Dopplegangers

Three things.

1. Last Friday, walking up Ninth Avenue, I was coming up on my neighborhood friend, Ken. "Holy Shit! It's Ken Webb!" I said. The man looked frightened and turned around. Not my friend Ken. "Oh god. I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you were someone else . . . and I was . . . mocking." What I meant was "and I was . . . swearing," but I was too embarassed to even call attention to it.

2. The night before last I was walking to the gym, heading East across 56th street. I saw my co-worker Ken Beck walking West heading home, I presumed. "Ken Beck!" I said as we drew near. I can't remember what he said, only that as we passed and he turned back to look at me he seemed horrified. I also seem to recall that, whatever he said, came out of his mouth with a Brittish accent. I appologized profusely again.

3. Last night as I approached the corner of my street and the avenue, a man eating dinner in the window of the resturaunt on the corner looked enough at first glance like my dad for me to have a fantasy. The fantasy was that this man didn't merely resemble my dad but, in fact, looked exactly like him. A twin. The weight of such an encounter becomes more apparent when I reveal that, in real life, my dad died a little less than two years ago. So, imagine that on the corner of your block, you run into a man who looks exactly like your dead dad. In the fantasy, I walk up to the window of the resturaunt and just kind of stare at him. I stare and I'm feeling somewhat alarmed. Before too long, this man can't ignore my bizare stare any longer and both he and his dining companion turn to look at me. I explain through the glass "you look just like my dad. you look exactly like my dad. my dad died but you look exactly like him." In the fantasy, I go to my apartment - just a few doors down - and i get my dad's glasses out of the drawer where I keep them and I bring them back to the resturaunt. I go inside and I tell the man to put them on and he does. And he looks even more exactly like my dad. And I just stand there and cry. I get the glasses back and go home. In real life last night, I took out my dad's glasses for the first time in a long time. They still have gross dirt on them from when he was in the hospital but since it's gross from my dad I can't really bear to clean them off. I miss my dad.