When you finally saw your doppelganger, you were unimpressed.  You thought he looked nothing like you.  This was after hearing that he was your spitting image––and not just hearing it from one or two people.

It seemed that every one of your friends had seen this man and, despite how long they may have known you, were easily duped into thinking that that guy was the genuine article.  James thought you were secretly working at the Stop-and-Shop supermarket on the side, too embarrassed to tell your friends, before realizing that it was just your knock-off. Beth told you how she embarrassed herself trying to say hello to you at Bar 81.  She said she even argued with you, or your look-a-like rather, convinced that it was you and that you were playing a mean trick on her. Half a dozen other people claimed to have spotted this imposter, this doppelganger, all of whom said that the resemblance was dead on; uncanny even. But after seeing him, you were unimpressed.  Frankly, you saw no resemblance at all.

How you ran into him was purely by chance.  You were looking for fennel––you wanted to show Heather that you could cook.  It was your mother’s recipe; salmon over fennel and cabbage. The Key Foods, the local chain-supermarket by your house didn’t have fennel.  So you went to their competitor, Stop-and-Shop.  It was a hike to get there, but you knew they would have fennel.  You did dare try to make the dish without the fennel: you never inherited your mother’s flair for kitchen improvisation, and you were determined to impress Heather.  That meant sticking to the recipe word for word.  If recipe called for fennel, then by god you would get some fennel, even if it did mean walking another ten blocks.

What you came for was the fennel, you reassured yourself. It really didn’t have anything to do with your so-called doppelganger.  It was just the fennel you wanted, so you weren’t too disappointed when you didn’t see him in the supermarket.  You went to the produce section, found the fennel and checked out.  No doppelganger to speak of.

But when you left the supermarket, there he was. Standing outside of the entrance way to the supermarket, you could tell that it was he that your friends were talking about.  He had the same hair cut as you.  He was about the same height.  But you thought the resemblance ended there.  You reached for your cell phone and pretended to use it in order to observe your would-be doppelganger.  “Hey James,” you said to the silent cell phone, as you eyed they man.

He was smoking a cigarette, which repulsed you. He was leaning against the wall.  He had a red apron over his blue jeans and white tee-shirt. On his feet were scuffed combat boots.  You thought he looked like one of the Outsiders.  In other words, nothing like you.

“So what are you doing tonight…uh huh …uh huh,” you said loudly into your cell phone as you watch a Puerto Rican girl walk up to your doppelganger.

She was wearing tight jeans and a short pink tee shirt.  Her hair was drawn back tight and greasy and she wore big, gold hoop earrings.  Your doppelganger looked both ways up and down the street.  He reached for her hand.  They passed each other something.  He nodded.  She walked away. He stomped out his cigarette and went inside Stop-and-Shop.

A drug deal.  You weren’t sure who was buying and who was selling.  Not that it mattered.  You would never buy drugs on the street.

“Bye James,” you said to your phone, despite the need for the ruse being over.  You put the phone back in your pocket.  Some doppelganger, you thought. You didn’t see him again for a few months.

When you did see him again, it was twice in the same day.  You and Heather were near Astor Place.  You wanted to take her out for lunch.  You had been promoted that day to Head Outerwear and Scarf Designer at New Look fashion.   You wanted to celebrate.

Hand in hand you walked across Fourth Avenue.  Heather noticed him first. Your doppelganger was standing outside of the subway station.  His hands in his pockets, he was rocking back and forth on his feet. Grease stains pocked the front of his denim jacket; his jeans had a hole in the knee and frayed where the paints meat the heel of his combat boots.  At first you were unsure if his clothing was an attempt at fashion.  A calculated and chic disheveled look that was so popular in that part of the city.  But his hair gave him away; it was oil, uncut and uncombed.  Ripped jeans were an excusable stylistic decision, but bad hair was not.  Your doppelganger’s destitution wardrobe was the real thing.

Heather said he looked like you.  You told her that you didn’t think so and ran your hands through your well-combed hair.  Heather asks if any other in-vitros were made with your genome.  You told her that your mother bought your genome exclusively.  She gave you a raised eyebrow look.  She was starting to annoy you. All you wanted to do was celebrate your promotion.  She thought you were being irrational.  You told her that he was dressed like a bum.  She said, so what.  You told her that she could date him if she liked him so much.

You went to Dojo Restaurant; You had teriyaki chicken and Heather ordered sushi.  She didn’t start speaking to you again until at least half-way through the meal.

Later that night, James and some of your other co-workers took you out for a drink.  You were embarrassed because now you were James’ boss, but he seemed to be taking it all right.  You went to a bar near your office.  It was called “Cheap Shots”.  The décor inside would make you think that it was one of the old downtown dives but you knew the bar had only been there for a year.  At least the name wasn’t a lie, you thought; the shots were cheap; you had three.

