Unique Identity Crisis

“She shouldn’t be hard to spot. She’ll be wearing a red tank top and holding a balloon,” Manitoba Melonfleur said to her boyfriend, Jake.

           “Whose idea was the balloon?” Jake asked.

           “Hers. I came up with the matching top idea,” said Manitoba, who was dressed in a red tank top and shorts appropriate for the hot weather.

           It was Manitoba and Jake’s first visit to the large park in Nashville and they started their search near the central playground. Without seeing anyone with a balloon, they strolled through the picnic areas filled with tables and shade pavilions.

           “I don’t see anybody. Maybe we should yell for her,” Jake suggested. “What was her name again?”

           Manitoba shot him a stupefied look like he had to be joking.

           “Oh yeah. Duh,” Jake said with a laugh. “She’s Manitoba Melonfleur 2.0.”

           “I’m not sure who’s the original version. Maybe I’m the 2.0.”

           Manitoba was used to having unique first and last names. By combining the two, she had been sure she was the only Manitoba Melonfleur on the planet. When she created a Gmail account, manitobamelonfleur was unclaimed and waiting for her. She used the account for years before occasionally noticing messages that did not seem intended for her. They were personalized – not mass mailings – and addressed to Manitoba, but were from people she did not know.

           A sample misplaced message read like, “Hey Manitoba. Missed you at the fun run. Are you planning to make the spring race? Best, Jill.”

           Manitoba did not know a Jill or anything about a spring race. She shrugged off the message, and others like it, as unimportant cyber glitches – part of the countless deluge of messages never reaching their intended targets.

           But then Manitoba got a series of messages about a delinquent student loan. The messages grew more serious, including threats to seize assets and begin court proceedings. Manitoba decided it was not something she should ignore. She replied to the sender explaining she did not have an outstanding loan with his company and there must be some mistake.

           The loan guy wrote back and said, “Sorry. I should have been writing to manitobamelonfleur1@gmail.com. I left off the 1.”

           Left off the 1? Manitoba quickly realized someone shared her name and had simply added a 1 at the end when creating a Gmail account. Was it possible? With the billions of people on the earth, maybe it was.

           After growing up feeling very isolated by her name, Manitoba could not help wondering what this second person was like. The next time she got what seemed like a misplaced email message, she forwarded it to manitobamelonfleur1 with the note, “Was this intended for you?”

           Manitoba1 replied and confirmed the message was for her. Manitoba wrote back and said, “I’m guessing your name is Manitoba Melonfleur too. There aren’t many of us around.”

           From there, the two Manitobas became electronic pen pals. Misplaced messages became an excuse to exchange little notes and discover bits and pieces about their lives. Manitoba1 revealed she lived in Nashville and when Manitoba’s boyfriend was scheduled to attend a conference in the city, the e-pals decided it would be fun to meet.

           Manitoba described the meeting to Jake as kind of a treasure hunt. “We don’t want it to be too creepy or personal so we’re meeting in a park. And we’ll both wear red so we can find each other.”

           “Why don’t you just swap pictures?” Jake asked.

           “It’s more fun this way.”

           As she stood in the Nashville park unable to identify her virtual friend, Manitoba began regretting the plan and imagining the worst. What if Manitoba1 was a psycho who was now stalking her? Manitoba felt lucky she brought Jake along. She was about to turn to him and say they could leave, when she spotted a helium balloon bobbing in the air. Someone wearing red was holding it and walking on the opposite side of a pond.

           “That’s her,” Manitoba said in an instant, all her anxiety forgotten. She held up her hand in a wave.

           Manitoba1 raised her hand in acknowledgment. She had someone walking next to her and they quickly circled the pond toward Manitoba and Jake.

           When everyone converged, they were not sure how to greet one another. Manitoba thought a hug would be too much. Shaking hands seemed old fashioned. So she simply grinned and said, “Hi, I’m Manitoba. And you must be Manitoba.”

           The second Manitoba grinned back. “Nice to meet you, Manitoba. I hope you don’t mind I brought my boyfriend, Josh.”

           “And this is my boyfriend, Jake. Wow, it’s so cool to finally meet you. The balloon was a fun idea. That’s what I saw first.”

           “Yeah, sorry we’re a little late. You wanna sit down and talk a while?”

           The group moved toward a picnic table with a view of the pond. “I’ve never asked you what you do for work,” Manitoba1 said.

           “I teach school.”

           “Me too! Fifth grade. How about you?”

           “Third.”

           “Oh wow, that’s so funny. And where did you get your degree?”

           “University of Oregon. How about you?”

           “University of Tennessee.”

           While Jake and Josh wondered to the pond to throw rocks, the two Manitobas discovered they both had little dogs. They both were still renting apartments and were afraid they might never afford a house. They had tried Pilates and yoga and were now into bike riding.

           They discussed the origin of their last name, which was a corrupted combination of English and French, and then how their parents chose their first names based on the Canadian province.

           “I’ve been there,” Manitoba1 said. “Way too cold for me.”

           “Same here,” Manitoba added. “I’d much rather be in the desert. Maybe somewhere in Arizona.”

           “Yeah, I agree.”

           When the guys strolled back from the pond, Manitoba said, “I guess we should probably go. Thanks for meeting us here.”

           “We could have dinner somewhere together,” suggested Josh. “We know lots of great places.”

           “We already have plans with some of Jake’s friends,” Manitoba replied.

           “How about tomorrow?” Josh asked.

           “Sorry, we’ll be heading home.”

           After some goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, the two couples separated. Jake waited until he and Manitoba were well away from the pond before asking, “Why did you lie about meeting my friends and leaving tomorrow?”

