Me and Myself

By Amir Natan

I was sitting alone in the movie theater, enduring yet another one of those quality boring movies that only two other odd people and I came to watch. He arrived late and sat right beside me—another weirdo. Just my luck. Not in the mood for small talk with random people seeking relief from their loneliness, I was about to leave when he immediately said, “Wait, you know me!” The voice sounded familiar. 

“How do I know you?” I asked. 

“I am you,” he replied.

 I stood up. This guy isn’t just weird; he’s insane. Then, he grabbed my hand and forcefully pulled me back down. 

“I’m sorry, but you must believe me,” he said. “Can you look at me for just one second?” Finally, I turned to look in his direction. It was me. It was still dark, but I couldn’t be mistaken. I had looked in the mirror enough times to recognize myself. The look, the voice—everything was me. I was terrified. Did I die? Did I lose my consciousness? Can I wake up? 

“I can’t stay here for more than fifteen minutes,” he said, sounding rushed. “I came from a parallel universe. It’s almost identical to yours, with a few differences. Both started in the same timeline but have deviated from each other.” 

“How did you get here?” I asked. 

“We have the technology to travel between different universes.” He didn’t want to waste time on details. 

“How did you find me?” I inquired. “It’s too complicated to explain in a short time.” 

I remained silent. It’s his time. 

“So, how are you? Married? Kids?” he asked like a journalist. 

“Divorced. No kids. You?” Things aren’t going well. I don’t like summarizing my life. When you condense your life into a few sentences, it seems uneventful. In my case, it was. 

“Married for 20 years now. Five kids.” He tried to make sure it didn’t sound like bragging about his life. 

There was a long pause. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” I replied. 

“Why did you get divorced?” Great, now we’re getting into dating questions. 

“Next question,” I said. He came up with questions I would have skipped for someone identical to me. 

“It’s just that you look lonely,” he explained. 

“What gave it away?” I replied sarcastically, “Watching the movie alone?” 

“You look lifeless. Depressed,” he responded. He genuinely felt bad for me. Well, for himself in a different reality. 

“You sound like a therapist,” I said, continuing to hide behind my sarcasm. I remember wanting to study psychology. Maybe he hadn’t given up on that idea. 

“I am,” he said, clearly uncomfortable answering questions about his life. He came here to learn about me.  “Do you have a job?” he asked. He didn’t ask, “What do you do for a living?” Instead, he framed the question as if he expected no answer. 

“Software. But they’re about to let me go.” He looked at me, realizing that our timeline’s deviation was significant.  “I’m tired,” I said, feeling somewhat emotional. 

“Tired? From what?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe life.” He looked sad. I guess it’s not easy to see your loser self. 

“Follow your dreams. Do what makes you happy. It worked for me,” he added, trying to end on a positive note. I just smiled. Follow the advice I should have followed thirty years ago? Besides, what truly makes me happy? Is it the lack of a relationship? The unfulfilling job? The sense of a wasted life? He stood up. 

“Thanks for visiting.” I attempted to be polite. He didn’t respond. 

***

A few years later, our world developed the technology to move between universes. I also had fifteen minutes. I went to visit him. A woman opened the door. He isn’t there anymore; he died in an accident two years ago. His family is gone. She offered for me to stay and talk, but I politely refused. Though I had ten more minutes, I decided to return. That night, I had a dream. He was sitting next to me in the movie theater, and I triumphantly said, “I’m going to outlive you.” As if that somehow made my life better than his. He looked at me and replied, “So?”

Amir Natan is an author and actor. He published a collection of short stories in 2006 and is currently working on a new one.