This time it was James that noticed your doppelganger.  He was sitting at the bar, head rolling around his neck.  He looked intoxicated and poorly shaven.  James tells you to say hello to your clone.  You’re unfazed by the your friends heckling, but still refuse to say hello.  James, who is very amused by the situation,  wants to buy him a drink.  You say that he looks drunk enough, but before you can stop him, James goes over to say hello to your doppelganger.  You say that you are leaving. You didn’t want to be hung-over for your first day as Head Outerwear and Scarf Designer. No one hears you say goodbye over the din of music and talking.

You don’t see your doppelganger again for almost a year.
You finally proposed to Heather–everyone had been pressuring you to do it.  You didn’t see the rush.  The two of you had only been dating for two and a half years. But you did it.  Why not, you thought.  She did make you happy.

It was a small wedding.  You had both agreed to that.  It was a held on a beautiful spring day in Battery Park.  Heather looked radiant in her white wedding dress.  You looked quite handsome in the fitted tuxedo.  James was the best man.

The ceremony was short.  Pastor Castle performed the service.

You hired a photographer.  His name was Perry.  He was a very good wedding photographer, recommended to you by your boss.

Perry asked everyone to gather around the boardwalk.  He wanted to take a group picture of the bride, groom, friends and family by the river.

A man was standing in front of the railing, swaying on his feet, directly where Perry wanted to take the photo. The man’s head was hanging low––arms flailing from his shoulders.  It looked as if he was sleeping while standing.  The wedding guests all stared at the man.  He kept leaning to a side, looking like he was about to fall over.  At the last moment when it looked like he was about to topple, he would wake a little from his stupor and right himself.

You instantly knew who the man was, Heather knew, too.  Her mouth dropped, her mouth slightly agape.  You looked at James and motioned with your head.  James went up to your Doppelganger and with little fuss, shuffled him away.  He looked back at you a few times as he stumbled his way down the boardwalk and out of the park.

Everyone posed for the photo.  Perry asked everyone to smile—you all did.  The flash on the camera bulb went off—you and Heather kissed.

The wedding album came out beautifully.

You had been in the hospital for close to thirty hours.  After an emergency cesarean, your son was finally brought into the world.  Heather was in her room resting.  Your son was under supervision.  You were wondering the halls of the hospital––not wanting to leave––your vision blurred with euphoria.

You and Heather had been married for five years now. For at least three of those years you had been trying to have a child.  In desperation, Heather wanted to have an in-vetro clone, but you didn’t.  You wanted to just keep trying.  And you were right.  Lying in a heated chamber was your tiny, but  healthy, pink-skinned baby boy.

You realized that you hadn’t eaten since you had brought Heather to the hospital.  You went to the vending machine on the maternity-ward floor.  Sifting through your pocket you produce a few quarters.  The machine eats them away as you push the button for the peanut butter and cracker snacks.  The metal coil holding the snack rotates a few times, but the crackers don’t fall.  You take a dollar bill from your wallet and again feed the machine.  The crackers again don’t fall.  A nurse walking by tells you that the vending machine is broken.  You look at the machine and only then notice the out of order sign.

You walk downstairs to the emergency ward. On this floor, you find the vending machine and as you’re searching through your wallet for another dollar, this is when the double doors to the ambulance-bay burst open.

Two EMTs are rolling in a gurney and shouting.  Doctors and nurses scramble from all over the emergency room floor towards the gurney; just like the do on television.  Observing the commotion, you wonder which doctor is the George Clooney of the bunch.

The man on the gurneys face was obscured.  All you could make out are his old boots.  And you notice that his right boot is fastened shut with duck-tape

One of the doctors kept yelling for something called “Narcain”.  You wonder how much tax money was being spent on saving the lives of homeless people––not that you minded, but you wished, there had to be a better way to handle with the homeless.  The idea of all those homeless people dieing alone in hospitals depressed you.  You wished they could all be saved and with their families and warm and fed.

The doctors don’t save this person though.  You hear one of the doctors pronounce the man––dead, right there, in the middle of the hallway.  The crowd around the man diminishes as the doctors make their way back to attending other patients.  The nurses go back to their clipboards.  Almost nothing changed.  Just a corps in the middle of the hallway and a few straggling nurses filling out the last of the required paperwork.

With all the people gone, you see the face of the man and notice his eyes are still open. They are glassy, it looks as though he is staring out at something behind you but very distant. A nurse pulls a blanket over the man’s head.

You decide that he in fact did look a lot like you––remarkably so.

You find the dollar in your wallet then feed it into the vending machine.  The metal coil rotates and a peanut butter and cracker snack drops.  You reach your hand into the flap at the bottom of the machine and retrieve it.

That was the last time that you saw your doppelganger.

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