           Manitoba covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply. “I guess I was freaking out a little. I had to get away from her.”

           “Why? It sounded like you had a lot in common.”

           “No kidding. We’re basically the same person.”

           Jake laughed. “You’re not that close.”

           “We have the same job. We both went to state schools. We have the same living situation. Same weird names. We’re interchangeable.”

           Jake laughed again. “Come on. You probably felt that way because you were wearing the same tank tops.”

           “Jake and Josh. We even have the same boyfriends,” Manitoba continued.

           “So what’s the big deal? What did you expect?”

           “I don’t know, but not a clone of myself who has my same name. It was so weird. I guess I was thinking we would be totally different even though we shared a name. Being different seemed kind of funny.”

           “So why isn’t being the same funny? Why is it so much worse?”

           “I don’t know. It just is.”

           Manitoba and Jake walked the rest of the way to their rental car in silence. Manitoba spent the time isolating the strange feeling in her head. It was new and hard to explain. They were driving away from the park when she finally put it in words.

           “Growing up, I had no problem thinking I was special. I wasn’t like anyone else. I didn’t have to follow trends or the crowd. But now I realize I’m not special after all.”

           “Everyone’s special and unique,” Jake said, trying to reassure her. “You know, in their own way.”

           “Deep down, really deep down, I thought I was different. My brain worked differently. My priorities were different. But the other Manitoba and me must think the same if so many things in our lives turned out the same way.”

           Jake smiled and said, “I think you’re making too big a deal of this. You’re a great person and she’s a great person. What’s wrong with that?”

           “We’re the same person.”

           Manitoba insisted she was not hungry and she only wanted to return to the hotel. She immediately changed out of her red tank top and did not return it to her suitcase. Her heartbreak only got worse. On the way home, she sank into a silent funk and only responded to Jake with sighs and grunts.

           Over the next month, whenever their friends asked what was going on with Manitoba, Jake responded that she was going through a strange phase. He talked himself into the idea that she had experienced a shock and would eventually return to her old self, despite her many outward changes. To start with, she cut her long hair. She stopped riding her bike and decided to go vegan. She no longer liked going house hunting and toyed with the idea of dedicating her life to the theater.

           “I know it will take practice, but I’m willing to put in the work,” she told Jake.

           “If that’s what you want, I’m sure you can.”

           “What if that means giving up teaching?”

           Jake hesitated before answering. “I’m here for you no matter what you decide.”

           A week later, Manitoba told him it might be time for them to break up because they were not going anywhere with their lives. Jake begged and pleaded and said he could change with her if it meant they could stay together.

           “I don’t know, maybe it’s my name. Maybe that’s what needs to change,” Manitoba said hazily. “It’s so strange. Maybe it has a weird power over me. Maybe all my decisions were caused by my name. As Manitoba Melonfleur, I couldn’t help becoming a teacher and living like I do. It’s the only way a Manitoba Melonfleur could act.”

           Jake did not see how a name could make such a difference, but he did not share his doubts with Manitoba. Her fragile state of mind could not handle disagreement. If she wanted to blame her name rather than break up with him, he would not stop her.

           “I should change it, at least the Manitoba part. Why am I named after a place I don’t like? I should pick a place I do like.”

           “Sounds good to me,” Jake responded.

           “How about Sedona? Sedona Melonfleur sounds a lot better than Manitoba Melonfleur.”

           “I like it if you do.”

           “Then that’s who I am from now on.”

           The former Manitoba told her friends and students to start calling her Sedona. She did not go to the trouble of changing her name on her driver’s license, but she did claim another Gmail account. Luckily enough, sedonamelonfleur was available. The new Sedona used it for all her official correspondence.

           “I feel free for the first time,” Sedona told Jake. “My name doesn’t control me. How did I go so long in life without being my own person?”

           “I’m happy that you’re so happy,” Jake told her. He knew better than to tell her that she was not so different than the Manitoba she used to be. She could cut her hair and change her name, but her personality remained. She still laughed at silly puns. She still obsessed over each member of her third-grade class and whether they felt safe and included.

           Traffic to the Sedona Melonfleur Gmail account increased as more and more acquaintances used it. Spam mail inevitably snuck through the filters and after a few months Sedona noticed a few messages that seemed legitimate but intended for someone else. A car dealership kept sending information about picking up license plates.

           “I think you have the wrong person. I didn’t buy a car from you,” Sedona wrote back.

           “Sorry. I typed in the wrong address,” read the reply. “It should have been sedona4melonfleur.”

           When Sedona received another misplaced message about a trip to Europe, she forwarded it directly to the sedona4melonfleur address. In reply, she got back, “Yeah, that’s for me. Sorry for the mixup.”

           Sedona replied with, “No problem. Something like this happened to me before when I used another name.”

           “Was the last name Melonfleur?”

           “Yes.”

           “Manitoba? Is that you?”

           “Yeah. How did you know?”

           “Because I’m Manitoba from Nashville. I guess I wanted a change from my name too.”

           Sedona/Manitoba turned off her phone in shock. She did not look at it for the next 48 hours. She called in sick and spent an entire day watching a candle burn in a dark room. Jake worried that she might drive away in the night, and he would never see her again. And then she emerged from her dark room and said to him, “I’m back to being Manitoba again.”

           “You are? What happened?”

           “As I was lying there, I thought of the billions of people in the world who think they’re different than everyone else. I realized I’m different because I know my clone. That’s probably a lot cooler than being unique.”

           “Probably so. I don’t know my clone.”

           “I’m going to write the other Manitoba. I’m ready to become real friends with her.”

           “You think she feels the same way?”

           Manitoba smiled like he had to be joking. “I know she does.”