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Siamese Dream

2007-06-14

It had been a quiet day, all things considered. One of those days where you look at your watch, discover it reading four o'clock, and realize you've wasted most of an afternoon doing nothing.

Still this doesn't bum you out. You've enjoyed the walking you did and the reading in a park, instead of writing. All because it's a delightfully sunny day.

 

Sorry, did that sound a little gay?

 

Anyway...

Now some hard working, supposedly honest people, would feel guilty about this wastefulness, and immediately rush through as much of whatever they're paid to do before leaving work. Some incredibly dedicated worker-bees may even work late or take work home with them.

People like myself say ‘fuck it', write off the rest of the afternoon, and go have a drink.

So that's where I was in ‘my local', just starting my second beer and chewing on some now flavorless gum.  Doublmint gum and beer do not make a pleasant taste combination make. Just trust me on this one.

‘My favorite bartender wasn't on duty yet; although I was assured by another she'd be on later. I was crushed.

Seriously.

Actually I wasn't, I don't know why I said that. For some reason macking on a nineteen year old didn't appeal to me. I blame Katie. She looked beyond cute this morning with her t-shirt with Captain America's shield on covered with a sports jacket, and her hair pulled into a mini ponytail and flopping over her left eye.

‘My local' was pretty quiet, it being a sunny Tuesday in June. People actually seem to drink less on nice days. I don't know why that surprises me but it does. I've always found warm summer days the ideal time for beer drinking.

Normally under these circumstances I would have been pretty bored. Except that someone kinda interesting is in the bar. ‘My Antagonist.'

 

Don't worry I'll explain.

 

In ‘my bar world' there are two people who defy rational explanation. These are ‘My Doppelganger' and ‘My Antagonist.'

‘My Doppelganger' isn't here today. He's some guy who allegedly bears a resemblance to me (I maintain ‘allegedly' for sanity reasons) dresses similarly to me , and orders the same drinks as me. No word on whether he has a perky cute girlfriend who works for a magazine.

I'd never noticed him before until one of the bartenders at ‘my local' happened to mention in passing that I bore a more than passing similarity to this guy. One of the others swears we look virtually identical. This is indeed disquieting as it means I have a completely self-delusional idea of what I look like. Or the guy's just trying to fuck with my head.

Anyway the initial remark intrigued me, and I actively put myself on the lookout for such an unlucky individual. Initially my search proved fruitless. Then some weeks later I finally saw him drinking alone and reading a collection of Scott Fitzgerald's shorter work.

The fact that he read the kind of book I'd own was the only quasi-similarity. He not only looked like me, he was me, or a very good affectation, right down to the fact he wore sunglasses in the bar.

It was slightly creepy.

I didn't have the courage to approach him. I'd read that if you meet your doppelganger bad things happen, even death. Admittedly this was in a German translated book on the supernatural (O.K fine, it was Wikipedia) but in my state at the time it seemed reasonable. So I didn't push it.

The one time I did speak to him at the bar and said hi, he bluntly told me to fuck off. Some time later it occurred to me that may have been my reaction under the circumstances.

I swear I'm not making this up.

 

Anyway back in the present, or the recent past, or...oh forget it, ‘My Antagonist' finally got his ass into gear and deemed to come over to my table. It took him long enough. I didn't really want him to, but at the same time it's got to where if we're in the same bar and he doesn't bother me, I feel rather disappointed.

This is how it always went with my friend Donnie, myself and ‘My Antagonist'; neither of us ever wanted to talk to him, so he had to come over to us if he wanted to speak. Somehow Donnie and I rationalized this into making him crawl on his knees over to us. Beer does strange things to people sometimes.

‘Hiya buddy,' ‘My Antagonist' said.

‘Uh...hi.'

‘You know I haven't seen your sidekick Donnie Sullivan around here for awhile. Where's he at?'

‘The same place he was the last time you asked.'

‘Refresh my webpage.'

‘He's in California. He teaches writing out there,' I replied tersely, pretending to focus on the baseball game.

‘My Antagonist' let out a half-laugh under his breath, this will be explained shortly.

‘So...how're the Mets going?'

‘O.K, they should win the division, still don't think the pitching's gonna hold up unless Pedro ever comes back.'

‘My Antagonist' is a sportswriter who covers the Mets at this time of year, which actually sucks for him because he's a Yanks fan. Actually it's been a rough year so far for him.

 ‘My Antagonist' also suffers from what I call the ‘Bayless Dichotomy.' He hates what goes on in sports, and it burns him up to the point that he doesn't want to watch anymore, yet, he has no sympathy or understanding for anyone who doesn't like sports.

‘My Antagonist' also cultivates the persona of hating books, and even has a blog dedicated to just how much he hates them. On this blog he rates and reviews all the books he's ‘forced' to read. He rates them from -5 stars (I'm physically angry about having read this) to 0 stars (meaning he's indifferent).

Naturally because pissing off Donnie and me was and is a hobby of his, he always reviews our books with utter disdain. Although his most invectively laden reviews are reserved for authors who use the collective we in first person narratives.

‘So you're here alone,' he asked

‘It certainly appears so.'

‘You still shacked up with that Charlotte chick. I wouldn't mind a shot and a poke at her if you ever split up.'

He was trying to enrage me, but it couldn't work. I'm actually feeling content today, and even he wasn't going to ruin it.

‘That's not her real name. It's Kate.'

‘O.K Name replacement, same question.'

‘Yeah.'

We went silent for a minute before he jumped back in.

‘Hey, you should come to my friend's party he's throwing tonight, be a lotta fun.'

‘I don't know...'

‘Come on it's not Mao's Long March, besides you'll probably know these people.'

‘It's a Tuesday, who has a party on a Tuesday.'

‘What do you care? You don't work you bum. I work and I'm going. Come on Peanut.'

‘Excuse me_'

‘Trust me. Would-I-lie-to you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Besides that.'

This went on for a quarter an hour before I agreed to attend this party.

We walked to the sidewalk my apartment. I made him wait down there, to his expletive laden protest, because Katie has a peculiar distaste for ‘My Antagonist' too.

Up in the apartment I stood in the kitchenette waiting for Kate to notice my presence. When she did see me there, she shrieked in such shock that she almost dropped the bowl she was carrying.

‘Jesus you frightened me.'

‘Get your coat; we're going to a party.'

‘What?' She looked at me incredulously. ‘Ah, no. it's a Tuesday. I'm not going to a party. Besides it'll suck.'

‘Why?'

‘You mean besides it being a Tuesday?'

‘C'mon it'll be fun.'

‘It's out of the question. Besides, I haven't eaten yet.'

‘They'll be food there. Let's go.'

‘Whose party is this anyway?'

‘Don't know. Sean's the one who invited me.'

‘Out of the question...wait, is he here.'

‘He's down on the street.'

‘Leave him there then.'

‘I can't do that. I'll see him at the bar next week and never hear the end of it.'

‘So what?' she throw up her arms. ‘Just don't talk to him. I don't know why you do, you hate him.'

‘I know. I don't know either.'

This wasn't going to resolve itself fast. It was time to employ my trump card.

‘You know I agreed to go on this goddamn camping trip with your work friends this weekend. You owe me.'

She started to make a couple of arguments, but I never broke my sincere ‘you know I'm right' look, and she eventually gave in.

‘Fine. Where are we going?

‘Ask Sean.'

 

She was right, it did suck.

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