaga, fry an egg and give it to me with a side of cheese and a dash of freedom.” I rolled my eyes.

“Egg and cheese, coming right up! However, I am fresh out of freedom. I can chop some cilantro though.” He snickered like my fifth-grade bully.

“So what? We will live together from now? Maybe you can have your guests run a hand through my hair and give me a treat. If things go your way, you might be able to start a rocking-chair-pet fad.”

“God, I didn’t know I was this dramatic. I am just waiting for you to pack up and leave from whichever sci-fi hole you came from. The clone lab is missing you terribly.”

“Think about it dude. You knocked me out and tied me up the whole night. If I could have left, why wouldn’t I have? Why would I stick around to stare at your pathetic face?”

His expression was blank, holding a half-eaten toasted bread inches from his mouth. “Its your face. Anyway, I have an important idea to pitch at work today, so here’s what will happen. I will get dressed and leave for work. When I return, I wish to have my rocking chair back.” With that, he turned and walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. I didn’t get to see most of it because I was staring at the laundry room with all my might. You might ask me why.

There was a strange, pulsating darkness inside the room, a darkness which daylight could never realistically allow. Almost as if it was magical. I was sure, I didn’t know how, that if I was to step into the laundry room, the pile of unwashed clothes would be the least of my worries. My gust twisted inexplicably, as if anatomically pointing at the surge of black. If I could just…

Snap! The shoe string tying my right hand snapped at the wrist. Was I tugging at it that hard? Maybe not all my middle school karate lessons were a waste. Sweet.

I untied all the other laces swiftly and, in a moment, I was before the laundry room. A pin-drop silence and the pulsating blackness made my hairs stand on edge. I was dreading going near it and also fighting the urge to touch it. I didn’t know if it was a second later or ten minutes but the bedroom door plopped open. The knockoff Der stood still at noticing me, his lips agape. The briefcase fell from his hands. I raised my hands and shifted my feet to reach a fighting stance and winked.

“One more time for the fans. What do you say?”

He leapt at me like a cougar and his weight crushed the air out of my lungs. More greens and less cheese, check. I grabbed the back of his suit and ripped out the collar with a pull. This just seemed to spur him on. He grinded his knee against my belly until I pushed him off and onto his back. I landed a couple decent punches aimed at his jaw but he simply wouldn’t back down. He yanked my hair, successfully pulling a few off, and them slammed his elbow into my ribs. I had only some more energy left before I was sure my fate was sealed to the rocking chair. My instincts danced up again, my gut telling me, no scratch that, screaming at me, something I couldn’t quite decipher but yet I could tell what to do. I picked up the briefcase and jammed it against his head. A moment of dizziness. This was my chance.

“Do something for me. Have a great pitch!”

One strong push to his side and he toppled into the laundry room with a sharp yell. The darkness didn’t dissipate, instead it engulfed him fully. I slammed the door shut and pressed my shaking back to it.

After a nice long lifetime, I decided to open the door again. Nothing but my washer-dryer and the small window which was throwing some beautiful sunlight at my neglected dirty clothes. Ah, everything back to normal.

I rubbed a hand against my belly, thanking my guts, which once again were the star of the show. You know what, predicting one of the twin’s genders was still something, he was just being jealous.

I slid to the floor with a gentle sigh.

“‘Check your laundry rooms’ written by Der Garcia,” I whispered to myself with a smile.

There’s nothing much you can do after you win an epic battle against your evil clone. You sit with a cold beer in your hand, enjoying the encroaching sunset. You let yourself not worry about the pitch you missed at work today. There is nothing quite like basking in the glory of victory.

Ouch! When did the clone manage to bite my hand? I stood in front of the mirror as I took off my day-old suit, maybe just to relish the body that was once again, just mine. I noticed a scar underneath my collar, at the base of my head. Not a scar, but a written tattoo.

‘Clone Lab 99

 Serial no. #78’

Oh shoot.